Death liberates us from suffering and pain

I’m standing on my balcony. Thunder clouds rolling over the city are as vicious as the depression churning in my chest. The hot afternoon breeze bakes my thighs and chest. I’m clad in panties and bra. My half-nakedness makes me feel free, but only physically. My breasts are scrunched together to form a deep valley in the ample flesh into which many a man would like to tumble into and lose his soul forever. Ah yes, those days of handsome pursuers, modelling, parties and fast cars. 

Stitched among the sounds of traffic below, voices echo in my head. Monologue. Lovers' whispers. Mama's reprimands. Flashes of my childhood. My life of thirty-five has been a forest of confusion with two or three footpaths which I can orientate myself. From their directions I can look forward to something but, unfortunately, without enough clarity. While they’re straight enough and discernible to me, they also feel like scars that've been cut into the jungle. Deep, real deep scars. But, alas, it’s too late and futile to reveal their causes to you.

My depression hit rock bottom last week, and finding it is a blessing. When you hit it, it feels as if you never want to get up. That’s right. I’ve neither determination nor will power to get up any more. The road to Hell feels more comforting than the road to Heaven—so long, so winding, so bumpy. Death is a tragedy in the young and a rite of passage for the old and so each brings a different kind of mourning. Mourn not the passing of my life well-lived yet turbulent, but celebrate. Death is only the end of a chapter, my friend. And so as my body makes ready to return to the soil, my spirit will watch over you and live in your heart. It will bring sadness as we transform to this new way of connecting, yet this is part of life.

My chest expands as I inhale a fortifying breath. I climb over the wrought-iron railing. Step on the ledge. I raise my hands high. I jump. The wind whistles in my ears. I plunge downward head first. The surrounding buildings are a blur. The ground rises up like a speeding cannonball to meet me. Darkness overtakes me.  

As reported in the Indonesian media, adult magazine model Novi Amelia (pixs above) committed suicide by jumping from the eighth floor of  Kalibata City Apartment, South Jakarta on February 16, 2022.

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