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Essay

My Tower

I walked passed my classroom door having to realize that someone was behind me. There were no footsteps but I can feel its presence. It wailed a soft cry that cannot escaped my ears. I did not want to endanger my friends so I went straight ahead and tried moving as if I was heading somewhere. Without any precaution, I realized that I went towards the school rooftop.

I thought to myself that this was the chance to end it all. I left my bag on my way there. Then before I knew something was about to happen, I went over the steel fence and looked down for the last time. I felt the wind flowing faster, calling me to leap forward. I closed my eyes and headed towards the ground.

When I woke up, there was nothing that I could feel anymore. The only thing that I knew that can move was my left eye…

Over my long sleep, I discovered that it was Death that hunted me. She tempted me to walk away life from that moment. She enticed me with its stunningly inquisitive voice, singing for me, just for me. With a melody I had heard before, telling me to depart from this world immediately. Never had I listened to such a familiar song till my heart was content.

Later, I noticed that I was in the black room I dreamt the other day. Same as before, it had nothing but a table and a photograph, but now, the door I went in last time had disappeared. I discerned that it’s because I can never go out anymore and no one can see me again. I was now one with peace but, there was something that I can’t ignore. A sound came somewhere far away from the place I was standing. However, from what I can make out, every note I heard was getting louder and louder every moment. Maybe it was another song Death was offering me. I had not explored the vast black quarter so I have no idea where’d I go if I headed towards the sound. I settled on running forward and turned my back once to look how far I had already gone. I was shocked to see that the table stood right behind me, like I was running in circles but had not manage to see the table right in front of me before I had passed it.

I attempted not to be disturbed from what I had just experienced; hence, I focused on the echoes of melody I heard. It sounded different from what I heard before I came here. This song gave me a more expressive feeling. I decided to look for it deeper from wherever it came from even if I knew that I was in no where.

After a few moments, I started to think that there was already no hope when suddenly I heeded that the song came to an end.

Throughout the life of a human being, what drives him to complete oblivion is knowledge power and love. We are able to express our full range of “human” emotions and I am just like you; you are just like me. Whether I open or close my eyes, the world still revolves around the orbit towards the unknown.


“When you build a tower, what do you aim for? Is it to reach something you desire or maybe to create happiness for yourself and others? We all seek for the light that God had forsaken us and that’s the reason why we build our tower. It is to reach that light.”

We initiate the foot of our tower below, going up. We let time pass slowly, putting every single piece of puzzle, creating a path for our lives by hand. It’s like architecture, where every detail needs to be perfect and are placed upon their own position or else, that one mistake would lead to the downfall of everything we had work upon for and we would have to start over again.

If you were, at this moment, building your tower, would it be the same if someone offered their help to you? Are you going to accept him? Maybe, but never forget that you are the only one you could trust. In the end, don’t be the one to cry since he could be the one to tear down your hardship so be cautious.

An incident that changed me from a shattered piece of mirror to a feather floating high above the sky is when I had come across death without really having to lose my own life. That was by the means of looking into other people’s perspective. Yes, I had experienced drowning and even almost being hit by a truck when I was immature but it was like I did not care at all till now.

Like what my mom tells me, “Nothing is more important to a mother than her children’s lives,” and I do believe so. I may not value my own life before, but I did cherish. Wait, let me rephrase that again. I do cherish a certain someone’s life. He was a special friend whom had always carried a light of true happiness. He is my model in life. But he was more likely a brother to me than a friend. Five years ago, he died. I learned from my father that he had a severe case of lung cancer.

That was when I was 8, my father, a hematologist, had to visit a patient in the emergency room, so he decided to leave me in the hospital ward. The minute I was left alone, I noticed a boy about the age of 12. He was staring blankly on the floor so I asked him why he was sitting alone, being that ignorant and curious child I was. He glanced at me with a faint smile. He told me that right now, he was definitely lost. He said, “Even if I wanted to hide it, that part will never ever come back to me. He was lost… and I am him. And all he could do now is to concentrate on what is directly in front of him. I replied to him that if he was lost I would not be bothered to help him. He reacted that it was not that kind of “lost” he was talking about. I became quiet and was about to cry, but then he suddenly laughed and introduced himself. From that day on, I began to visit the hospital more often with my father to see him, since he was always there.

On our first New Year, he gave me a little story book which talks about our first encounter. It was a small bound book he made when he had nothing to do. It was covered in a thin purple cloth. I opened the first page of the book and saw his handwriting. It was beautiful, it was like written by someone clearly knowing what he wants to write. He was truly an artist. In return, I only gave him a pen last December. He told me that it was a gift in return. Honestly, I was a little bit shy about it for these were two different things, but I never thought that that pen will be his most cherished treasure.

Three long years had passed without a single thing changed. He always talked about himself in figures of speech. He taught me valuable aspects of life that I soon began to realize that these were not simply words that were uttered. He told me that he spent most of his time reading and his favorite writer was Alexandre Dumas. He said his stories were simple but his answer did not satisfy me. So he told me it’s because the first book he read was “The Three Musketeers” and his favorite is “The Count of Monte Cristo”. He said these stories gave him this slight tingling feeling in his hand.

