It Was Only Just A Dream

“So I traveled back, down that road.
Will she come back? No one knows.
I realize, yeah, it was only just a dream.”

Just A Dream, Nelly

I had an interesting but mostly horrifying dream last night. It put me in this downtrodden, melancholy mood all day, and it’s been haunting me ever since.

– Begin Dream –

My boyfriend called me and asked me to meet him at the mall. He said it was an emergency. I was excited because I thought it was going to be my surprise baby shower.

When I got to the mall, I found my boyfriend sitting on a bench. For some reason the mall was dim, and the bench he was sitting on was in front of what looked like a shady nightclub. He looked tired and dirty. I sat next to him and asked him what was happening. He told me to turn around.

There I saw my best friend that had killed himself over a year ago, sitting next to me and smiling. I started screaming at the top of my lungs. I couldn’t calm down. I jumped and wrapped my arms around him to make sure he was really there. I could smell the cologne he always wore. I could feel the self-harm cut scars on his arms. I could feel him there, I could feel his soul.

I asked him so many questions. I wanted to know how it was possible that he was really there and I was in hysterics. He couldn’t stop smiling. He told me that his parents faked his death, so they could keep him home and abuse him, and that they had spent the last year and a half trying to “beat the gay out of him”. I was furious. They faked his death, they had a whole huge ceremony, they had a private family-only funeral to hide the fact that there was no body.

I changed from tears of happiness and confusion to tears of injustice and outrage. I wanted to kill them. I was planning on killing them. He kept telling me to calm down because it’s all over and they can’t hurt him anymore. I didn’t know what to say, so he just kept hugging me, and I just kept crying and hugging him right back.

– End Dream –

I woke up crying. I felt so much pain. I wanted him there with me. During my first few moments of consciousness, I forgot that it was a dream and I thought I had just discovered something horrible and that I had to save him. But no, it was just a dream.

Bobby is really gone. I will never see him again no matter how much I want to. I’ll never feel his warmth or see his smile, I’ll never sing with him again, or listen to him play the piano. I’ll never get to introduce my daughter to him. He’s gone in every sense except my memories.

I love him so much. There was so much pain. And it all came rushing back when I woke up, like it was the first time I heard that he died. In that short dream, he came back to me.

But it was just a dream.


Kill Me Once, Shame On You

In response to this blog post, I feel like writing a post about the popular and highly controversial topic: the death penalty.

What has Moby Dick, Sasuke Uchiha, Hamlet, the Count of Monte Cristo, Wuthering Heights, and every other novel and authority figure in this world ever taught us growing up?

Revenge never fixes anything.

It may make you feel better for the moment, but moments are fleeting.

Story time:

My uncle in the Philippines was a beautiful man. He bought his wife flowers every special day and took care of his kids. One night he was in the wrong place in the wrong time, and he witnessed a neighbor get mugged and beaten to death by gangsters. He told the police, and they took in one of the thugs. The next week, he was shot down on the street on his way home from work.

My uncle was the sweetest man. He did nothing to deserve the death he had. Do his shooters deserve a horrible death? More than he does, that’s for sure. But at every hearing and every testimony, the gangsters’ families were there crying for their kin on the hot seat. They did get the death penalty. Did I think they deserved it? Absolutely. But not for long. I didn’t feel sympathy for them, but for their families. The tears and the pain and heartbreak of loss: I felt that too.

Another story:

Another uncle of mine was almost done fixing up his house. It was the house his wife and he had always dreamed of. With 3 kids and good jobs, it was the perfect time to go for it. A few more renovations and it was done. Before he could finish, he had to go back to work. In Algeria. In the oil field. He was kidnapped and was another casualty of the Algerian oil hostage situation. The terrorists promised he wouldn’t be harmed. The lone Filipino survivor said that when they were on the move, he gathered everyone’s hands and tried to calm them down. My uncle made everyone have good faith, and they prayed together. He was their calm before the storm. This beautiful man was used as a human shield, and was sent back to his beautiful home in the Philippines in a box.

