25 11.2: Poets and White Coats (2/2)

”I mean, I could've been a doctor if I wanted to, but my heart beats mad in wisps of poetry and hums of words. My heart wasn't made for anything else. It was my passion. English literature was the subject I looked forward to in my day. I didn't have the steady hands surgeons have and couldn't possibly imagine myself doing anything else but it.

”I've been dealing with strict parents all my life. This-this wasn't any different. This wasn't supposed to be any different-” He corrects himself. ”My parents- Dad mainly, influenced by Mum, made it a point several times that I wasn't allowed to do poetry. That I should focus and focus only on that damned white coat-” He sniffs. ”He would harass me every time by going on and on about all the sacrifices they made for me. Sacrifices I never asked for.

”And I suppose, at one point, I realized that I wasn't living for myself anymore-” He pauses. ”I was just a mean to achieve their dreams. Not mine. And I refused to live a life that'd steal my heartthrob, I refused to settle. And you know, I never thought of suicide before. I never ever tried...hurting myself. I didn't really understand what could drive a person to such fate.

”Until one day, without any planning or second thoughts, I find myself in front of that bridge. It was the last time I felt anything, you know, and I pride myself that I still remember half of it. I remember how hot and sticky it was and how jumping into the water seemed quite appealing. How ironically cold it was to touch the bridge's rusty start and how tight my shoes were. I remember how it felt to sweat thoroughly through my shirt and past my eyebrows. I remember it all. And I remember that I was mostly... alone-” He shifts and rests his head on the wall.

”Maybe it's because technology sucked back then. Text messages weren't something common-” He gestures with his left hand. ”And I'd like to think that that's why my friends weren't able to be there when I needed them the most. I'd like to think that people's lack of awareness regarding suicide back then was the reason why no one questioned the presence of a teenager on a bridge amidst the cars. So, yes, I was alone-” He nods exaggeratingly. ”With my turbulent thoughts and I didn't know better because really, no one was there to advise me.”

I close my eyes. ”Tobias-”

”You know, there isn't much to do around here-” He says, cutting me off. ”Truly. Except for thinking and thinking of excuses and more excuses to justify your reason. This one reason that really drove you to your end. And I know that what I did was very shortsighted and stupid. Very stupid-” He makes a face and shakes his head. ”And truly, when your 47 years old soul is paying for your 17-year-old mistake, it does leave you regretful. Because I spent 30 cycles just thinking of other possible ways I could've solved my problem with.”

I gulp. ”And did you?”

Tobias turns to me, blinks. ”Did I what?”

”Did you find other ways?” I ask cautiously and Tobias takes his time to smile, just to wipe it all away.

”Oh, like how I could've been both a doctor and a poet? Like how I could've just run away from my parents and done what I wanted? Like how I could've done anything, anything but end my life?” Tobias shakes his head. ”I mean, I cannot possibly believe how killing myself was any easier than any of the previous options-”

”It's for the weakest-” I find myself saying as my fingers find my lips. ”This choice is for the weakest.”

”No, listen-” Tobias inhales deeply, coarsely. ”For all my poetic flare, this choice was the least poetic. This choice meant completely giving up. I mean if I really did love poetry, if it was really my passion, I would've lived for it. So my choice was very irrelevant. It was pointless. I gave up.”

”You did what you had to do-” I say pathetically.

”There should be a limit to the things one can do. Some options shouldn't even be options. There are things we shouldn't interfere with-” He shuts his eyes, taps his feet. ”Things like death. Things that are way beyond us. We should know the challenges we're taking up. We should know when to stop and we should understand that there are things that are even worse than the reason you'd want to kill yourself for-”

”Like what?” I ask numbly.

Tobias turns to me, with frowning lips and glowing, hurt hazels. ”Like feeling the pain of others.”

”It does hurt-” I tell him, remembering Jacob. ”It hurts a lot.”

”What hurts more is not being able to help them out-” He says. ”What hurts more is knowing that you're only given the 'privilege' of being a spectator. That you no longer have no say on anything-”

I sniff. ”I hate this-”

”I hate how those people you knew have other sides to themselves that you could've loved them or hated them for-” He says. ”I hate that I got to know the depth of my parents' love and care for me after I offed myself. I hate that I could've loved them if they showed me more understanding. I hate that they thought they were doing what was best for me, only to find my dead body floating, you know-”

I nod silently because even though I would like to agree, my scenario was quite different. My parents, in fact, didn't care at all.

”You had any siblings?” I ask instead.

”No-” He says. ”Wish I did. Wish there was someone like that there for me.”

My heart bruises a little, knowing that I was ungrateful for the blessing of having brothers. Even though we're not biologically related.

”At least we've got us-” I tell him and he stares at me for a while before scoffing.

”For a while, yes-” He says and looks away.

I wipe away at my eyes. ”Forever,” I say.

Tobias looks at me and inhales deeply. He then shakes his head and his eyes water again. ”You know-” He chokes out. ”I wish that could be true.”

”It will be-” I say determinedly.

”I wish it was our choice, you know-” Tobias says steadily, tears falling down his cheeks.

My heart beats faster. ”What do you mean?” I blink at him. ”We have a choice. We always do-”

”Really? You think God would give us a choice when we didn't give Him a chance to better our lives?” Tobias says brokenly.

”God's merciful-” I choke out, my mind building up theories I don't want to believe, I don't want to believe, I don't want-

”We didn't believe in it now did we? When we were alive and suffering?” Tobias says.

”You're scaring me-” I say, my lips already quivering.

”Oh, there's nothing to be scared of-” Tobias tries saying indifferently. ”In a cycle or two, you'll forget about me and I'll forget you too.”