WARNING: This is a work of fiction. This does not reflect the author’s opinion or decision.
initial draft 11/28/2015
I think I’ll have to find some asylum from the world around me. I should be happy. I’d better be. But the thing is, I am not. I’m clearly not happy. Far from it. I’m not happy. I’m depressed. GOD! STOP THIS! I thought writing things down will help me sort things out. Well, I think it kind of does? I don’t know. I don’t like forcing myself to be happy. I want to do something to be happy. Well, if I’m going to die some day and just puff off as what I think is the most likely outcome of death, then why do I bother delaying the puffing off a little compared to the eternity that’s facing the world? I don’t find any reason. STOP!!! I guess I’ll stop here today. Or forever. This is definitely not helping me. Only getting worse.
Well, I think I’m kind of into this idea of writing things down a bit. Let’s start with some positive. Oh, that sounds like I will start getting into some negative things. God I can’t help but being negative. DON’T USE THE WORD!!! I make the rules right now! First, I will not use the word “negative.” Second, I will not erase what I wrote down. I think that second one is a little peculiar. But I think that’s good, because I like to write down the line of thought. It shows how I used to think when I look back on this time from the future.
Yes, I was always happy in my memories. I don’t know if it’s just me but my memories are very faint, almost invisible and subtle. But they are still there. One day with snow. With my brother I used to play with Lego. It was such a fun thing. Hilarious. I was the best builder of Legos ever. I never seemed to be able to hear anything when I was playing with the blocks. Another day I watched cartoons with my brother as usual. Digimon Frontier it was. That’s when I found my want of female. I don’t mean it in a way that’s usual. I wanted to be a girl. I’ve been wanting to be a girl. Maybe that’s the reason I’m so depressed. Come on, Jake. Gotta be positive. Anyway, I want to be a girl.
Yes, my parents are very liberal in Asian standards (because we are Asians). But that’s in Asian standards. I don’t think they will tolerate transgender son. Transgender daughter? I don’t know. Whatever the pronoun would be, I don’t think they will enjoy it. Absolutely not. But I think I want to be a girl. Ever since I saw that cartoon where a character transformed into a cute butterfly-like heroine, I’ve been wanting to be a girl. I knew that, but it didn’t occur to me that I could really be a girl until now. I guess it’s the culture that prevented me from thinking that.
Korean culture is still very traditional. Which means that transgenders are not to be tolerated. Even the most liberal society in the world, America doesn’t seem to welcome transgenders. The connotation the word “gay” carries substantiates the point. I’m not gay. I just simply want to be a girl. Even I, who seeks to refuse to be assimilated into the American hatred of being gay, want to be excluded from gays. I’m such a hypocrite. I advocate gay marriage and should be gay but I refuse to be one.
Point is this: I believe that my depression stemmed from the fact that I want to be a transgender and my family won’t approve it. I don’t know. Is this the situation in which you have to choose your family or doing what you want, in this case transgender operation? Even if I do manage to escape my family, I would I get the money for the operation?
I jump out of my bed and look out the foggy window. I touch it and it is cool against my complicated hands. Outside is my neighborhood, resting peacefully as if no one is unhappy. Only the cold winter wind howls against the window and nobody’s watching me. Why am I so utterly alone? Was I this lonely even a few years back when I was in Korea? I don’t really know. I guess I was. My theory is that I was just the same all throughout, but only now do I care more. I sucks. I really does.
Suddenly I feel a great urge for an action. A very drastic one. It is clearly the time with nobody watching me. No one cares. Who cares if one less being breathes on the enormous Earth? It’ll make no difference.
I grab the notebook next to my phone on my bed-side table and write my last words. Funny how I want to have last words. It is psychology that someone who ends his own life wants to leave some message behind. I do the same, just as the millions had done.
Mother, don’t worry. I will be in the happy place. You know it, don’t you. Heaven is happy for sure. I will wait for you there. I just wanted to be a girl, if you want to know why. I just couldn’t escape the culture, the cultural bindings. I know it is human nature to have culture that binds and prohibits, but why should it? I guess all will fall apart once culture stops discriminating.
Of course, that is in Korean. Who writes their last words in their second language? Mother tongue speaks to your heart, whereas the second language speaks to your brain. My last words are spoken to my mother’s heart. Hopefully that won’t hurt her too much. It is my selfishness to write it in the language that speaks to my heart, because now I don’t want to die. But I do want to die. I feel it useless and wasteful.
My room is devoid of anything weapon-like. Actually, it’s almost devoid of anything except my bed and the table. Well, a determined person can do whatever he wants. I unplug everything for the symbol of leaving everything behind in its most clean state. Now I’m ready. I will go painfully, but I will go anyway. I open my window and its netted layer. I climb up to the roof, clinging to the painfully cold and hard metal part under the roof. When I finally make it I almost go back into my room. So cold, so depressed, so exhausted was I. But I can’t go back. I know it.
I close my eyes for the last time. And then off I go toward the underworld.
There is something familiar to this sight of darkness. Somewhat quaint is its blackness. In the womb, we all used to find comfort in the complete lack of light surrounding us. I feel that this darkness that’s surrounding me right now is one of the kind. Comforting darkness, perhaps this is what death means. I keep drifting toward unconsciousness and I don’t have the strength to fight it. So here I go toward the oblivion again.
After hours, days, or maybe months, I’m back to consciousness. Here I am in a space so white that I don’t seem to catch much image from it. Every direction I have my eyes on, there’s not much spectacle. There is only eternal emptiness. Soothing darkness has evolved into menacing lightness.