Alive Enough To Feel

By Sek Suet Ying @ Sheryn

It all started with a simple question from Ms. Eliza. “What is the meaning of life?” The question made some people snicker and laugh but it stuck with me. “That will be the title of your next essay. Since it’s a hard one, I will give you guys until the end of the semester to hand it in.” she added.

For once, I was stumped. How could I define something so vast? The meaning of life? It could literally be anything. I was glad that this was the last class of the day - I could work on this in the library before heading home. 

As the bell rang, I packed my bags and began to make my way to the library. If I recalled correctly, there were some philosophy and literature books on the topic. After settling down in my favourite spot in the library — a seat near the window, I began my search for my books. 

Shelf after shelf, row after row, I finally found what I was looking for. ‘Truth about life’ by Emerson Hawkins. His book should be the one, right? Most of the information from my past works were from his books after all and I’d always earned A’s from them. 

As I reached to grab it, my hand froze mid-air as someone beat me to it. “Apologies, you can have it if you want,” said a thick British accent. I looked up to see the student president, Kai Donovan.

Kai Donovan, curly brown hair, black eyes with sharp cheekbones that made him look like a model. Athletic, a lazy genius, and a womanizer. He has been our student president back-to-back for three years now. Everyone praised him for being able to stay student president while his grades were…average — everyone but me. While he was elected student president for three years, I was stuck being the vice president. Maybe I do have a big ego because I felt like I deserved president more than him — but it is what it is…

I glanced at the book then glanced back at him, “Thank you, but you got it first. You can keep it,” I insisted, forcing a smile.

 He let out a deep chuckle that made goosebumps run up my arms. “Why don’t we share it? I’m assuming you are using this for Ms. Eliza’s essay, aren’t you?” He asked, a knowing smirk playing on his face.

Damn him. 

“Sure, why not.” I replied.

 What’s the worst that could happen, right?

This turned out to be the worst freaking idea I ever had. He was so insufferable - insisting that I shouldn’t base my essay entirely on the information from the book. My fingers tightened around until my knuckles turned white, but deep down, I knew he was right. I had no originality, and that was my problem. 

Later that night, frustration poured onto the pages. After about five discarded papers, and a pen that ran out of ink…I finally finished my essay. I felt like this was one of the best essay I have written, it was original, it was me, it was-

“Terrible,” Ms. Eliza said. 

“I’m sorry?” I asked in disbelief. I have never received a comment like that from her before. It stung more than I expected

“Kyra, my dear. I understand that you are smart, but when I said to write an essay on the meaning of life. I didn’t mean…school based.” She said. 

“Then what did you mean?” I inquired further.

“Write it based on what you believe is your purpose. It shouldn’t entirely be based on your academics only, there’s more to that.” She answered softly. 

I nodded in understanding. “Yes, Miss,” I replied, feeling disappointed as I took my paper. I left her class and made my way to my locker to grab my bag, I have never felt so misunderstood.

 “Seems like she didn’t accept your paper , huh?” Kai mocked behind me. I jumped and looked behind me.

 “Shut up, Donovan. Don’t you have rehearsals for the musical?” I scoffed. Recently, the school had held auditions for our yearly performances-A musical next week, a dance by the primary students, followed by secondary students and many more.

Kai smiled and nodded. “Don’t forget, you too have rehearsals as well, playing the female lead, Vivian with me, the male lead, Alistaire.” He flipped through the script. “Such a sad story line where one of us will eventually die in the end,” he shook his head. 

“Don’t get too cocky Donovan, you might be the one to die in this musical,” I rolled my eyes. He let out a grin and practically followed me to the auditorium. I was not sure what is wrong with him but he was following me throughout all of rehearsals. During the break, when the director was helping others, when we had a small break at the back stage, majority of the time, he was behind me or beside me.

While I was doing my monologue, I caught a glimpse of him backstage, looking at me. I didn’t think much of it of course but, I felt a small flutter inside me when I met his gaze through the monologue. 

When it was his turn, I couldn’t help but notice the light freckles across his face, the dimple on his right cheek when he smiled. I caught myself smiling whenever he spoke. Gods, what was happening to me?

