• Grasping for a Lifejacket


    “Life is the boat that drifts on the ocean called Time…” I said aloud, before roughly crumpling up the paper and throwing it away. I grumbled and fumbled with my pen and paper, throwing it on the ground angrily. I seethed as I noticed that I had used the back of my Science note paper to write that single, stupid line. Oh please--I can’t believe I wrote crap like that back in the seventh grade, thinking I was so good. I thought I was a poet, a writer, a muse. Obviously I wasn’t. And never will be.

    I pick up the piece of paper and opened up the paper ball, smoothing out the edges where it got crumpled. I sigh loudly as I shoved it in my binder roughly--it was not like I’d ever need it. Doing well academically is yet another one of life’s arena’s that I have failed in, crushed by the lions of reality. I sigh loudly before checking the time. 7:50... Still a ways before the bus came. What a bother… Might as well start playing some thrice-played-through games or something…

    “Here they are…” I mutter as I scanned the videogame case, my hand hovering over my old DS when I noticed a small stack of small notebooks, each only a bit over an inch thick, all filled with words and ideas and pictures of years past. At the top was a stack of yearbooks going way back into Elementary School. I smirk--maybe Allison will like these… She always seems to like reliving the times when life was less stressful… When the bothers of cheerleading, basketball, chess, and acting weren’t always top priority. Hell, when such things weren’t even part of our lives.

    Best friends since kindergarten… We were so close back then, inseparable. She’s not talking to be right now though… I’m sure she’ll talk to me again if I show her these… Maybe… But then again she’ll just say it’s a ploy to get back together again…

    “You’re so stupid Jairo! GOD! There‘s no hope for you…” I remember her yelling such words on Saturday night, a mere three days ago, simply cause I disagreed with her on some things. That’s the problem with her--it’s always all or nothing. Then again, bickering is the way all best friends stick together--a little fight, a lot of making up. Now I don’t even have a best friend… And I can’t stand losing her friendship…

    I push the yearbooks aside painfully, only to notice the light notebooks that I had always brought around with me, each almost an inch thick, but made with light, easily erasable paper. The covers were bound with fabric, custom made by Allen from the bookshop, a hang-out I used to go to before it was ‘uncool’ to go to such places.

    I picked the top one up and flipped through it, smirking at the age-old graphite and ink that I had so feverishly written in. So many half-assed ideas, so many aspiring stories that ended up as so much crap. I ended up on the front page and took a sharp intake of breath. I remembered now… The notebook was given to me by my friend Sophie from less than two years back… Back when she would read my stories and remark on how I would be such a good writer… We were so close back then… I bit my lip. Relations with her had gone sour as well…

    “There’s no hope with you Jairo…” she said simply yesterday night. The night she broke up with me, pushing me away as she left the park outside the school in a huff, pushing me away from her as I tried to catch up, relinquishing me of the chains of the relationship. The only thing I had left to hang on over the abyss of depression was gone, pulled away from me. I spiralled down pitifully, screaming bloody mercy. None was given. No, it’s over. No, you’re hopeless. No, you’ll NEVER be good enough.

    I couldn’t stand losing her either…

    “Get your a** out of here Jairo!” Mom yells, trying to be sarcastic but making it sound edgy and impatient. The remark shouldn’t have stung, but it did. It made me feel useless, just a thing taking up space… Friendless, alone, untalented little thing, stuck in the space between suicidal and overly depressed. I look over at the Tylenol tablets beside my bed for my occasional headaches. Just a mere five pills should do it… Maybe I’ll be lucky and die in my sleep… My hand reaches over to them in this moment of weakness, only to be brought back to reality.

    “Hey, Jairo, get down here before you miss your bus!” Mom shouts even louder now, already getting up the stairs. I reflexively put my hands in my pocket guiltily for thinking such thoughts. I sighed--how troublesome it is to be in such a situation. I grabbed my backpack and headed downstairs.

    ~~~

    I sit in the bus bitterly, looking at the lucky couples and close friends sit so eagerly with each other, not knowing how lucky they are… I grit my teeth as I looked at the cheery faces on billboards and posters promoting Valentines Day today at the sides of buses. Hallmark cards, Hershey Kisses, all that commercial crap. Love is in the ******** air all right--and I was drowning in it.

