"For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain." ~ Apostle Paul (Philippians 1:21)
I've been a church attendee since I was a kid. In fact, I can still proudly remember receiving the Bravery Award during a Daily Vacation Bible School (DVBS) when I was still in early grade school - after I naively crossed a busy street just to buy some snacks. The funny thing is, only I could remember that. And it doesn't matter - especially after all these years.
Growing up under the shadow of my siblings, I often find myself competing not only for the attention of my parents, but the acceptance of my peers as well. I literally lived with envy, joining contests and school organizations to prove myself equal or better with my sister. From utterly failing in poster-making, slogan-making, writing contests during my elementary years, finally achieving recognition in science quiz bees, gaining prestige as a recurrent school representative in quiz bees during high school, getting into the school paper, and becoming a campus leader in various organizations. All because my sister had achieved those, too.
Yet at the end of each event and achievement - after I received the award, and all my friends and mentors go their own way, I only felt emptiness. Just like the dark corner of our house, where I sat as a sadly smiled at my glittering medals, careful enough not to stain my certificates with my teardrops.
I never thought of or attempted suicide. I didn't feel alive in the first place.
Until a storm hit our hometown back when I was in college. It was the first storm where I was literally living alone and away from my family, a storm where all my achievements didn't matter. I huddled alone in a corner, my fellow refugees keeping shelter nearby building where the flood couldn't reach us. All I had was some food to last for the night, a flashlight I always kept as a Boy Scout, some candles and matches, a blanket and some dry clothes, and a handy Bible that I used to read alot when I was younger (because I loved the stories).
The wind howled outside, but I could only listen to the raging voices inside me. Voices demanding why, what, where, and when. Voices seeking for answers, for justice and fairness. Voices sneering at my helpless solitude, made more ironic in the midst of strangers who were my neighbors for many years.
Yet only one voice quelled the welling tears in me. A voice that I sincerely sought for that night as the candles flickered with each gust of wind, threatening to silence the voice I read in that faithful story book I coincidentally brought with me. Until my weariness and the cold darkness stole the night away. Maybe I died that night, for I can't remember anything else, much less what I was reading at all. Not the cold, nor the fears and worries. All that was left was a smile, a smile that I shared with everyone in that old building, as we gazed at the clear skies.
I've been a church attendee since I was a kid. In fact, I can remember with embarrassment the Bravery Award I received during a Daily Vacation Bible School (DVBS), something for naively crossing a busy street just to buy some snacks. It's no different from joining contests for the heck of it, or being voted as a leader for the fame and opportunities. The funny thing is, I realized that if there was one thing I should be proud of those times - it should be of God's grace and protection.
I never thought of or attempted suicide. I didn't feel alive in the first place. Now, I do - alive, that is.
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