One Smile

“’I’m going to walk to the bridge. If at least one person smiles at me on the way, I will not jump.”

From time to time, I am reminded of this anecdote of a man who jumped from the Golden Gate Bridge. I read it somewhere on the internet, and it stuck with me.

A warm smile. A simple greeting. They do really have the power to save lives - at least in some cases.

Three days before it all started, I was hospitalized because I cut my wrist in an attempt to kill myself.

I survived, thanks to the fact that my family found me early enough.

As I lay on the hospital bed, I wished someone would hold my hand. Of course, no one did, so I held my own hand. My hand which was now scarred, probably for life.

My suicide attempt was impulsive, though the seed of my suicidal ideation was sown long ago.

Lying on the bed, I wondered. If someone smiled at me or greeted me or say something simple yet warm to me that day, I might really not have the urge to disappear. I might have wanted to hold on for longer, at least until the impact of that smile faded.

It’s pathetic that I had no one to smile at me. My parents might love me, but as they were chronically exhausted from work, they seldom smiled. When was the last time they smiled at me, again? See, I couldn’t even remember.

I had no one at school who would smile at me, either.

I had transferred schools last year and I, being the socially awkward teen I was, couldn’t make friends even after a whole year had passed. Not that I had close friends in my previous school, either…

Today, I have to go to school. Again. Ugh. Life is tiring. Humans are even more tiring. I hate humans. I hate my life. I hate myself. Why does everything have to be so damn tiring?

As I drag my heavy self to the classroom, something splendid happens.

Someone greets me.

My first reflex is to look around to see if there's someone around. My brain doesn’t register that the greeting is, in fact, intended for me.

As I turn to the one who greeted me, he waves and smiles.

Something happens inside me. I feel weird. It’s been so long since I last felt this that I actually forgot that this feeling existed.

I feel warm inside.

Then I remember - that I should greet him back.

I wave back and smile awkwardly. Inside, I am dying of embarrassment. This is the first time in a long while since someone greeted me, and I am so useless that I can't even properly greet him back. Another part of me is somewhat overwhelmed with happiness.

Greeting someone means you go out of your way to acknowledge their existence. It means that you noticed them among so many people and cared enough to let them know that. However, most people probably don't bother to give it much thought. They take it for granted as they are used to being greeted by at least one person everyday.

However, for me, even that much feels like a luxury since I am pretty much invisible.

The feeling caused by that simple gesture of him stayed with me for the rest of the day, giving me the energy to go through the rest of the day. Even when I went to bed at night, his smile haunted me.

That someone was you.

I knew you from before. We were in the same classroom last year. You had a dazzling presence and interesting personality. My classmates were dying to get to know you; however, you were reserved and only ever talked to your seatmate.

Why would someone like you acknowledge my presence all on a sudden?

That doesn’t matter now, what matters is what happened.

Next day, I found a letter on my desk. It was written on a light green coloured paper.

At first, I wasn’t sure if the letter was meant for me. Sure, it was on my desk, but the question was who would bother to write me a letter? A fairly long letter, at that.

But it turned out that letter was indeed meant for me.

My heart beat with excitement as I held the letter. The scent of the coloured paper mixed with a faint scent of perfume. The texture of the paper. The words scribbled on the paper with beautiful handwriting. I took every little detail inside me and let them get curved in my memory.

It was late Autumn. Since it had been raining for the last few days, the wind was chilly. It made me shiver a little.

On a day like that, I got a letter from a strange classmate.

I read the letter over and over again, taking in each and every word. They were simple words, but to me they were very special.

You said you had been observing me from the day you transferred. In your eyes, I looked interesting, someone you would like to be friends with. You mentioned us being in the same classroom last year but in different classroom this year, which confirmed your identity. You said you could express yourself better when you wrote, that's why you wanted us to be penpals. That part made me feel relieved because I was clumsy with my words too. I never tried writing letters, though, so I didn’t know if I was good at writing.

During History class, I tore a page from my notebook and wrote you a reply. It was somewhat messy compared to your letter which was neat and clean, but whatever.

Truth be told, I was interested in you too.

You seemed to be living in a different world than me and the rest of my classmates. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason why, but you gave off a different vibe. You reserved nature added even more to that vibe. It made you somewhat unapproachable. But the more unapproachable you seemed, the more you seemed interesting.

I couldn’t think of a reason why someone like you chose someone like me as a penpal. I lived a boring life. I had no experience worth sharing with others, had no hobbies other than listening to music, my world was limited to four walls - either of school or of home.

But you chose me to be your friend. The mere thought of it filled my heart up. I felt like I was dreaming.

That was the first time someone reached out to me.

Then I remembered the way you smiled at me. A smile that felt so natural, so warm. Would I meet you today too? Would you smile at me the same way?

