Ctrl+Z. Ctrl+Me.

"Just living is not enough", said the butterfly, "one must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower."
— Hans Christian Andersen.

i’d rather be dead than not alive.

I didn’t want to wake up. I was having a much better time asleep. And that’s really sad. It was almost like a reverse nightmare, like when you wake up from a nightmare you’re so relieved. I woke up into a nightmare.

— Ned Vizzini.


It is dawn. I can finally see the sunrise. After the climbing up the treacherous mountain — notorious for overwhelming steep slopes and uneven grounds — and almost feeling the sense of accomplishment, I wearingly place my backpack on the ground. Opening the bag with delicate fingers, I struggle to lay the mat with one hand while the other rests behind my back. Placing the thermo flask gently between my knees, I use some strength to open the cap and put it down on the mat. I smell the aromatic scent of the coffee as I pour it into the cup. Celebrating the small achievement of being able to independently prepare the coffee, I recall the moment at home when I was finally able to tear open the coffee sachet on my own.

Taking the first sip of coffee, I take pleasure in the density of my thoughts weighing heavily on my mind yet hesitate to indulge in it. I can only try to put my creativity to a test — let the thoughts turn into clouds and colour them white with tints of grey. As I watch them float towards the rising sun, I envision the opacity of the thoughts cover up the orange hues in the sky, magnifying despite distancing. I continue to enjoy the steaming hot drink in my hand, as I see the clouds wrap over the rest of the sky.

Everything is white now, like a canvas placed in front of me awaiting a new design, but my mind is now blank. I put down the half-drank cup of coffee and contemplate for awhile. With some hesitation, I pick up the paintbrush I had packed earlier, as though I had anticipated for this to happen. As I lift it up, I begin to shade the sky. Stroke by stroke, I prepare the canvas with a new look, ready for more details to spruce it up. My hand is tired now, I must have painted the entire sky with more than a million strokes. I fill the cup with more coffee. The coffee that has gone cold is now steaming again. It is no longer hot, but just slightly warmer now. 

Savouring the essence of the coffee I glorify over as a small win, I set it down once more after I have drunk half of it. The sky is now all black, shadowed and dim — just the way I wanted it to be. I could have picked a lighter shade of black, but this is exactly what I pictured in my head. I heaved a sigh and lift the paintbrush again. I started to add dots of bright yellow, scattering stars across the sky. Accessorising the dark sky further with some planets and a lightly-shaded gibbous moon, I begin to imagine what it would be like to disappear into outerspace. 

Could the thermo flask turn into a spaceship for me to ride in while the backpack became a parachute for me to launch myself into the infinite vastness of space? I wonder deeply as I toss the paintbrush over the mountain top. After taking the final gulps of the coffee, my shaking hand clumsily takes a sheet of 2-ply tissue out. With another sigh, I begin to meticulously wipe the cup until no drop of coffee was left. I calmly cap the clean cup back onto the thermo flask and place it neatly on the mat beside my backpack. 

Leaning forward over the edge, I take a glance at the bottom to see where the paintbrush has landed at. At this altitude, it is almost impossible to see what’s below. The darkness of the sky makes it worse. Could I have made a better choice earlier? I ponder for a moment as I reminisce the past life I had, the past decisions I have made, and everything I could possibly fit into my memory about my life that I would not change. I stare again into the abyss of darkness that extended from the sky to the bottom of the mountain.

Where could that possibly lead me? I ruminate over the endless possibilities but come to no conclusion. Suddenly, it becomes more salient than ever. If I am wondering how to move forward from this, wouldn’t the answer be so simple.

It is dusk. I glimpse at the set up I have perfectly arranged — the bag I packed to leave behind and the empty cup on top of the thermo flask containing the remainder of my favourite drink in the world. I close my eyes and take the dive, plunging into the darkness I could see with my eyelids tight shut. I am screaming as I feel the wind blowing against my cheeks. My tears are flying upwards and away from me. Perhaps this is some sort of freedom that I have always yearned for.

A thud, a crack, and the end of my life — I see flashing before me a white light.





still looking for my purpose
feel alive when i’m dying.


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