Today, we are burying Joe for the third time.

The first time was in 2012 because of a motorcycle accident.

The second time, a skiing accident in 2015.

This time ... suicide.

The Missus is distraught and can't blame her. I'm shook up with this myself.

Does that mean in three more years, it'll start again where we have to bury Joe? I surely hope not, but it seems it's been every three years.

What next? A car wreck? Cancer? I just don't know.

People around here have said the Missus and I were out there on this one, but it was our choice. Well, actually mine, but the Missus went along with it. I got the idea from a boxer. He did it and it worked out good for him, so why not for us, right?

It's a nightmarish hell we live. Wondering when we'll have to go through this again.

We named all our sons, Joe.

October 17th 2084. Tuesday, 9:38pm. Too tired to watch the end of the movie tonight, I’ll finish it tomorrow. I turn the main computer off. Slowly move myself from the living room to the bedroom. Matthew is already sleeping. I painfully climb on the bed next to him. Quickly fall asleep. I should have finished this movie. Now, I'll never have the chance again.

Every life has purpose.

Our dreams enlighten our purpose, steer our life towards a goal.

There is not one mountain to conquer or an amount of experience.

But there is an invisible countdown.

Our lives are ticking ; we don't know that what ties this clock, is purpose.

I was a kid when I figured Iwould grow up and be a doctor.

Obstacles or not, I didn't get into medical school.

But serving humanity is never locked, I've learnt.

We do that by simply smiling, or opening up our hearts and sharing love.

In terms of future career roles, I found a really compromising one - my life matters because I matter and you matter. And as a psychology student, I'm learning to appreciate the gold in gratitude, and the warmth in unity - what I've always seen, but the current ocean I'm sailing on just gives a greater perspective.

Shhhh...

Do you hear that silence?

Well, the noise in my head

Is clashing violence

Please

Let me ask you

In the quiet

What’s your mind do?

Have you wondered

What it’s like to die?

Have you seen a river

That’s run bone dry?

Do they tell you

to “Hush”

When your greatest dreams

have just been crushed?

Have you ever

Heard the blackness speak

Either a passing word

Or harsh critique?

Have you seen

A smile that was just “off”

Reappear in an object

With its scornful scoff

Painted in the dark

Do you continue to see

People trashing

On their last plea?

Maybe then

You’re just like me.

Because it just does.

No one gets to decide whether or not they’ll exist. Or when they’re born.

So by extension, no one gets to decide when they go. Or the date of expiration.

You just don’t.

That would be excessively conceited.

You get choices all the time,

So don’t be greedy,

Get appreciative.

Be thankful.

Make your soul sing beauty

On April 26th, 2018...I got the call I've always dreaded...My sister called to tell me that our dad was in the hospital again. This was the day that I finally chose my dad over my drug addiction. On April 26th, I got sober.

For the past 7 years, I always avoided my dad's phone calls because I was just too high to talk to him...too high to fake it. I could tell from the sound of his voice and from how short the phone call was that he knew I was high. He always said he had to go...but I knew what that meant. At a certain point in my addiction, I just stopped answering his phone calls because I was too ashamed to answer and have him know how fucked up I was everyday. I couldn't hear that sound in his voice, the sound of disappointment. I couldn't talk to him about it because I was supposed to be the stable one, the golden child, the one who was responsible... I would always tell myself, "I'll call him back when I sober up a little bit...", but that rarely happened. I always had some excuse to not call: work, another bowl, another roll, another pill, sex, etc. The real truth is that I just couldn't let him know how depressed and suicidal I was... I wanted to continue with the facade that "everything is fine, dad."

My dad and I always had a good relationship, better than most of the relationships in my life. He was and always will be the only person I could really rely on. So now, seeing him in that hospital bed, day after day...I see him wasting away, losing so much weight, his color changing and his eyes full of fear and worry. Sometimes, I feel like I just can't take it. I used to tell myself that if I ever lost my dad, I'd off myself. The thoughts crossed my mind, especially when I go to his apartment and smell that familiar Marlboro cigarette smell.

I made my dad two promises since I moved back home from San Francisco: to stay sober and to never commit suicide. The one thing that keeps me going through this is something that my dad always told me: "just show up, even if you're going to be late." He's been waiting for me to move back home for 4 years now, I just hope that he knows that I finally moved back home and I did it for him.

It was quiet. It was like every form of life was gone. Standing there on my own, surrounded by those flames, all I could feel was emptiness. Not the heat, not the smoke, not the pain or the struggle to breath, the struggle for my life, I just didn't care anymore. The burning house giving up its last effort to try to survive, but in vain ; the wood fell apart under my loud and heavy footsteps ; it couldn't hold me anymore. That's when I entered this infinite and dark void, dragged by the gravity ; falling again and again, until those flames caught me to purify every ounce of my broken soul. To take my memory, my regrets, my faults, my cowardness, my shame, my blood with them. Because they are the only that can keep me in mind.