Before I knew it, I was looking forward to seeing you when classes were over.

And there you were, chatting with a classmate. I didn’t know whether I should interrupt you, but then again, I had to hand you the letter.

I took a deep breath.

“Excuse me.”

You looked at me. “Oh, hi.” you waved with a slight smile on your face.

“I wrote you a reply,” I reached out my hand with the folded white paper at you.

“Wow, you're so fast,” the smile broadened as you took the letter from me.

“See you tomorrow.” I said.

“See you,” the smile didn’t fade until the end.

As I walked, I imagined your acquaintance asking you, “Who is he? What's with the letter? Are you two close?”

I didn’t know how you answered them. I didn’t want to know. I cherished that warm feeling inside me that was caused by you.

I found something to look forward to.

Your letters.

When I spotted the folded coloured piece of paper sitting on my desk, my heart started beating fast. No matter the contents, it was the act of getting letters that excited me.

You talked about various topics. From recommending new songs to explaining the newest scientific invention that I didn’t have a clue about, from the latest book you read to philosophy and literature - you talked about everything. Turned out we were fans of the same rock band - ONE OK ROCK. When you told me that, I internally squealed. You said we should go to their concert together someday. Even though I knew it was a distant daydream, I agreed. It was the first time someone ever wanted to go somewhere together with me, after all.

You loved writing letters. To you, it was like journalling, unburdening yourself at the end of the day. But unlike regular journalling where people keep the record for themselves to reminisce later, you wanted to share your day with someone else. For some reason, I seemed to be the perfect person for that. I didn’t know you in person and I didn’t expect you to be a certain way, maybe that was why.

At first, it wasn’t easy for me to write replies. As I mentioned before, my life was mundane. There was nothing worth mentioning. But nevertheless, I wanted to fill up the page. So I started writing whatever came to my mind. The new song that I listened to, random people who caught my eyes while I was spying on their windows unbeknownst to them…as I let the words flow, I started talking about myself. My exhaustion with human beings including myself. My loneliness. How I missed my parents despite living together. How I sometimes wished to have a friend with whom I can do everything together, from having lunch together to celebrating birthdays together to walking around the city hand in hand. “But then,” I added, “I get why anyone wouldn’t want to be friends with me. I am such a boring person, I wouldn’t be friends with myself either…”

“Demeaning yourself seems like your second nature. Everytime you say something like this, it hurts me.

However, this time, you not only demeaned yourself, you disrespected me too. You say no one would want to be friends with you… What am I? A cockroach? Huh? Fine, then…I was planning on accompanying you from now on, but seeing how you don’t count me as a person, I shouldn’t do that…It’ll be a waste anyway.

P. S. Go listen to What Makes You Beautiful by One Direction.”

I listened. I laughed and cried at the same time. And I made sure to write you a long letter filled with my sincere apology. I promised I wouldn’t say something like that anymore.

My parents loved me. But I forgot about that, even after seeing how devastated they were after my attempt at self-destruction. Now I had one more person who cherished me. If I said I was worthless, in a way it was insulting for them too. To them, I was far from worthless.

That day, after classes were over, you were waiting for me in front of my classroom.

“Come over to my house today. I am having a Halloween party.”

Your surprise invitation caught me off guard.

“Call your parents from the teacher's office and tell them you're not going home tonight.”

“Eh?” I was even more surprised.

“Let's go,” you dragged me by hand and didn’t let go until we arrived at the office. My parents were as surprised as I was at this sudden sleepover invitation, so you had to do a little convincing to earn their approval.

“I brought chocolates. And costumes. And scary movies, too,” you said as you settled on the bed.

“What is the costume that you are wearing?”

“It’s Jack Skellington from Nightmare Before Christmas… Wait,” You looked up to me, through the mask so I couldn’t see your expression, “Don't tell me you didn’t watch Nightmare Before Christmas?”

“I didn’t.”

You grabbed your head. “Oh man, how could you not watch a classic like that? We gotta fix

this ASAP.” As you removed your mask, your long, messy hair was spread all over your face. You combed them with your finger to straighten them and brought your laptop out from your bag. Then you handed me the costume that you bought for me, “Get changed into this while I download the movie.”

“What is this?”

“A Pumpkin.”

I burst into laughter.

I really enjoyed the movie, but what I enjoyed even more was the experience of watching movie with a friend for the first time. When the ‘This Is Halloween’ song was being played, you sang along. You sang really well.

After the movie was finished, we watched another horror movie. Horror wasn’t my favourite genre and I got jumpscared quite a few times, making you laugh. Once it was over, we lay side by side on your double-bed.

“That was fun…Wasn’t it?” You said.

“It indeed was.”

“Today was my birthday.”

