I tried killing myself twice then decided to be a filmmaker

I was supposed to say something else in front of Sir Kaloy. I wasn't supposed to go ape shit and cry and tell the whole class that I was once (twice) a suicidal, but shit happened and shit I told them.  I wanted to slap my dearest mentor with the fact that no matter how much he says it’s fair, it is not; that no matter how much he waves two crispy fuck you signs in front of us, we couldn't care less. We just want our music videos be screened and critiqued. But I told you that shit happened, and what a shit of a stunt it was.

To the future onward, I shall be known as “the boy who cried in front of Kaloy”. Did I regret it? No. Why did I do it in the first place? Alas, I don’t fucking know myself. Ask Freud and his psychoanalytical shit. But behold the grandest stunt I did to end my semester. I stood up, walked up front and asked Kaloy, “Sir, have you ever tried killing yourself? I did, sir, twice.”

I mean, who the fuck says that?

I did, shitfully.

Now it’s 4 AM and I’m typing this shit to tell everyone what I really meant by that confession.

I was at the edge of bursting the shit out of myself that day when Kaloy started ranting about index cards and how we’re supposed to earn millions at twenty. I travel for two hours to school, and on that day, it was the most glorious two hours of my entire life. The songs were rocking it. The weather was grand. The people I passed on the streets were smiling. It was grand as shit. As I entered MC Studio, I felt like no shit can suck up this positive vibe forever. Then came the index cards.

Don’t get this wrong, I’m not gonna rebut or bitch-slap what Kaloy said that day. It was like a TEDx talk done in two hours.

It was only that as Kaloy was bitch-slapping us with the profoundness of our stupidity, I felt obliterated. I felt crushed. I tried killing myself twice and what saved me was a dream. It was because of this dream that I decided to get up and get my shit together. But on that day, inside that room, my dream was crushed over and over again with two crispy fuck you signs waved on air by my mentor.

You see, I want to be a filmmaker. I forgot about this dream when I ate the shit out of all the pills inside our medic box when I was sixteen, praying to all the gods that I die. Those were tablets and pills I don’t know what’s for. But I ate all of them all the same. I slept and hoped never to wake up. It was my “fuck you life” moment. But life replied with a fuck you sign so I woke up. The same happened with my second attempt. The rope’s on my neck and a kick away I’m good to go. Then my mother called outside. Life replied with a fuck you sign again so I got out of the rope. That day, after my second failed attempt, I remembered my dream.

I tried killing myself twice then decided to be a filmmaker. I want my stories and stories of people be transformed into moving pictures and be shown on the big screen. I want to tell stories through film. It was when the end credits for 500 Days of Summer rolled that I asked myself “How cool it’s gonna be to have your name in there?” and “How fucking awesome it’s gonna be to tell stories like this? I mean, fuck you, Summer. Bitch.”

Now I don’t care what you say about me anymore. Call me “the guy who cried in front of Kaloy and gone ape shit” I will never care. I’ll be too busy telling stories.

UPDATE: Currently writing a 10K story for a client. So, yeah.