Sometimes, I look at my hands after reading a book. I turn them back and forth; shake them; put them on top of my head or under my chin. But I never get that tingling feelings on them. I can get inspirations from the books I read. I get weird feelings in my heart and in my mind but never on my hand.

One day, he told me that if I was to continue to visit him, I should go the room where he was confined at. I could even remember that the room was only 2 floors above the 1st lobby, going up the stairs, turning left, and entering the 3rd room on the right. When I first entered, I saw him sleeping. I didn’t want to wake him up so I sat beside him. I saw his eyes blinked and came around. This was his last words to me, “What’s that sound? Are we near yet dad? You don’t have to be in a hurry or you might be the one to get sick…” I acted fast and tried to rock him. Then for the first time, I saw his tears and sound came from the machine near him. Three Doctors came immediately, followed by some nurses. One of them asked me to leave immediately so I did. I went back to my father and we left for home. That afternoon, the mother of the boy called. She was looking for me. When I got hold of the phone, I saw my father’s face, his eyes away from mine.
I already knew what all of these meant. I got myself prepared and breathed deeply. I put the phone onto my ear and heard slight moaning but I couldn’t care less. I was about to say something but she already knew I was there. I could consider this as a mother’s intuition. She told me that he was gone and if I could, I should go to the hospital at once.

Father and I went off as fast as we can and by the time we reached the third floor, I was already hearing sobs. Father opened the door and his mother stood in front of it knowing that we were already there. She handed me a box-shaped letter with her eyes filled with tears. I did not cry because he always told me that whatever happens, crying is not going to help me. I put the letter, which was kind of bulky than that of a normal letter, in my pocket and asked if I could see him. I walked slowly towards him. He looked as if he was still sleeping since that morning. Death seemed nothing to him and to me. We believe that it was like a silent pleasure and endings are always happy. My father couldn’t bear me looking at a dead person so he dragged me out effortlessly. I didn’t notice but I was already too pale to move so we left. In the taxi that we rode going home, I felt the letter on my pocket. Whenever the taxi hit something on the ground I heard clanging sounds coming from the inside so I knew that the letter didn’t simply contain a paper and some words, something came along with it, but I decided I won’t open it for tonight.

After a week, a burial was held. This would be the last time I could ever see him. He still held-on the smile he had when I first noticed him. It was calm and faint. People may not have understood him much but I was different to him. He said, “People are all different and you are too but you are special to me and that makes you even more than a person.” We went home and on that very night, I opened the letter.
He reads:
“It’s been too long for us to be friends. I don’t think I can ever forget you now at my state. It was fun while it lasted, though. It was nice living in this world but now I have to go for I had finished my tower and I can now reach for the light. You should build your tower where it should be stable for you and your future because you will be the one who will be creating it. I wish you can climb my tower with me but now it has fallen since it could only hold little affairs. I believe and always believe that I was born to give you the light you had forgotten last time. Now that I had already done that I will look-after you somewhere I and only I can see you.
Don’t worry. I’ll always be looking after you and my family.
Be careful and good luck with your future. Take care…”

After reading, I discovered that I was already crying. Tears were pouring out of my eyes but it was the most pleasant thing I ever felt. It never occurred to me that it was actually his last will. The feelings I experience on that moment was as deep as the roots of the maple tree that never bore any leaves, we played under. Remembering that the letter contained something else, I shook it slowly over my desk, revealing something else. It was a small gift-box, so I opened it gently without tearing down the wrapper. I was shock when I discovered that the thing he sent me back was the gift I gave to him on our first New Year together, the pen I never saw him used. The wind suddenly blew the wrapper off my desk so I picked it up and saw something written on its back. “Take care… of my pen. This would be the last thing I will ask you to do. Finish our story together for I was not given the time to do so. Good-bye for now…”

I realized that he had only used the pen thrice in his life. Once for the story he gave to me, once for writing the letter and once for returning the gift. Now, the pen belongs to me…..NO….. The pen now belongs to us.

I still read the letter everyday recalling that he never said that this was the end. He never stated that this was his end and I believe him. Every single word he told me… I’ll never stop thinking about him and his smile. I can also get the tingling feeling now in my hands and I only get them when I read his letter and his book. Currently, I am also rereading every page he made. Sometime, I would continue the story he made. It was his last will and to finish his and ours story I should finish mine, too. I am him, and he is me…

“At that moment, I did not understand what he had told me but I kept those words deep in my heart. Always… always in my heart.”

Today, I want to share our memories to the world. It was a hard judgment but I come to a decision that I don’t want my friend to be only mine but also to the world. He had inspired me and I hope that someday he will inspire you too. I can say that now I had become him. I am him, and he is me…

In the end, (how can I say it), what drove me to complete oblivion is curiosity and the wandering soul of the youth. I may be young but through the eyes of other people I can see the visions of the future. Ideas may be different but everything is interrelated, with our hands we can create anything. I have a different outlook to life and that defines me as a person whom I really am.