“What? You are telling me that now? Had I known beforehand, I would’ve prepared some gifts…”

“It’s one of the things I wanted to do before I die, you know, celebrating my birthday with a friend. Thank you, I had a lot of fun today…” with that, you drifted off to sleep.

“You sleep like me,” I said looking at you, who was sleeping with your hands clasping one another, “You feel that lonely, huh.”

You didn’t respond.

I took your hands and untangled the fingers, then I intertwined your fingers with mine. I pressed my hand onto yours as an attempt to warm your hands that were colder than mine.

“When I was young,” I said in a voice a little louder than a whisper, “My mom used to hold my hand until I fell asleep. That became a bad habit, seeing even now I long for someone's hand when I fall asleep. Did your mom do that to you too?”

I knew you wouldn’t respond, I kept talking nevertheless.

“When I was at hospital that time, narrowly surviving a suicide attempt, I wished someone would hold my hand like this. I slept every night holding onto my own hand. Seeing you like this reminds me so much of those days. I don’t want you to sleep like that, not when you have another hand you can hold onto.”

That night, you were probably pretending to sleep. You did that so that I could talk. You knew that I couldn’t open up while looking into your eyes, so you helped me out. Heck, I probably wouldn’t be able to hold your hand had you not been asleep. I would be embarrassed.

Later, you told me that you actually knew about my suicide attempt all along. That day, you were on your way out when they brought me in, blood-soaked and unconscious. You saw that and shuddered. I didn’t even get the chance to get to know you, you thought. You had always wanted to befriend me but you held back. You had your reasons to do so which I found out later.

That explained why you smiled like that when we bumped into each other in the corridor. You were relieved to see me alive and well. That also explained why you got angry with me when I demeaned myself.

The next year, you gave me a surprise visit on my birthday. You hinted at it several times, like casually asking my address and asking if my parents were strict. I was dense and I didn’t understand it was all part of your plan.

So when on that day my doorbell rang, I was utterly surprised to see you on the other side. You pulled me into a hug while I was still processing the shock.

You brought homemade cake that you made with your mother's help. Your mom also packed sandwiches. We devoured them together. Before that day, I didn’t know that food tasted tastier when shared with a friend. You also brought a customized t-shirt, I was elated when I saw it and I wore it right away.

My parents weren't home, so we played OOR songs in full volume and screamed along until our throat hurt and voice broke.

“Let's live like we're immortal

Maybe just for tonight

We'll think about tomorrow when the sun comes up

'Cause by this time tomorrow

We'll be talking 'bout tonight

Keep doing what we want, we want, we want

No more wasted nights…”

With our voices gone, we fell on the bed, staring at the celling in silence until sleep seized us.

It takes very little to initiate a friendship.

Maybe one day you overheard someone talking about their favourite book and that happened to be your favourite book too. You went up to them and said “Oh you like that too?” and they said “You too?” and the two of you start chatting like old buddies, talking about the characters and plots and then the conversation shifts to “What other book do you like?” and another deep discussion began. Before you parted ways, you two had become buddies already.

Or maybe one day you happened to see a keychain charm of your favourite character hanging from someone's bag and you were dying to know them since then. Then one day, you actually mustered up the courage and started up a conversation. Then in the span of a month or so, you two are inseparable.

While you gather up the courage to approach, maybe you observe that person in the meantime and start noticing little things about them. Their little habits, how they talk to their friends, how they doze off during class and startle awake…Stuff like that.

I thought only friendless loners would invest their time in a single person like that. A loner like me, for example.

However, you proved me wrong.

You kept an eye on me ever since you caught me listening to Wasted Nights. Anyone would wonder why you just didn’t come up and initiate a conversation, but I understood you. At least I thought I would. Because if it was me, I'd act the same way.

Back then, I didn’t know there was more to it than just you being socially awkward.

You were at a tug-of-war.

Part of you wanted to make friends.

Another part of you didn’t want to get attached to any more people, knowing how you would break their heart. Just like how children who transfer school a lot give up on befriending new people or only make surface-level friendships.

I thought you were such a dummy.

Anyone can die anytime. Even being alive doesn’t guarantee lifelong relationships. Does that mean you'd cut off everyone and live in a hole forever?

However, after seeing you falling apart right in front of me, I finally understood why you made that decision. If I were in your shoes, I'd have done the same…Probably.

Outside, it was spring. The air was heavy with the scent of mango blossoms, the roadsides were colourful with bloomed flowers.

But in that little room of yours, you were withering. Spring didn’t reach you, like that one tree in the selfish giant's garden.

You, a child born in Autumn, turned into the epitome of winter.

That winter that consumed your body was consuming my mind. You were falling apart physically while I was falling apart mentally.

In one of your favourite books No One Writes Back, there was a quote. “Life is bearable when you have someone to write to.” Maybe that was the reason why we kept writing to each other. Your letters gave me a reason to go on, they gave me something to look forward to.

