If I Were Held at Gun Point

If I were held at gun point, it is expected that i will beg for empathy, to plead for my life. I'd try to break through the hardened exterior of the person behind the gun and find the part of them that is still human. Maybe I'd lay it all out there my hopes, my fears, my entire life story while hoping that in my words, they would find a reason to see me as a person, not as a victim.  

Maybe i’ll tell the person who is holding the gun how, sometimes I wonder about my life. I'm Jane, 15 years old. The people around me influenced me so much that my favorite color went from green, to red, to brown, to pink, to black, to a point where it became nothing. I enjoy reading books, short essays, and articles online so much specially if it’s from a different perspective and perceptions. It basically influenced my way of thinking and my moral compass. I also love writing, but I also at the same time, despise it. I have five journals filled with words I could never say out loud. Words that are inked on paper because they could never leave my mouth. And I'll share my common, not so unique dream of changing the world in my own small ways. Only to be slapped with the gut-wrenching realization that it's hard to change the world when it changes us ourselves.

But I will continue to dream deep, not high. I want my dreams to have roots to grow, not wings to fly.

How most of the time, I think about all the different versions of me that exist. Afterall, change is the only constant thing in this world. To my friends, I'm the one who embodies so much kindness and patience, the one who has never succumbed to their "rage baits" or sometimes pretty annoying banter. To my parents, I'm just their sleepy, clumsy, and easily overwhelmed bunso. I'm the one who always makes them worry by skipping meals, and the one they can't have a long conversation with because I'm either too tired or too busy to talk. To my sister, I'm the most impatient and rude person she probably knows. Yet, she becomes incredibly understanding even when the word "ate" barely leaves my mouth when I talk to her. My childhood friends remember me as the outgoing, funny, and soft spoken kid. And to my relatives, I'm just the quiet one who rarely shows up or speaks at family gatherings, a person they know only through my parents descriptions and bragging words. 

And there's another version of me, too. The only person who knows is her. To my grandmother, I wasn't the quiet kid who filled journals with secrets. I was the one who was super scared of ghosts and my bullies in elementary school. And yet, my Inang sat with me in our living room and said the words I'll hold on to forever: "Tumured kanto" (You'll be brave). On days like this, it's haunting. I'm terrified that people will always see me as who I used to be, not as who I am now. It's a horrible feeling, knowing that someone out there still remembers all the cringey things and stupid mistakes I made as a kid. But then I remember that those same people also remember the stupid, fun times we had and the cringe things we did together. How lucky am I to be able to yearn for those memories, no matter how embarrassing they are. How lucky am I that a version of me still lives on in the minds of others, even if it's just for the fun times we shared. 

But if there was something that I still very dearly share with my old self, it will always be my love for documentaries and our very favorite journalist, Mrs. Kara David. When I was asked by my friend who my favorite 'artista' of all time is, Mrs. Kara David would always be my answer. It's the comfort and realizations in her documentaries that deeply inspired and affected me as a human being. Even now, I still look up to her and want to be just like her, but dreams like that were often pushed aside to dwell in the shadows. I had to realize I shouldn't only think of myself, and my dream of becoming a journalist slipped through my fingers like sand. 

But in letting that go, another door opened for me. A dream that also inspires me to keep going. It’s the dream of becoming a doctor. It isn't a dream I chose for myself, but one that came from the realization that I could no longer just tell the stories of others, I had to be a part of them. I had to go beyond observing life and begin to save it. In a way, I am still following in Mrs. Kara David's footsteps, but instead of documenting hardships, I want to be the one who offers a helping hand in my own quiet way. My dream may not have wings to fly, but I am learning to build roots so that one day, my life can grow into something that gives back to others.

So now, if the person in front of me decides to pull the trigger, I can say that when death finds me, it will find me alive. It will find me at peace with my past, with all the different versions of myself I've been and all the people who remember me. I am already fulfilled by the simple fact that I lived a life I somehow enjoyed, a life full of quiet moments and profound dreams. I can accept my end because I've already come to terms with my existence. I owed it to myself to live a life that's mine, and in this life, I know where I am and where I stand firm. Even if the one holding the gun was the person in front of the mirror.

Reference: 

Pasion, D. (2018, July 8). Skip telling our kids to dream high | Inquirer Opinion. INQUIRER.net. https://opinion.inquirer.net/114449/skip-telling-kids-dream-high?fbclid=IwY2xjawMX0JNleHRuA2FlbQIxMQABHvd3M_vHw4PPBRpbJACuF9U0Z-K_MKZ8afPLKK_lSKzFvMABqW2aJJv5gHTR_aem_a02qmzDvxSHaOTO8cn-onA

(n.d.). When Death Finds You, May it Find You Alive | Moeller Illustrations. http://www.moellerillustrations.com/coffee-shop/when-death finds-you-may-it-find-you-alive/515?fbclid=IwY2xjawMX37VleHRuA2FlbQIxMABicmlkETF4Y1hZdEJQWjZZTXhPdUJLAR79mgxBkCDo4TDMOPrH8zJAd8ipN J723QlF36YcnVVEWX7YUpfTIJjF9xd2w_aem_ueE4FWNBf-5oL67GM9CHqA

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