Let me admit that for the longest time, there was nothing I wanted more than his captor’s head on a stick. I’m sure that’s how a lot of people felt. Now that it’s been almost half a year and my nerves have died, I don’t want revenge. I want my uncle. I want him home, finishing his beautiful home, happy and able to watch his children (the youngest of which had just turned 6) grow up.

Whether their murderers are alive or not, it won’t change anything. It won’t bring them back. It’ll only add to the number of casualties.

Every day, we are overwhelmed with news showing us horrible people. Monsters, even. But we can’t let everything get to us. We can’t sink to their level.

In all honesty, I don’t hate these people. I don’t wish for anyone’s death. Nazis, terrorists, Westboro Baptist Church. I can’t. Because they’re all doing what they think is right. They all think what they’re doing is for something better. Even if it’s dead wrong, and it wouldn’t hurt for them to die, it doesn’t mean we should be the ones dropping the guillotine. In my opinion, it’s the same as when I tackled a kindergartener down as a second grader and spit all over his face. He pushed my baby brother down and spit on him, so I did the same. Did I feel better? No, I made a little kid cry, scraped his arm, and lost a sticker on my good behavior chart. I feel as if these people — these vigilante assholes, these monsters, blights on society — are stuck in that same mindset.

I’ve been hurt. I’ve been hurt more times than imaginable in this relatively brief life I’ve been living. But I won’t hurt others. I won’t kill others, nor will I wish for the death of others.

If we don’t keep our heads level and our hearts strong, we’ll be just as bad as the rest.

A Day In the Life.

Wish you would step back from that ledge my friend.
You could cut ties with all the lies that you’ve been living with.
If you never want to see me again, I would understand.

(Jumper by Third Blind Eye)

I spent half of today crying. I couldn’t focus on my school work and had to stay in my counselor’s office for a long time. But I’ll start from the beginning.

I walked in to my anatomy class dreading a test. I sit down, and my friends look at me and ask “How’s your friend [let’s call him “B”] been doing?” My heart stops.

Some background: B is one of my best friends. B lives in the most religious household I’ve ever encountered in my entire life. B is gay. B is home-schooled because his parents think the school made him gay. B is verbally abused every day. B has tried to kill himself three times.

“No,” I replied, scared of what they were about to say. I’ve been trying to text him for weeks but he hasn’t replied. I assumed his parents took his phone away. Again. They gave each other a really solemn and hesitant look.

After a while, one of them finally says it. “B is in the intensive care unit at the hospital. He tried to commit suicide.”

She didn’t even have to finish her sentence before I burst into tears. It’s been so long since I talked to him, I was worried this would happen again.

The gruesome background: B cuts himself. He has those horizontal bumpy slashes all along his wrists. He’s tried to jump off the bleachers at school. He wouldn’t even tell me what he did his first two attempts, and honestly I don’t want to know. I won’t even say how he did it this time, because it’s just too much.

I lost it. I stayed with my counselor for a long time. When his parents filed to pull him from school, she was one of the faculty members that tried to convince them otherwise. I told her what happened, and she said she knew. Apparently the administrators still get updates on him (which calms me, but barely).

More background: B always smiles. Always. I swear on my life I’ve never seem him with a less than pleasant expression on his face. And he’s the most talented person I know. He taught himself sign language, piano, Japanese, and Korean. He writes songs. He sings. I guess you have that kind of free time when you’re home-schooled.

His laugh brightens hearts, which matches his eyes that sparkle. He’s the sweetest and most remarkable person I know.

I love him to pieces, I do. And as angry as I am, I’ll never be able to blame him for what he did. I can’t imagine what kind of turmoil he lives with every day, and he just keeps smiling. Smiling. He had plans to become fluent in Korean, move to Korea and start a new life there after college. He had such optimistic plans. And he keeps trying to throw it all away.

My heart is breaking because this is his fourth attempt. That tells me that he won’t stop trying until he succeeds. If B has failed at anything, it’s quitting.

This isn’t a post about religion or homosexuality. It’s about a friend that’s falling apart. It’s about someone that’s miserable, who needs help. And I don’t know what to do. But I’m desperate, and so is he.

Everybody’s got to find a reason,
Everyone’s got to face down the demons,
Maybe today you can put the past away.