Life is strange. Death is stranger. It's like the mystical world no one knows anything about. Not everyone's life is a bed of roses. What a cliche, that is. Bed of roses.
Everyone has had their share of setbacks. And probably some have even thought of ending their lives to escape it. Sure, it would be easy giving it up and dying. But what comes after that? Isn't the fear of unknown even worse than fear of known?
And then, some want to give it up because some idiot refused to be part of their lives. Sure, I've had my moments when I just wanted to shut myself up in the room and cry myself to sleep. Or not talk to anyone for days. It's just easy to stay in denial than talk about things. Talk it out, they say. But you think it is easy to talk about it without the other person being judgmental about it? They are not the ones who have gone through. Not felt the way you have felt. Easy for them to say that you need to move on.
Of course, I know I need to move on. Yes, yes, there is a beautiful world out there, with people who love me, care for me, my parents, my sister, my friends. They love me, even with the kind of mess I am.
I have, at times, felt like giving all this up, and just walking out of the house. But knew it's not going to work. And taking my own life was not even considered. No one is worth my life.
But amongst these thousand things that are wrong, when my two year old niece tells me, "ninu, I love you", wraps her hand around my finger, and puts her trust in me that I won't let her fall, it seems there is still goodness in the world.
Life is still worth living.