The Voice

Dear Someone,

I never much believed in God’s existence.

I grew up an only child with strict religious parents who practiced their faith almost twenty-four seven. Whenever I did something wrong, I was forced to kneel down and pray and atone for my sins by doing labor. Because I’m a girl, I have to do the softest kinds of labor. Most of the time I was asked by my mother to hold up my hands midair until the end of the day. I couldn’t remember a day when I didn’t do that simple yet arduous task. There were even times I wondered if I’m ever going to end up having muscles because of it.

The best (or worst) thing I did was to leave my family for good. I didn’t have any siblings which was the reason why my father was mostly upset with me. In fact, I was an only child who was supposed to get married to a rich, young Christian fellow who my parents saw as a worthy fit for me. They didn’t need to make another child to worry about because basically, their fate of wealth and goodness was sealed in that arranged marriage. They thought I would be the result of their happiness.

When I turned around walking away from my beloved father, I can remember his last words echoing in the empty spaces in my mind, “Be careful what you wish for.”

I merely shrugged and told him that this was for the best. I was going to have a new life somewhere away from the toxicity of their beliefs or from the community I was born in. Despite having found my way to independence by settling myself in a cheap apartment flat and landing in a small-paying job just to support myself, I still never became happy.

Until I met James. 

James was not Christian. He wasn’t a Buddhist or a Taoist or a Muslim or any other things I forgot to mention. He was not even an atheist. He believed that everything in this world was born with a purpose. In other terms, he was a freethinker. He respected all the beliefs in the world, but he never chose a single side. He was free to do whatever he wanted and believed whatever he wanted. He wasn’t afraid of criticism, judgement, or condemnation. He kept a passive face whenever someone yelled out to him that he’d go straight to hell for what he believed in. Maybe he thought hell was similar to heaven but only with darker shades of black or red.

I met him in the grocery store where I work. I was busy weighing fruits over the weighing scale when all of a sudden, he had accidentally bumped into a rack that was overfilled with cabbages, resulting into them rolling over the floor. As disciplined as I was, I had the initiative to help him pick out the pieces from the floor. As soon as we were finished, he voiced out an apology, and of course... a friendly introduction.

“I’m James Carter,” he held out a hand but I didn’t return the handshake. Awkwardly, he returned his hand back to his side and looked down on his shoes and cleared his throat. “I… I’m sorry again for the… accident.” 

I pursed my lips together, refraining to smile. Even so, I couldn’t help but tell him my name, “Jennifer Stone. My name’s Jennifer Stone.”

“Ah, Ms. Stone,” he repeated the name delicately, as if it was a fragile thing. “I hope your not mad.” 

“I would be,” I said playfully. “If you wouldn’t let me get back to my work.” I turned around and returned to my station. He merely smiled, nodded at me and said goodbye, and left the store. 

The next day, he returned, trying to make a friendly conversation with me. As usual, I played hard to get. But he went on for the rest of the week. He asked me about what I was interested in, what I did for a living. I had been fairly honest with him. He expressed his opinions altogether and said we should hang out for coffee some time. I agreed and by Friday evening after my shift, we were already sitting comfortably on leather chairs opposite each other, teacups in our hands. Our first date.

“So you’re supposed to be married to a man you never met?” he asked me, evidently trying to keep himself from laughing at the thought. 

I chuckled and said to him with a raised brow, “That’s how my story goes.” 

He shook his head and said with a charming smile, “I’m glad you left. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have met a stunning person like you.”

“You’re joking,” I retorted, smiling back.

“Well, Ms. Stone, I can assure you I’m not much of a joker. Besides, I’ve never made you laugh all this time, have I?” 

I laughed at his remark and soon, a string of topics flowed naturally during our time in the coffee shop. I’ve learned that James was divorced and never had kids on his own. If my parents had met him, they’d definitely not approve. Especially pairing me with a divorced man. The idea of it was mostly frowned upon, but I guess it didn’t matter that time. 

James and I had been together for as long as I could remember. Our relationship bloomed into its full beauty. We were both happy. 

At first anyway. 

Things started going downhill when one of my coworkers told me something I didn’t want to hear. It seemed that James was secretly trying to repair his relationship with his wife. And worse, rumor has it that she’s pregnant with his child. 

The day had finally come when I, not him, set up our date in the same coffee shop we first had a date in. He looked glum unlike before with dark circles under his eyes and his lips dry and pale.

“First, tell me,” I said, looking down on our untouched cups. The coffee had been sitting there for a few minutes. “Is there something wrong with us? It seems like you don’t even call me anymore. You don’t even pick me up from work.”

He licked his lips and leaned backwards, not daring to pick up the cup. “I can pick you up tomorrow if you want.”

 “Are you sure your wife wouldn’t mind?” I asked him and his face further tightened. I’m sure he never expected me to ask such an accusatory question.

“What are you talking about?” he returned with a question despite his reddening cheeks. I could almost see the veins bulging from his temples. They were an unlikely color. 

I sighed and said, “I understand. She was your wife and I’m just a… temporary replacement.”

He kept his lips pursed, a tactic urging me to continue. “You took my heart,” my voice became sharp and cracked, malnourished of its former confidence. “And worse, you took my dignity.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said in the softest voice I’ve ever heard from his lips. James was not entirely a bad man. One thing I’ve learned in our six months of dating, he wouldn’t deny the truth. He would simply keep silent about it until word of it gets out. He worked as a trustworthy accountant and in all the questions I’ve asked him about his whereabouts, he’d simply say that everything had to do with his gruesome job. After he said those words, he stood up and left me and his untouched cup of coffee.