To think I would never see that smile of yours again…the mere thought of it makes me shudder.

Like that protagonist of your another favourite book, The Book Thief, I fell in love with words. And that was all thanks to you.

You coloured my life with colours I didn’t know. I coloured your life with my own colours. That was all we did - adding colours to each other's lives.

That day, your smile and that overused greeting that saved me.

Your letters saved me.

See, it really is that simple to save a life.

If only saving your life was that simple…

No, even if it wasn’t simple, even if it was complicated beyond my understanding, I'd do it in a heartbeat.

If only…

Did you know? That day, I actually grabbed the door handle to open it and go inside. But at the last moment, I stopped.

Looking at you through the glass door, I was reminded of a series of painful memories.

My maternal grandparents used to live with us. My grandfather was chronically ill and taking care of him drove my grandmother borderline insane. My grandparents loved me very much, especially grandpa, mind you.

When one day grandpa's illness took a bad turn, I, and everyone else in our family desperately hoped for him to survive. I remember wandering around the house like a lonely orphan as everyone was busy with my grandpa. Then one day, gathering all of the willpower I could manage, I went to see him. He was barely conscious, but I think he recognized me.

After enduring this for a week, he died. They said he died peacefully. I was in the middle of wearing clothes after getting out of the shower when I heard my grandmother's hysteric crying. To this day, I am reminded of that memory when I wear clothes after a shower. Weird, right?

I refused when they asked me to see his face one last time. I didn’t want to remember his dead face. I didn’t want him to become a nightmare that'll come back to haunt me.

As I saw your face that I saw through the glass door, those memories came rushing in. I stepped back and sat down at one of the chairs in the waiting room. I couldn’t bring myself to go in.

I thought of messaging you, letting you know that I was there. Then I thought of something better and got up. I walked out of the hospital and went to a nearby stationery store. When I got back to the hospital, I had a bunch of post-it notes in my hand.

I racked my brain thinking of what I should write. In the end, you know what I ended up writing. “Hello. I'm here. But I don’t think I am ready to face you just yet. Can you forgive me?”

I handed the note to the first person whom I saw going into your room.

You replied on the other side, “Actually, I don’t think I am ready to see you either. Thank you so much for coming, anyway. You didn’t need to.”

I couldn’t think of what else I should write to you. I wasn’t good with words. I didn’t know what would lift you up in a state like that. I thought long and hard until I had the perfect idea.

You gifted me with your words, and I know that you love words more than anything else.

So there I was, filling pages up with words, writing the longest letter I have ever written to you. A letter containing our memories, a tribute to our precious friendship. What kind of expression will you make when you read it? I thought about that as I kept writing. Knowing you, you'll probably laugh and cry at the same time.

One day, when you were sleeping, I actually sneaked in your room. Your hand, lying motionless, resembled mine when I was hospitalized, except they were bruised from injection marks. I was afraid to touch them because they looked so painful. I couldn’t stand there for more than a minute. I walked out holding back my tears, and let myself break down once I sat down on the waiting room chair.

That was exactly the reason why I avoided facing you. If I cried in front of you, you wouldn’t feel good at all. Knowing you, you might even try to force a smile despite your condition. I would really hate myself if you did that.

Just like you knew my secret, I knew yours too.

I learnt from your parents that you were taken abroad for treatment three years ago, and you got better…only for that damn disease to come back again.

Usually, growing up, people look up to their parents or older siblings or any dependable adults around or celebrity figures. However, I was an only child. Instead of looking up to my parents, I aspired not to be like them. Living a life with no time for myself and my family was the last thing I wanted to do with my life.

Then you came into my life.

Despite being the same age as me, you somewhat felt like an older brother figure to me, one who could help me grow.

Before I realized, I was becoming more and and more like you, like a sponge absorbing seawater. I was no longer that dense boy oblivious to my surroundings.

You were afraid of being forgotten.

Your life was short. You only ever had surface-level friendships, not wanting to get attached to anyone. You were lonely and you wanted a connection other than that with your family. You wanted someone other than your family to remember you. You longed for friendship like any other teen would. You held onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, you might be able to have a normal life after all. That hope was what made you reach out to me.

Humans have this inherent tendency to leave their footprints on this world that lives on even after their death. That's why they produce offspring or make art. That's why they connect to other humans and pass their traits on. You, too, wanted to leave your footprints on this world, in your own way. With your letters and the friends that you made.

One day, I might fulfil the dreams you wanted to fulfil but couldn’t. I would walk in the corridor of the university you wanted to go to. Maybe I'd even save up enough money and attend an OOR concert, screaming along with our favourite songs. And I'd think, “You were supposed to be the one doing these, not me.”

Then maybe one day, I'd find what I really wanted to do with my life.