Candid Peel

This morning at around 5 a.m., I was woken up by loud screams. The sounds sent chills down my spine. My first thought was that someone somewhere really close by was getting murdered or raped.

Soon my lane was buzzing with neighbours in their nightwear flocking to the house where the screams originated. Other neighbours talked to each other to piece together what was going on. The police arrived shortly to rule out any foul play. I refrained from visiting that house since I did not know them personally, but I knew that in a few moments, I'll have all the details.

As the events unfolded, I learned that one of my neighbours had committed suicide. The screams I heard were that of a shocked mother who came to wake her 27-year old daughter for work, only to find a lifeless body hanging from a ceiling fan. The trigger for the suicide of this young woman who was to be married next month had been a tragic love story.

People, possibly out of disbelief, are still speculating on the tragedy and passing various forms of judgement on the person whose life ended this morning.

Earlier this month, another 25-year old girl from my university had jumped in front of a train. Her head had been detached in the process. She had been a recent graduate working as a demonstrator at the university. According to circulating news, it was another tragic love story.

I have a low opinion of people who succeed with suicide. To a great extent, I believe that they are selfish cowards who fail to comprehend the magnitude of grief that they thoughtlessly leave behind for their immediate family members. However, suicide is a complex issue. The reasons people commit suicide are many fold. Depression, impulse, psychosis and feelings of extreme helplessness are some of them.

Despite my low opinion of people who commit suicide, there was one particular era in my own life, many years ago, when even I seriously considered it. Consideration for my family members and the grief they would feel in my absence were dulled by the overwhelming feelings of despair built up over an extended time. Death felt like the only solace and the only control I had to put an end to the suffering. I had decided that I would overdose on paracetamol (now I know what an ill-thought plan it was for a suicide attempt!).

As I sat crying on the floor of a darkened room, I was half scared of what was going to happen after I swallowed a few pills, and I was half hoping someone would come bursting through the door to save me. Thankfully, a minuscule part of me was still sensible. A faint inner voice told me to take a paper and write. Yes, it was a strange request but one that probably saved my life that night. I thought I'd list out every memorable/ significant/ insignificant achievement I managed on my own up to that point in life.

In the first piece of paper, I scribbled every random thing that came to mind. How I started earning around age 15 by giving tuition, how I once swam to the middle of the river to save a beetle that was drowning, how I managed to get entry to a good university, how I had seen several children improve their grades with a little extra attention from me, how I had great childhood memories with my two friends, etc. The list kept extending till I filled in about 4 inky pages. By the time I read what I wrote a few times, I knew I had to put away the pills and pull myself together, somehow. Incidentally, that's what prompted me to re-attempt blogging.

Thinking back, maybe I didn't really want to die that day, I just wanted to be some place that I wasn't alive. Not everyone gets help on time and not everyone has the will to reverse a strong impulse like suicide when it does occur in the mind.

According to WHO, suicide is a global phenomenon. About 800,000 people die due to suicide every year and there are many more who attempt suicide. Millions of people are affected or experience suicide bereavement every year. Suicide occurs throughout the lifespan and is the second leading cause of death among 15-29 year olds globally. For each adult who died of suicide (like my neighbour) there may have been more than 20 others (like me) attempting suicide. Those are some sad statistics.

Risk factors

If you suspect anyone trying to attempt suicide:

1) Ask
If you think someone might be suicidal, ask them directly "Are you thinking about suicide?" Don’t be afraid to do this, it shows you care and will actually decrease their risk because it shows someone is willing to talk about it. Make sure you ask directly and unambiguously.

2) Listen and stay with them

If they say 'yes', they are suicidal, listen to them and allow them to express how they are feeling. Don’t leave them alone. Stay with them or get someone else reliable to stay with them.

3) Get help

Get them appropriate help. Call a crisis line if life is in danger. If you can get in straight away visit a GP or psychologist. Even if the danger is not immediate they may need longer term support for the issues that led to them feeling this way.

~ ~ ~

As I wrapped up this blog post, I once again heard the screams of the grief-stricken mother who just received the casket containing the embalmed body of her daughter.

