I’ve had enough of the familiar sights, sounds, and smells in any hospital. I don’t know why, but I simply despise it, be it for any reason- the smell of medicine sticking into the air; the cacophony of the crying in one room and the wailing in another; the lousy sad faces in every corner; the silent screaming of aching hearts; the heavy yet empty footsteps of people who are grieving. It’s simply the opposite of an ideal community for me.

But then again, there I was. This time, I overlooked my earlier reasons. I was troubled because of something bigger.

I was skeptical but I had to follow my conscience. It felt wrong to force myself to visit him. But I sensed a need to embarrass myself just to see how he was doing. He was a good friend, and I owed him my life. And somehow, that probably just said it all.

I figured that I couldn’t do it impromptu. So, I rehearsed a bit. I just didn’t know what to do next. All I knew was that it was going to be awkward.

Doing a scripted visit was humorous. But back then, it wasn’t a laughing matter. It was like torture, to be exact- to give solace when nobody would accept it.

As I practiced, I was expecting two- either there would be fighting, yelling, and slapping, or they will give me the silent treatment.


Well, scene number 2 was on. And it was worse than I thought. Think about breathing in cellophane. That was the feeling. I still acted casual though as I tried to accommodate myself in the room. It was filled with people- none of whom was my acquaintance. But all were clearly filled with vengeance and hate- towards me.

I was just trying to reach out. I was just trying to send a message- that I was a friend. But apparently, they weren’t mine.

I knew their motive was to make me feel daunted and unwanted. I knew how they felt about what I’ve caused. I knew the silence said: “You should be more sorry than thankful because he saved you.” And I respected that. But I must say, that was too much hostility. But honestly, amidst all that, there was something comforting about disappearing in a sea of people.

Or so I thought. The sentimentality going on between him and his family and friends made me feel that I didn’t belong. I couldn’t confront him because of it. I thought that less interaction would mean less drama. But no.

Forty minutes had gone by and I still found myself in that same old chair. I realized that I was just prolonging my agony, and at the same time, wasting what I’ve practiced. “All right, you have to solve this… Now.”

Those were the voices. But I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed due to the petty reason that I felt tiny in their presence. It was like as if their inhumane gestures were controlling me, making me more docile to them. He didn’t even care. And that made me feel colder inside. All he did was look outside, staring at something distant, as if lost in deep thoughts.

“Is this all necessary? To make me feel so low? I’m sorry, okay? ”, I couldn’t help but blurt it out.

If you think that a dead silence and staring eyes following that is bad enough, then think again. What if, after that, they just did their usual business of small talking and sappy loving? The situation, if thoroughly described, was as disparaging as being in a huge occasion where people are too important to talk to you. It was a keen reminder that they wanted me to feel unwelcomed and inferior.

I tried to be optimistic, saying to myself that they’re just trying so hard to make me feel alone. And they’ve succeeded. Cheers to them.

But sadly, I had too much. And the first thing that popped into my mind was the door. I couldn’t handle seeing more and more of myself being thrown away just like that. I couldn’t imagine what’s worse. Not until a zephyr blew a slightly crumpled paper to me that answered all the haunting questions.

I was just so naive into believing those things.

Right at that moment, I was torn to pieces- no, crushed… if there was even a piece to start with.

I still owed him though, but not that much.

“So, that’s why they treated me like a ghost”, I mumbled.