    The bus screeched to a halt, in turn pulling me out of my thoughts with a jerk. Grumbling, I grabbed my stuff and headed out with the crowd, bumping into as many couples as I could. Psh, what a stupid day… It’s making me feel even worse, the gap now feeling more needy, but with no one to plug in the hole.

    ~~~

    Entering the school, I knew for a fact that today would be a bad day. Sophie had not been to class, so I couldn’t even talk to her about what had happened lately. It seems she was still pretty much pissed. Allison was no different--she refused to even speak to me right now. I trudge through first period Science somehow, my hand heavy and my mind somewhere else… The teacher warned us of a test tomorrow. I barely flinched. Chalk one up in the burdens of my life… Just five and it’s over with…


    “I’m sorry, Jairo, but it’s hopeless…” said Mr. P, the Math Teacher, at the end of second period Mathematics, “But you’ll need to ace every test from here on out to move that D up to a C… Which even I wouldn’t bet on, no matter how much I trust in your abilities…” He grimaced and shrugged, a ‘what can you do?’ sort of face. I know what I’m gonna do… I thought, defeated. I sigh and take the failed test paper from his hands and shove it into my binder full of failures and mistakes. It felt heavier now than ever, the half-assed assignments and failed tests weighing down on me. What a failure…

    I’ll just throw it away afterwards… I won’t even show Mom, I don’t want to hear that lecture again. How I’m ruining my chances with College and University. That there’s no hope for a better future… Hell, I’ll probably never have to hear that lecture again… Just five… and I won’t have to worry about anything… Not a bad deal…

    I trudge over to the cafeteria for lunch. ‘At least I can’t fail eating…’ I thought solemnly, pushing my binder into my locker and taking out the brown baggie. I looked inside at my lunch. No such luck. I had gotten my lunch from yesterday, the empty plastic sandwich bag left there, crumbs clinging onto the inside. GOD! I can’t even get my lunch right… I crumple it up and throw it into my locker, slamming it closed. I wish I had the five with me even more…

    I stomp down into the cafeteria, grabbing for my nearly empty wallet in despair. I probably had enough for maybe a candy bar or something. Crap. What a day to skip breakfast… I scratch my head angrily, swimming through the crowds of waiting in line for candy hearts and cards and chocolate. What a waste of money… They didn’t even taste good. Especially the cards. They don’t make cardboard like they used to.

    I skip the lines--screw the love-me-do nonsense. It’s like a poison, killing me from the inside… Pick your poison indeed--and headed for the vending machines with the crumpled dollar bill in hand. With the coordination of a kindergartener, I inserted it into the machine, hoping that it would accept it. My stomach was already growling hungrily… and... No such luck. It spat it back out with a an agitated whir. I stuffed it back into the machine, only to have it sent back to me. I don’t touch the dollar and just wait as the machine continually ate up and spat out the dollar.

    In a few moments the snickers began as I wait awkwardly for the dollar to be accepted. In those few moments I realized that the dollar and myself were very similar. Both of us were rejects from the perfect, ever-so strait group that was accepted, each trying to fit in. Continually, stubbornly, relentlessly. And yet, each and every time we try, we get spat out, pushed away from the accepted group of kids, only to try and get in again. I clench my fist angrily and snatched the bill.

    Screw it, I‘m going back home. Where the five are waiting for me…

    ~~~

    I sit in my room, fingering the container mournfully. I hear the c***k of pills, making me smirk. Just five… Just five… I opened the little Tylenol bottle and looked at the small red pills. Just five would do. I pop them out and saw them simply sitting on my palm, looking so innocent.

    A knock on my door makes my hand fly from my pocket. Of course Mom has to barge in right before I take them… As usual she is so inconveniently convenient, always there right before I do something bad or stupid.

    “Jairo, why haven’t you gone back to school?” she asked, coming inside before I could respond. My hand quickly puts the five into my pocket, making barely a bulge. I simply held up the bottle and shrugged, tapping my head painfully. She sighed, shaking her head. “Honestly Jairo, you seem to always be sick nowadays… Why so glum? Cheer up--it’s Valentines, or haven’t you noticed? Sometimes I think you’re so hopeless, just sitting there wasting your life away moping. Live a little!” With that, she sighed--loud and dramatic as usual, as if I wouldn’t get the point of what she’s saying otherwise--and left, leaving me silently screaming in her wake.

