The phrase “the suicide victim” has always baffled me. Who is the “victim” of suicide; the one who kills him/herself or the people that are left behind? Am I selfish to suggest that it is us, those left with no answers, when all along we had not the empathy to know you well enough?
However, the truth is, there is something indescribable about being the one left behind. I know I barely knew you, but your death makes too much sense to go unnoticed. We are fools to experience this world as more that what it is: a world filled with senseless-ness, feelings frayed and forgotten, sympathy and empathy all but murdered by commercialism and consumerism. We are shells walking the seashore below the million dollar houses. I once described the life of the adult as that of playing monsters. We stalk each other constantly, wary of showing our weakness, wary of showing kindness; it has always seemed like just a game. You hardly remember me, but I think you would have liked that analogy.
Your death fills me with sadness, not because you escaped our world, but because you left me behind. You took all you could from life and it was never enough. You travelled the world in search of something, and you never did find it. You were the beautiful one, and yet we let the world eclipse you. But what does that say for us? Fools in an unforgiving world.
So, yes, I hardly ever crossed your thoughts, but you were still a small light in my life, one of many. I think back to our few moments of interaction and I realise that it is only now, that you are gone, that I can see the scope of your humanity. You were learned and wise; the most beautiful man that I have ever laid eyes upon. I doted on you in my innocence and you were kind and humble in return. Sometimes it requires but brief moments to see something in someone, and you made more of an impact in brief moments than many others have and will. Such was the brightness of your star.
And so I quote again your friend when she states “Isitya esihle asidleli”. You were beautiful and you were looked up to and now you took yourself away.
So now those left behind are faced with the struggle to forgive you, to fight the anger they feel and answer the questions they are confronted with. Was there a lesson in this, did you attempt to try to tell us something of this world? Could it be that you are telling us that this isn’t enough, that we are lost in our worldly playground, unfulfilled in our meaningless actions…? I know that more now than I knew it a moment ago.
You continue to speak in death (saying more to me than you did in life), and I am grateful that you have reminded me: “Give up the game”, you say, “Where is the kindness?”
Now I cannot yet leave this alone; your Lecturer was right: “For, to know and to trust that we are loved, is the most difficult thing.”
People have said “Hamba Kahle” but I say “stick around and burn and burn and burn.” We must live for you, through you, in memory of you, all around you but without you. Do not tolerate our clichés and do not let us expect more from life than we are willing to fight for. Break us down, challenge us, do not let us get away too easily. This life is not simple, yet only the weak survive. They do not demand more, like you did. You cared too much and there was never enough oxygen for you to breathe. But now we can build a house out of your ideas and passion, and keep warm by the fire of your memories.
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