• [This short story is about a teacher that had passed away on 25th May 2009. I'm not sure about her name though as she wasn't teaching in my class :/
    But anyway, she kinda jumped off the building from the 30th floor and the incident was all over the papers the next day.
    I wrote this story, somehow narrating the thoughts that might be in her mind that very moment when she made that decision.
    Nobody knew the real reason why she commited suicide.]

    I ate alone. I slept alone. I walked alone.
    Everything I did, I did it all alone by myself. It wasn't what people called independent. It was more of being alienated instead. Now that I came to another country, my condition became worse.
    For years, I built walls around myself, afraid of talking people. Except for teaching, that is. I felt like two different person when I'm teaching and when I'm not, though both of them amounted to the same me.
    I stayed at home most of the time, avoiding crowded places of town. Reading, drawing and music were my only escape. They comfort me with everything they've got. I never minded solitary moments. Not yet anyway.
    I wrote to escape from the real world. It voiced out every single thought I had in mind.
    I take out my book and earpiece every time I return home from school-my workplace. Both are essentials that kept me company throughout the whole journey, allowing me to be void from the noise around me.
    Sometimes I wonder how I had survived for the past 26 years of my life.
    I looked at some others on the papers-the celebrities that partied all day- and tried to figure how they had survived on such a chaotic lifestyle.
    Many times I've shouted. Yet no one heard. Or rather, people heard but they just didn't bother.
    How was I to survive in the endless meaningless roads to come? I have no idea.
    I figured the best idea would be shutting myself from people, much as they isolate me. Many thought I was weird and anti-social. They hadn't voice it out, but I just know it. I wasn't being paranoid about it and I am certain about this point.
    Mum and Dad aren't here. Since young, they expected quite a lot from me. The time we spent was less then the time I teach. You can imagine how little that has to be. The only thing I did was to be immune to everything. That saved me.
    I look back at my life every now and then. There was nothing worth celebrating, unlike other people. There wasn’t anything fun and exciting about it. Life was dull and isn't anything better than death.
    So what was death to me anyway?

    I felt the breeze, singing out into my ears on a cool May afternoon. The trees on along the street danced gracefully along to the slow music. They seemed happy. Well, at least happier than I was. I looked up into the sky. It was light blue but some shades of gray clouds loomed over it. Just then, I felt a drop of water on my face. It had started to drizzle.
    The view from the top of the building was calm. I enjoyed its serenity. Nothing felt better then this. The heavy metal world out there rang in my ears. It irritated me. I shunned that thought out of my head. The tranquility up here was much more appreciated by me.
    As it continued to pour, I figured that maybe god was shedding its tears for a poor soul like me. The sad life that amounted to nothing.
    “No one would remember me..” The thought came to my mind.
    I finished the last chapter of my book and close it.

    Struggling to the top of the parapet, I stood up on it unsteadily. My legs shook lesser than I thought it would. I guess I had been waiting for this moment. I took a step forward and felt the free fall. Nothing had stopped me. I guess my existence was a redundance. I had made a right decision.

    Finally, there was something about my life that seemed thrilling.