Confessions of a killer

Murderer.

I look in the mirror and I see myself. Whole. Yet broken. No skin torn, bruises tattooed, wounds etched. Just shattered dreams. Who did this? I look in the mirror and there I am.

It is natural for us to aspire and paint a future we desire. As kids, dreaming big came naturally. We imagined going to the moon, flying—countless this and that. As we grow, we learn to dream more realistically, aspiring for professions “para makatulong sa kapwa.” I was one of them. But I was not the charitable one; I always said “kasi gusto ko.” I dreamt of things my heart wanted. Shouldn’t we all?

My first dream was to become a mathematician. I grew up spending Saturdays on math sessions. Weekends should be my rest days, but I found solace in numbers and formulas. It made me love the subject that almost everyone hates. It made me feel special, so I promised myself that once I reached college, I would get a degree in mathematics, graduate, and become a mathematician.

The next dream, when I was in high school, was to become a writer—a journalist to be specific. This came when my teachers pushed me to join campus journalism competitions. I was never a person of words or a vessel of ideas. Though reluctant, my teachers trained me on how to write articles and essays. Over time, I found comfort in writing. My training paid off as I won awards and joined more competitions. I realized that maybe my purpose in life is to become a writer. So I promised myself that after high school, I would enroll in a journalism program, graduate, and then become a writer or a journalist.

As graduation neared, I became interested in psychology. When I was a little kid, I found wonders in Mom’s old psychology books. Usually, my boredom compelled me to read those books, and that is where my fascination with the study of human behavior came from. I thought that it would be nice if I became a psychologist. So I told myself that once I get that high school diploma, I will take a psychology program, graduate, and become a psychologist.

Great dreams, right? Mathematician, journalist, psychologist—an almost perfect trifecta for a dreamer. One might say I’m going places, but guess where I am right now? In college, stuck in a place that I’m not sure if I am loving or just tolerating for the sake of getting a diploma. Being an IT student, I do not even know if I love this; this is not even something that I thought and dreamt of. I’m not mad or resentful; I put myself in this place, so I cannot blame anyone. At least I got to do one of my dreams: go to college. Fun, right?

As I dreadfully live for today, I can’t resist looking back, and all I see are my dreams undone. Chapters all left unwritten because of me. Because reality had me to. I wasn’t valiant enough to be their knight in shining armor in the war against life’s antics. Instead, I became a witness to a somber massacre, a crime I drearily consented to.

I was stabbed and sabotaged by my expectations. I wanted to give myself the life that I wanted but it seemed the flow was against me. The kid who wanted to be a mathematician was kicked out of the equation. The kid who wanted to become a writer was written off the paper. The kid who wanted to be a psychologist was now in the asylum. But you know what? I’m still here.

Yes, I wholeheartedly admit with my shattered heart that I did it. I envy people who get to achieve their introspections. In life, true triumph is getting to do what you want—to get life to favor you. Fortune favors the bold? No, it cowers when faced with reality, bruising a warrior to its fall.

See Also

Power of belief, fear of the unknown

But isn’t that what life is? We grow up dreaming but end up getting broken because life slaps the hell out of our hopes. In this society, all dreams get blown away by life’s gusting winds. We hold ourselves high until our bones crush eventually. Indeed, reality is a bitter pill we have to swallow.

I guess at this age, life has shown me its truth: That it is not a laid-out plan. But never raise the white flag. Whatever happens, showing up for battle is a win in itself. Even if you fall, make sure you put up a fight—that defines a life well-lived: to face challenges even if it means that the gains you will be having are the losses you will be taking.

I did fight. I fought a battle that shouldn’t have happened in the first place. And it cost me the hopes I had built for myself. As I gaze in the mirror, I am confronted with the smithereens of a past that can never be whole again. I see my reflection staring back at me, with the chilling image of me holding my victims. Fallen. Broken. Done.

As my final words to the me that was supposed to be: I hope that in another universe you get to live what you want to be. You will look in that mirror happy, not seeing a dream crusher like me. But right now, I guess the best thing I can do for you is to wipe the dust off your tombstones.