On cue, he called out my name. “Kyra, sorry Vivian, will you trust me again?” He asked, his eyes soft and voice gentle. “No, I can’t. For I am more than what you will always be. You are a liar, and I will never trust a liar ever again,” I announced, my voice rough, expression stricken. 

“Please, I will get better. I promise,” he begged, slowly getting on his knees, taking my hand in his. Oh gods, this was our improv moment now. The gears in my head began to turn as I quickly thought of what will happen next. 

I pulled my hands away him and walked across the stage. “You say that all the time but you…you are just a liar!” I yelled, making tears well up in my eyes before I left the stage and Kai did his monologue again. 

Why did his eyes linger on me even after the curtains closed?

After that day, we began to hang out more. He wasn’t as insufferable as I originally thought he was. We worked on the script together, homework, and even worked on our essay together. Each day blurred into the next, like ink spreading in water.

My life seemed to be a near-perfect fairytale. I was on track to being top in class, I got my dream role as Vivian, I had the best friends in the world, and I…finally made peace with Kai.

Everything was perfect but I felt something deep inside me, something that I have never felt before.

Everything suddenly felt so tiring as if I had just worked a twenty-hour shift. But, I can’t help but feel like my emotions were irrelevant. I had the perfect life, I was a straight A student, everyone expected me to handle everything so effortlessly, my parents were proud of me, I had greatest friends in the whole world, hell, I even had the role I wanted in the musical. I was basically living the dream life.

But during the late nights, as I lay awake at night, the thoughts caught up to me. The feelings, the emotions, everything. What if I was not fit to be Vivian? What if my friends all hate me? Am I really the smartest in my grade? Why am I like this? Did Kai actually want to be my friend? 

Though I never did anything or attempted, but I still felt like something was missing. I never really spoke to anyone about my problems. All I did was just study, revise, go to rehearsal, hangout with my friends, repeat. It was a cycle that I could never ever break. I didn’t attempt because I felt like I still had people, still had things to live for. 

Kai would notice the little things no one bothered to take note of. He would ask if I was alright when I went silent, or when I spaced out in the middle of class, or even when I tried to hold back tears when I received a bad grade.

He was the reason why I managed to handle everything and keep my emotions in check. The reason why I could balance my workload of school, performance arts theatre, the student council, tuition classes, and the track team. 

One day, my mother and I got into a massive argument. 

“All I ask from you, Kyra is to not get a C or get distracted, and what did you do? You brought back a C in Maths, and you are what, dating a boy?” she nagged, the disappointment and anger was evident in her voice. 

“It’s not like I meant to get a C! I tried my best already, why can’t you-why can’t you accept that? And Kai isn’t distracting me, he is helping me!” I argued back. I was mad, mad at her, but mostly – myself. She was right. I had dropped all because I was overconfident that I could get an A. So I didn’t study and instead, I went and hung out with my friends.

“Kai helped you? Hah! More like he helped you get a C. I am so disappointed in you, Kyra.” She coldly said.

In that moment, everything everyone told me flash back to me. 

’You are suppose to be perfect,’’Hah! I got higher than you, seems like you aren’t all that smart, are you?’’I expect full marks from you,’’I expected more from you,’’You are a disappointment,’

“Why are you expecting so damn much from me?” I snapped. “All my life, I’ve been stuck being molded into this perfect princess, and I get that you want the best for me but, why can’t you acknowledge that I’m silently screaming out for help?” 

Tears rolled down my cheek as my words become choked up. 

“I’m sorry, mom but I can’t do this anymore,” I sobbed before storming to my room. 

I slammed the door behind me and slid down it. Burying my head in my knees, I let all my feelings out. The pent up rage, the bottled up sadness, the pressure. I was doing good handling it with Kai by my side, but now, it all caught up to me. 

9:30 p.m. Kai texted me to wish me a goodnight. I let out a small smile and texted him back. 

11:30 p.m.  Slowly, I opened the door and stared into the dark hallway. As I glanced back at the closed doors of my family members, I couldn’t help this ache in my chest as I knew that everything would change tomorrow. 

That night, I sat by my desk, staring at the dim glow of my laptop screen. The essay I had worked on was open — The Meaning of Life. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, but no words came out.