    Yes, I know I’m hopeless Mom. Like you always tell me everyday. Whenever I forget a chore or a dury or some homework. Whenever I get bad grades or do some stupid act at school… No hope for a bright future… Hell, no future period it seems…

    I sit idly by my desk yet again it seems. Should I write a note? Would they want one? Would they expect one? I used to think I was some great writer, able to spin tales and make great fantasy worlds. Able to rhyme on cue and fill up a notebook in no time at all. I finger the lightly-patterned edges of the notebook that I had skimmed through this morning and sigh, an act I seem to be doing a lot lately. I’d spend hours filling notebook after notebook with images and ideas, stories and poems, sometimes just little thoughts given to me spontaneously by the things around me.

    That was when I felt most proud--most alive. When I write my stories, when I pour my soul into my words. Writing and dreaming and scheming and thinking I was good at it, flavouring my stories with adjectives and adverbs, nouns and verbs. And then having my words, my stories read--eaten, tasted, and digested--and having my soul looked at with pride. Especially with my friends… That’s when they tasted that much better.

    But I had started to stop writing recently, my passion, my soul, empty and gone. The drive was through, the need to eat at rest. I felt dead, my hands which were so skilful with the words seemed to fumble just to write out the note I would leave before I die. My once sweet stories have turned bitter with resentment and sadness. “Just a simple little note…” I said to myself aloud. That’s all I’ll ever need to write… I can’t do anything right, and I can’t stand facing the reminders of my failures anymore…

    The doorbell rings outside. “Can you go get it?” yells my mom from the kitchen downstairs, her voice muffled by the door, “I’m a bit busy…”

    ‘Fine, I’ll do the note later…’ I thought, getting up, laying down my pen with finality. ‘Just a few more minutes… and it’s over…’ I drag myself up and head downstairs. The faint smell of cinnamon was in the air, but my gloom drove it away, blocking my senses. The five that I feel in my pocket gave a satisfying feeling, calming my nerves.

    “Yeah, what is it?” I said sloppily, opening up the door.

    “Oh, hey Jairo…” said, to my surprise, Ciela--a girl that was in the background in my group of friends, part of it, but not really a large part, although we had been together since Grade 3. She seemed flush-faced and tired. In her hands was a simple pink package, rectangular-shaped and clutched like it was the most treasonable thing ever. She thrust it forward, almost dropping it from her hands. I gingerly took it from her with a smile.

    “Is it… for me…?” I said cautiously, not knowing what to expect, “Th…thanks…?” I was walking on eggshells here. I didn’t even realize she felt this way for me, let alone give me a gift like this. I slowly open it up to reveal a book, bordered gracefully in a moonlit pattern of stars and crescents. Upon opening, I found it empty…

    “It’s… blank…”

    “Not quite,” she replied, blushing, “There’s a message in the front, way back when we were younger. It’s a journal--a notebook--for you Jairo. For your words…”

    I flip the front to read what it said…

    Life is the boat that drifts on the ocean called Time
    And hope is the life jacket that saves us from
    The rough storms of depression and pain.


    I smiled brightly and so did Ciela. “I still remembered…” she said, blushing profusely now, “I… I believe in your words Jairo, no matter how bad you may think they may be… I know you can be a great writer someday…” With that, she pecked me in the cheek before she bowed, Asian-style, and left quickly, the deed done.

    I felt better now, despite holding the heavy, thick-paged notebook in my hands. Somebody believes in me and in my dreams, even when I’ve stopped believing in myself. When I thought I was beyond all hope, when the storms of depression and pain washed over me, drowning me, my failures and expectations weighing me down, someone cared for me. I clutch the journal to my chest and a feeling I haven’t felt in ages and ages ago returns. I felt the need to write. But most important of all, I just… want to be me…

    When the storm was darkest, when I was so close to drowning… I flip through the blank pages, and felt myself rising through the thick waters I had slowly been sinking in for the past few days. Someone had given me a life jacket--someone had given me back some hope.

    I took the pills that were in my pocket--the temptation within the tempest. Angrily, I threw them onto the ground in front of my door, making sure Ciela wasn’t around to see me. With finality, I smashed them with the heel of my foot, the deadly white powder within revealed, fine bits of red evident within the remains. I had just been given the best Valentines Day present of all. The storms have yet to pass, but maybe there’s hope for me after all, still wishing to cling onto that lifejacket.