M.Sc. for Juvenile Delinquents

Next month, I'll be done with one year of coursework. The six months after that will be spent on independent research with no more lectures or exams. And if everyone in class finishes their research projects on time (which is unlikely), we'll all meet again on graduation day in 2018.

Hurrah?

I think not.

I'm really going to miss my crazy classmates and the good times we had/ have during classes. I'm feeling a sense of dread and sadness when I think it's all going to be over in a few week's time. Even though the students are serious people during week days doing serious jobs like being lecturers, teachers, guest speakers, chemists, assistant directors, etc, during the weekend, it's a completely different story.

During the weekend, these same people are throwing things at each other, poking fun at each other, laughing like jackasses, plucking fruits from trees in the campus, poking each other with compasses, taking blackmail-worthy photos of other students sleeping for example, passing food while the lecturers turn their backs on the class, etc. Each different type of personality makes some contribution which makes the class a colourful and fun place to be (and if they don't contribute, they are automatically qualified as guinea pigs for the others to prey on). It's no wonder I fit in comfortably with this lot, despite coming from a slightly different background.

This really happens in postgraduate level classes

Being forced to spend about 14 hours every week for an year (except those weekends they closed down for strikes!), sharing food, sharing notes, sharing woes, copying each other's lab reports and assignments, attending class weddings, having each other's backs, uniting against injustices from the administration and going on field trips have made us closer. In a very recent incident, the eldest classmate, who we affectionately called "Big Brother" collapsed in class and died later in hospital. The incident shocked and shattered us, but in a profound way, the shared grief also made us closer.

They are a good bunch. Nearly all of them help with explaining concepts, notes and assignments (at the risk of bringing up the class average) without the slightest hint of reservation. This is one quality I found to be very strange. I recall in my undergraduate years, the student culture in that university didn't involve much sharing or approaching other students for help because of the highly competitive nature of the course.

Normally not one to display much emotion, I've subconsciously come to think of at least 75% of the batch as my children. I'm only younger than two of them. The youngest ones in class are eight years younger than I am. Every time they come to me for childish requests or guidance on things, I find my maternal instincts kicking in. Looking at their youthful eyes and potential, I constantly feel the urge to meddle in their personal affairs, open their minds to personal development possibilities they have not heard of, try to boost their sense of self-worth, feed them fruit and make sure they are not left behind in class. They are also quick to push me to the battlefront and line up behind me when they are too afraid to approach lecturers for certain requests or fear repercussions. Now on some level I realise they are using me, but I suppose I can let the small things pass.

Shuri, I think you are getting too soft with age.

Sometimes, I feel like this Possum mother. Seriously. 

There are many professions I could have excelled at, such as environmentalist, zoo keeper, veterinarian, semi-failed writer, failed musician, auditor or detective. However, what I was really born to be is a record keeper who observes people, collects information and analyses patterns. While I have been attending one year of coursework in environmental science, I have also been storing information on the personal lives of nearly 23 people I met in class.

If someone were to walk into my mind, they would find a vault. In that vault are several hundred files of people, arranged according to the various circumstances I met them, for example, "Family", "School", "Undergraduate", "Masters", "Childhood", "Teachers", "2nd Job in Singapore", "Dubai", etc. Some files contain more information than others, but usually each file has a photograph, name, age, educational background, family history, career profile, likes, dislikes, temperament, skills, born talents, quality of childhood, specific life events of adversity, aspirations, hidden potential, areas of expertise, etc. Files will be updated with any new information that comes along, even if it is long after we no longer interact on a regular basis.

I am of the opinion that collecting such information is essential to make an overall quality assessment on the people I let into my world, appreciate them and help me figure out how best to interact with them.

Ah, there's robotic Shuri again.

Having to leave behind friends and move on is a recurring fact of life. Some friends keep returning to your life even after long gaps of absence. The wonderful memories collected will be archived in yet another vault. If I'm lucky, some friendships from this chapter will stick and continue to age like good wine.