Our Legacy?

            How are we identified? How are we classified? This darn thing called the society has all the power. Only it knows what is right and what is wrong. It can determine the how your whole life experience may turn out, how others will see and judge you. A little too much power for a mere term made of billions of people. Yes, society is made by none other than mankind. We are the ones that create this ‘society’, ones that feed it and evolve it. So when someone says ‘What has our society come to?’ what will you answer? There is no one to blame, but ourselves. Just as we are the ones that write our own history, we are the ones forming this so called society. So, when you graduate from high school, is this what you are proud of?

            Walking down the high school halls for the last time, this was the only thought that filled my entire being. Is this going to be the legacy of our generation? Are we going to be remembered as the ones who are responsible for creating outcasts, bullying others, and judging everyone like a cover of a book? Is there nothing to do to change this?

            But then, I realized that we, the ones that create our society, do it out of pity for ourselves. We do it to make ourselves feel better. We make ourselves less lonely by trying to merge ourselves with others to be part of something, even if it’s not our true self.

            Simply as a human being, we crave company and cannot stand the thought or feeling of being alone. It is simply the unthinkable. Everything anyone has done is in desperate need of company, of other’s company, even if it is someone that is frowned upon in society. This art, of being alone, comes to us naturally. Everyone knows how to be alone.

            So how do we choose to fight this natural concept? By surrounding ourselves with other lonely ones.

I remember this one class, we read a poem. “The race of man is suffering/ And I can hear the moan. ‘Cause nobody, But nobody Can make it out here alone.” (Alone by Maya Angelou)

As I slid down, back to the lockers, I can’t help but notice the deadening silence all around. The school has never been this quiet before. How true these words have been. There is no way to make it out of this world alone, to make it through this world even. Even in my short existence on this planet, I can fully justify that. My family and my friends carried me through everything. High school is alike a minefield, one wrong step and you’re blown away, away from the action, away from everything. You simply do not exist in this world anymore. As I tiptoed my way through high school, almost stepping on a couple mines, my friend was not so lucky.

“In fine we thought that he was everything To make us wish that we were in his place.” (Richard Cory by E.A. Robinson) In fine, we thought she was fine. Had everything that a girl her age needed. Seemed to have taken all the right steps and done everything right.

The trail of red liquid had prolonged and grown. It almost reached me now. No matter how much I run from this, I will never escape it. I can run to the ends of this Earth, yet the stream will always follow me where I go.

I still ask myself, who am I really? What will I be proud of in 5 years? 10 years? 20 years? Even though it seems that my life hasn’t even ran half its course yet. But now I can never be sure. Someone so solid, so sure of herself, can doubt for two seconds and end up on the other side of the view. What about me then? Would I have the roots of assurance for myself to keep me grounded? To keep myself from thinking too much?

I can only hope. Mankind can only hope that there are those strong ones that exist out there.

“Tessie Hutchinson was in the center of a cleared space by now, and she held her hands out desperately as the villagers moved in on her. ‘It isn’t fair,’ she said. A stone hit her on the side of the head.” (The Lottery by Shirley Jackson) She was just like Tessie. She didn’t even see it coming, yet the demons of her life surrounded her. There was nothing to be done. It was nonetheless unfair, but still, nothing to be done.

I finally stood up from my place and followed up the trail of red.

“’Thank you, Zachary,’ I said.” (The Charmer by Budge Wilson) Just as Winnifred thanked her brother for the experience during her childhood, I thank my dear friend. She has taught me more than I can ever imagine. She assured me in my times of weakness, yet I cannot return the favour. It is through our interaction, our friendship, that I learned from her, the secrets of life.

I dialled 911 on the phone.

“911, how may we help you?”

“I would like to report a suicide at the high school.”

Rest in peace, my dear friend.