All I could think about were the expectations, the pressure, the disappointment — the feeling of being trapped in a cage made of people’s hopes.

I couldn’t cry anymore. I just sat there, numb.

The sound of rain tapping on my window grew louder. My eyes drifted toward the bottle of sleeping pills my mother had left on my table the night before. For a moment, the thought crossed my mind — the thought of simply not feeling anything anymore.

But then, I remembered Kai. His laugh, his stupid smirk, his annoying yet caring voice. I remembered my friends cheering me on during rehearsals, my teachers complimenting my performance, and my younger sister sneaking into my room to borrow my sweaters.

I remembered all of them. And for the first time, I realized something.

I wasn’t living for myself. I was living for everyone else — for their praise, their approval, their love. I had been so busy trying to be the perfect person that I forgot how to live.

“The meaning of life,” I wrote, “is not about being perfect, but instead, learning how to stay alive enough to feel,”

Tears fell onto my keyboard as I wrote — not from sadness, but from freedom. It wasn’t finished, but maybe that was okay. Life was not meant to be finished in one sitting either.

11:45 p.m. I finished up my essay, my final essay. 

12:50 a.m. I wrote the letters and neatly placed them on my desk. One for mom, one for dad, one for my younger sister, a few for my friends, cousins, and teachers, and, one for Kai.

Cleaning my room, I found peace in the midst of all this chaos. Maybe it was the fact that tonight was the night that everything would change, maybe it’s the fact that I felt happy for once. 

2:01 a.m. I shot Kai a text. “Thank you for being such a great friend” before I finally did it. I closed my eyes. For a moment, there was silence. No thoughts, no noise, no pain — just stillness.

Then, as if whispering through the quiet, a single thought surfaced: The meaning of life…

Maybe it isn’t about living forever. Maybe it’s about finding peace, even for a moment, and letting the world move on without you.

I thought back to the days I had — the laughter during rehearsals, the hangouts, the warmth and comfort of family gatherings, the award ceremonies, all the competitions I’ve joined. Maybe this was peace. Maybe this was freedom.

The next day, I no longer heard the bustling sound of my family waking up and getting ready, nor my mother’s yelling to wake up. I didn’t awake to my mother’s blood curdling scream when she found her baby’s cold body on the floor, or the stricken expression my father wore when he realized what was going on, or sister’s solemn face.

At school, Kai checked his phone and his heart dropped when he saw the text. “I am sorry, but, Kyra has sadly passed after she took her own life yesterday,” His books and bag dropped as a tear rolled down his cheek.  My best friends broke down sobbing when they heard what had happened.

The table that had perfect attendance was empty for once, it was as if the music had died. My teachers couldn’t look at my desk without tearing up, neither my classmates who were all silent, nor were the student council causing chaos in the daily meeting. The light, the life, the laughter — all gone. 

That afternoon, Ms. Eliza sat by her desk, reading the essay that my mother had gave her, alone with my final letter.

It was simple:“The meaning of Life”

The paper trembled in her hands as she read on:

“The meaning of life isn’t about being perfect. It isn’t about having perfect grades, lots of achievements, or high expectations. It is in the moments where you’re truly alive — in laughter, in mistakes, in pain, in love, in anger. I hope, one day, I’ll fully understand it, and maybe I could publish a book like how Emerson Hawkins did. But as of now, this is all I know,”

Tears fell onto the paper, smudging the ink. Gently, she placed it on her desk, whispering, “You understood it better than any of us have, Kyra,”

Weeks passed, but parts of me lingered — in the quiet spots of the library, the empty seat in class by the window, in the trenches of rehearsals. Often, Kai visited those spots, sometimes bringing flower, sometimes a book, sometimes he’d just sit there in silence. 

Though, he had never stopped wondering. Wondering what I might have become, had I stayed. Would I have became a doctor? A lawyer? A diplomat? A performer? Nobody knows. 

Somewhere, I was still there — between the lines of that essay, in every heart and mind that read it, and learned to feel again, learned to accept themselves for who they are.

Because even in death, I had finally found what I’d been searching for all alone.

The meaning of life wasn’t in perfection — but in being alive enough to feel, to leave a mark, a trace of who we once were.

By Sek Suet Ying @ Sheryn