Five words that have followed me since that day, a heavy burden upon weary shoulders. This was the moment when I gazed into the mirror and saw the shadow hovering over me. When I understood that an early death because of something I had no control over, was a likely outcome.
Now, I knew why the nation had cried out in agony, begging the unjust system to stop its torture. The feeling of pain was palpable, and my heart now ached alongside everyone else. With my entire being and soul, I could empathize with the world’s suffering. This cycle of barbarity needed to stop before the next victim was someone I knew; before the next victim was me.
As my sixteenth birthday approaches, I frequently reflect on this day. It marked a turning point in my life, integrating me with the harsh reality I had only ever seen from afar. Though I am thankful for the awareness I gained, I often long for the blissful ignorance of adolescence. Repeatedly, I ponder what my life would be like if my biggest concerns were superficial relationships and final exams. Sadly, this is not a world that I will ever get to experience. Though I have established long-lasting friendships with people who wholly love me, I see death prowling just beyond our conversations, waiting to pounce. My coming of age story is not a particularly happy one, nor is it meant to be. With these words, I lay my soul bare on the page, open to a reader’s interpretation. My only request is that you remember my story. It is one of millions, another soul encumbered by pain. Our stories deserve to be told, right? Don’t we deserve to live?