For my mother’s sake

TW: Suicide and depression

My mom would usually avoid talking about death, she hates it, she fears death, and she will find the best way to avoid talking about it. I can still vividly remember that one evening when we were having our dinner. Out of nowhere, I simply told my sister that I wanted that one song of Ebe Dancel to be played in my burial ceremony.

There was a sudden shift of mood on my mother’s face, she was angry, thinking that it was foolish of me to say that. But my sister said she would play it, just to tease our mother. And then we started to argue about it, and she told us that talking about death is not funny, and she said that “death is not beautiful.” These kinds of conversations with my mom are too funny for me because I can see the look on her face that she’s annoyed, and I love seeing her face like that. I and my sister would laugh about it.

Whenever I have the chance to tease my mother by talking about death, I’d grab that chance. One evening when we were watching a film together, I blurted, “Mommy, ‘pag namatay ka, paakyat ka pa lang papuntang heaven, mararamdaman mo na may kukuhit sayo, kasi kasunod mo na agad ako.”

My sister laughed, I laughed, and my mother smiled a little. They said here I am again making silly jokes. But that time I wasn’t joking, because I can never bear the thought of my mother being gone. It was my simple way of telling them that I am anxious, stressed, and maybe even depressed because I can’t see myself doing anything in the future. I lost my sense of purpose, and the only thing that kept me going was my mom. I want to give her a happy life, but I don’t know how, and that is why I said that because I meant that if she dies, I will kill myself.

The last two years of the pandemic made me lose my sense of purpose; I was anxious about everything. Depression was like an uninvited guest that kept entering my room at night. It gave nonconsensual hugs that suffocated me. I couldn’t breathe to the extent that I just wanted to end it. During those moments, nights were quiet but not peaceful. Anxiety made my heart beat so fast, almost as if it was trying to pound my chest so hard. I think it even broke a rib. It felt painful, and as someone who has a low tolerance for pain, I prayed to God to take my life immediately.

After those long, depressing nights, mornings would eventually come. I would greet my mom a “good morning” and smile at her as if nothing has happened. Her smile cures my pain, her food makes my heart flutter and my stomach fatter. She would cook my favorite longganisa and fried chicken whenever I request it. She knew I was going through something, but she didn’t exactly know what it was. Maybe that is the reason why she didn’t reject my food requests.

I remember that one specific morning after I had my episode, she cooked longganisa and salted eggs because I requested them the previous night. I realized this woman would do everything for me, from the biggest to the tiniest things, such as preparing my favorite breakfast. “I can’t die,” I told myself, this woman deserves so much better, and it would give her excruciating pain seeing me lifeless.

Killing myself won’t end the pain, because it might be passed on to someone, maybe to my mother, my family, or my friends. Although I am still not okay, but my mother keeps me going.

Right now, whenever I am going through something, I rethink my purpose; and that is to make my mother happy. I know it might not be helpful for everyone, but it works for me, and that is how I decided not to kill myself.

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Emil John Valenzuela, 22, is a communication arts student from the University of the Philippines Los Baños.

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