Making Sense of the Senseless

Note: I've been debating back and forth whether I should publish this entry for the world to see. I paint a very personal portrait of someone I have admired, and I don't know if it would do his memory justice, whether it would give him honor or disgrace. After giving great thought, I share with you what I have, raw and from the heart, with the hope that the people I love will never have to make the decision that my friend made this week.

I've been troubled the past few weeks. At first, it was the election results (note: read last entry). But recent events have made such worries seem like a distant memory.

Steven Le, a friend and colleague of mine, passed this Thursday. Any death to come to someone so young is a shock for anyone, but I would have been a little more at ease (as close as anyone can be at ease with death) if it were an accident or an Act of God. But the word that's spreading around makes his passing that more disturbing: suicide.

I'm hesitant to spread the word because it may well not be true (and I pray that is the case), but just entertaining the possibility is what has troubled me so much. Steven was a former chair of the Vietnamese Student Union, a strong student leader, and well-known in the community. As the current President of Samahang Pilipino, I've met hundreds, literally, hundreds of people from the community on and off campus who never fail to let you know that they support you and offer what they can do to help. Knowing that Steven had a similar group, makes me wonder all the more why would he take his own life? What circumstances would make him fail to see any other way out?

In searching for anything that would help me make sense of this, I searched for his name and found his xanga. His entries were few and far between, but most of his entries were brief, and there seemed to be this shroud of depression looming over him. He also had this urge to share himself with someone, but had a tremendous fear of rejection. Just recently, he was having trouble with his boyfriend whom he thought was "the one." He constantly asked where his support was. He kept a lot of emotions locked inside, and he went through great pains to keep them there.

After reading his xanga, pieces of Steven's character started to make sense. If I had to characterize Steven, I'd have to say "wired." He always seemed to be stressed in some way, shape, or form. It wasn't that he couldn't smile; he always found joy around his friends, especially in the Vietnamese Student Union. But his smile always came with this underlying tension, that something was on his mind, that something wanted to come out, but he wasn't sure how.

Ironically, Steven's death coincided with another death that I learned through Rhett's blog, the suicide of Iris Chang. Iris Chang was the author of "The Rape of Nanking," a best-seller that brought attention to the slaughter of Chinese by the Japanese during World War II. Although critically-acclaimed, the book also endured tremendous criticism from the Japanese government who continue to deny allegations of wrong-doing. Recently, she was doing research for a project about US soldiers is the Philippines. She was only 36, and she left behind friends and family, including her 2-year old son.

These recent events have sent shockwaves throughout my being. There are times when I've been in despair, felt alone, when I've wondered how people would react if I were to die tomorrow. Who would show up to the funeral? Whose attention would I finally get? Who would feel guilty for taking me for granted? But these selfish desires were always trumped by the faith that there was always potential unrealized, and it needed to be uncovered. That is where my purpose lies, in fulfilling this limitless potential, and through this mission I extract beauty, my reason for living. How one could be blinded by despair so much as to find life unredeemable? Only if one were stripped of one's humanity and left in isolation could I even remotely think of the possibility, and even this reality is beyond my imagination. How could these two beautiful people, no matter what despair the may have endured, lose sight of the beauty of friendship, or of motherhood, to take the own lives? I sit in shock and bewilderment, and hope that I may never find the answer.

This entry is dedicated to Steven and Iris, for your beauty everlasting, and that we may live more richly through your sacrifice.