I drank mine, hoping to drown the tears away with cold caffeine and sugar. 

The pain was almost similar to that of when my father pointed a finger at me and said those words I wouldn’t forget. His ‘be careful what you wish for’ was almost synonymous to James’s ‘I’m sorry’.

For the first time in more than six months, I knelt down beside my bed and repeatedly said to God, “I wish I was never born.” It had been going on and on for days. The poisonous symptoms of depression included the horrible wish to kill myself or to disappear. I was back to square one. Back to nothing. Back to where I started--lonely and alone. No family, no friends, and no one to hold onto. I held only to what I once believed. I held onto God. Or maybe I was stupid for believing in one. I’m not really sure anymore. Still, I kept wishing and wishing for that one sentence to come true until I heard a voice. I didn’t imagine it, I was sure, but it left the hairs on my arms standing. 

It said, “Are you sure that is what you desire?” 

I cleared my throat not because of the voice that spoke it, but because the answer I had in my mind. I don’t really want to die. I don’t want to disappear. I don’t want to keep crying every night over someone. I just wanted to start over from scratch.

I asked back at the voice, “How? How can I stop myself from getting mad?” 

It replied with, “You’re not mad. You’re just lost. You just need a little push.” 

Was this all in my head? I wasn’t so sure, but the voice seemed really calming. It sounded like a unison of a male’s voice and a female’s voice.

“I’m nothing. I don’t deserve to live,” I told it. 

It replied with, “Do you really think that's what Jennifer Stone would have wanted?” 

“I think so, yes.” 

“But the Jennifer I know is made of love, strength, and intelligence. She wouldn’t want to disappear because of a simple mistake.”

I became angry at the voice because I couldn’t agree with the way it described the whole situation. “You think it’s that simple?” I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists and looked around my apartment flat, wondering where the voice was coming from but it really sounded like it came from all around. Besides, I may already be crazy at that point. “It was a huge mistake.”

“But mistake nonetheless. Mistakes are an ambiguous lot. You make them when you were young and you make them when you are old. They never stop just like time. They’re what shape you into what you really are.”

“Why? What am I?” I asked it, realizing that my voice had become faint. 

“Human,” it said. “Humans make mistakes. It’s so silly because humans always seek for perfection. Humans always seek to reach their dreams, unlike ordinary creatures on earth. Humans aim for something… different. But when they make mistakes, all they want is to disappear, to cower in one corner… and the end result… they die with only fear of the unknown.” 

I breathed deep, taking in those words. They were words I wanted to hear, but still, a part of my heart was very disturbed. “What should I do, then?”

“Do whatever you want,” it said. “Whatever that interests you. Do it.”

“What if I really want to kill myself?” 

“Didn’t your father tell you to be careful with what you wish for?”

“But I don’t know where to start,” I said, though for a few minutes the voice didn’t return anymore. Even in that sordid state, that was the last piece of advice I heard. I slept peacefully that night.

The next morning, I already knew what I was going to do. 

I gathered the money I have saved up, packed a few clothes, and took a bus. The journey was long and throughout the bus ride I fancied myself with a motivational book I bought from a shop near the bus stop. I looked once out the window and saw the beauty of the countryside--the green fields, the windmills, the simple cottages, and the blanket of blue sky over it--and never did I look back down on my book. I couldn’t believe I’ve never appreciated the beauty of it in all my life. 

Once I got out, it took me a five-minute walk to get to a small cottage next to a barn. I was about to knock on the door when it suddenly opened. The woman behind it appeared small and fragile with thinning white hair and a very delicate smile.

“Jennifer,” she cried out, wrapping her arms around me. I hugged her back and kissed her on the cheek. “I miss you, mom,” I told her while keeping myself from crying. “I am so sorry to have disappointed you and dad.”

“Your father is in bed,” she said in a low voice, her smile dropping. “When you left,” she tried to say, but she ended up crying. “He became sick. I didn’t want you to know about it.” 

At the sound of it, I rushed into the hallway and into my parents’ bedroom. There, on the bed, lay my father. He stared at me when I entered but he didn’t smile. His skin was dry, his cheeks were no longer full, and he was thinner than before. I knelt down beside him and I felt my heart shatter once more.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” I said, remembering James’ words. Tears ran down my cheeks like an avalanche. “I dishonored you so much, but I hope you understand why I had to go.” 

“I…” my father tried to say, his words bare with life. He even tried to raise his hand but I held it with my own. “I’m sorry too. I… love you, Jen. Welcome back home.”

I stayed in my parents’ house for a week to talk to my father in those spare time I had. From our conversations, I learned that my father had asked my mother for forgiveness for being the reason why I left. He had realized that his own selfishness had blinded him and that his greed had made him an utter Christian hypocrite. I assured him I was a hypocrite too and told him the same thing that voice the other day told me about mistakes. When he died a few days later, I had already learned to accept everything.

If I killed myself, I wouldn’t have had the chance to make amends with my father. If I hadn’t met James, I wouldn’t have gotten hurt. If I hadn’t been hurt, I wouldn’t have heard the voice. If I haven’t heard the voice, then I’d die not knowing that I had so much to live for.

Even if the whole situation was unexplainable, I still lived by that advice, until now. Be careful with what you wish for. 

I sit here, writing this piece of letter to anyone out there who needed comfort, who needed a will to live. I write this story because I love my mother, who is now with my father, and my loving husband who I was very blessed to marry, and most especially my kids, who I’m sure will make mistakes and keep making them in many more years to come.

Once again, be careful with what you wish for.

Much Love,

Jennifer Stone