THE VOICE

I lived pretty much my whole life unsure about anything, never was good at making plans, never knew how to feel about people or things, and never liked being in charge. There has always been someone to make decisions for me; if not directly, then I just leave things to go with the flow, which most people call "destiny." That thought always scared but fascinated me because I could never figure out "what" or "who" was choosing every life path I had crossed for fifty years; even if I ever managed to unveil it, would I want to thank or blame them. Sometimes I wonder if it was just me living by the default mode, and whatever happened was arbitrary because my life isn't really that significant to anyone. In a way, even I wasn't brave enough to simply "Choose" things I wanted, and the only time I dared to pick something, it ended with a catastrophe. Thinking about destiny always gets me worked up, but what frightens me the most is the curse of "Choice." I could never understand people who get hyped by the fact that this world offers unlimited possibilities. To me, that only meant that the most minor decisions we make can literally affect not only us but correspondingly the world around us with all its complexity. Millions of scenarios run in my head before doing anything: What if showing up one minute later than expected would cause me to lose my career and become homeless. What if crossing the road at the wrong time would cause hundreds of deaths. Or what if coming home early could cost me my family, friends, status, and anything I ever cared about. All these thoughts hover over my head thousands of times for every second of my life. As a kid, most people called me indecisive, while others took advantage of it and liked me for being " agreeable," but that wouldn't last long. Unironically, the best part about overthinking is you always get your expectations right at some point. However, for once, I didn't know my life would go downhill from that moment. I could never guess that curiosity could turn my world upside down and cost me my sanity and my very life.

It was a peaceful 2002 spring day; I was a seven years old only child from a middle-class family. We lived in a two floors house in a nice neighborhood. My dad was a building contractor, while my mother quit her preschool teaching job after my birth to become a full-time mom; they were opposites, but as we say," opposites attract." I could feel how much they loved and cared for me, yet I have always been skeptical about their connection with each other. But what do I know? I thought it was something I failed to understand simply because I wasn't old enough to fathom the adults' world. However, at times, while observing their interactions with each other, I didn't know how to feel about our "Perfect little family": Was that really "normal"? Because all I could see were two miserable people who thought that ignoring problems makes them magically go away. That night I could feel extra tension, though. They were trying too hard to hide their actual colors behind all the half smiles and cold faces acting as if they cared about how my day went or whether my friend steve scored better than me on the Maths test. I tried to listen to whatever nonsense they were saying, but the voices inside my head were louder. A thousand voices whispered a million ways to end this charade; believe me, none were pleasant. I was afraid my parents could hear all those gruesome ideas rumbling in my head, but fortunately, for the first time, I was grateful they were still staring at me with the same look in their dead eyes and deadly monotonous voices. All I did was nod and agree with whatever they suggested. My head was about to explode, and I was on the verge of asking them whether they could hear that too. I wished I could just scream to let all my demons out. This happened to me before, but each time I zone out longer, I hear more voices, and I get darker ideas; they were the kind of thoughts if I voice, I know for sure I would be considered a maniac or probably be put in an asylum.

I could not believe dinner was finally over, and I could get back to my bedroom. It always gave me a peaceful feeling; it was my own world, and I felt safe in it, but it was a bit lonesome at times when all the voices got quiet. They were my loyal friends; maybe they were not the most normal companions, and they hated when I hung out with anyone else, but they felt pretty real to me. What makes anything real anyway?

Other times I wonder if it was just me all along enjoying my own solitude with imaginary friends I created in my head, and those voices were nothing but a reincarnation of all the opinions and thoughts I had to bottle up for years of my life. All the words I swallowed up each time I chose not to speak my opinion, or more precisely, "opinions," metamorphosed into this forever state of ambivalence and indecisiveness about absolutely everything.

That night, through all the noises in my mind, I heard some yells, cries, and screams from my parent's bedroom. It sounded like someone was struggling. I quietly tried to get closer to understand what was going on. I was scared someone had broken in or my family could be at risk. Briefly, I sensed danger! As much as I hate to admit it, a part of me was thrilled. Well, ambiguity frightens but attracts us humans. So, I swiftly jumped from my bed and went on my toes to the kitchen, grabbed the first knife I could lay a hand on, and sneaked to my parents' room. I was so careful not to make any noise while climbing the stairs, and I felt my heart dropping with every step I made. The door was half open, and as I got closer, my heartbeats got faster; it felt like it s about to dig a hole through my chest. What I saw made me regret every decision that led to this night. I wished I hadn't seen that gruesome scene because it marked the end of my life as I know it; it literally felt like it wrecked my universe. Suddenly, it seemed like everything ceased to exist: the screams, the grunts, heavy breaths, even the voices; through the deadly silence, only one kept echoing in my head. It sounded like nothing I'd ever heard; it was out worldly. It felt like a million voices all merged to create this mesmerizing voice. I felt compelled to do whatever it told me to do, and I got a moment of peacefulness for the first time in my life. I wished I could keep that feeling forever, and I got my wish granted because, until today, I only do as the voice commands; it feels incredibly liberating to let go of responsibility. Many people would rather be in control, but to me, having no power is where actual freedom lies.

Until now, whenever I think about that day, what I hear in my head is," Was it all bad? Aren't you finally free? Wasn't it worth the sacrifice of both your parents? Weren't they selfish anyways?"

"Double homicide in one of the allegedly safe neighborhoods: Gruesome details about a seven-year-old kid put in an asylum after murdering both his parents using a kitchen knife in murky details most people deemed supernatural."

That was the title of most newspapers' first pages all around the city.