The Day I Died,

A cold day in hell. The earth stopped in its orbit. The sun couldn’t give light. The stars lost their beauty. Death seemed peaceful. I lost against life, against myself, against my will to live. 2022, the year I died. I have always praised myself as being strong in will and in heart. I thought I understood pain, suffering, and all the torment that hell could send, but I didn’t.

My childhood experiences were alleviated by a strong family: a father who cared for me unto death, a mother who loved me more than anything, a brother who bore responsibility for my ill acts, and a sister who loved me beyond reason. Cousins, aunties, uncles, and grandparents were all blessings to me. My family is God’s first blessing to me. All this would change when I got into boarding school (high school). I would be faced with challenges that crippled the boy in me and forced the man out of the child. I became a victim of nefarious acts by older students. I fought for my life, for my humanity. The boy in me lost, but the beast, or simply put, the man, was awakened earlier than he should have been, and he won. The boy died, and the man was born, hoping never to die — but he would.

Pushed into maturity, I hated the warmth of friendship, embraced the constant watch of enemies, discarded naivety, and wore the cloak of cynicism: you are an enemy until proven friendly. A lone wolf with no pack, I didn’t need one. This man-child stood by me through my teenage years into adulthood. Unknown to us, his death was near. I would lose the man who stood for me and with me. I can’t bear the pain of losing a child and a man in one lifetime. In my fear, I ponder: after the child comes the man, but after the man comes what? The strength of the man was debilitated. On his back were scars of won battles: the battle of bullying, the battle of shame, the battle of failure. The man saw me through to college, thriving alone in the darkest days and the scariest nights. He was my comfort when there was none, my ally when enemies grew. He was cynical, trusting no one but himself. He was ready to fight, pugnacious and belligerent. He knew no love, nor did he need it. He was intelligent, shrewd, discerning, and perspicacious. He cared not about pleasure. He knew no rest, nor allowed time for enjoyment in the present moment. His eyes were so fixed on the future that he cared not about the present, its suffering, or what the day had to offer. His name was Amedeo-an Italian name derived from the Latin name Amadeus, which means “lover of God,” a name given a few years after the man emerged.

2021, a turbulent year. Amedeo faced the strongest battle of his life. He saw failure like never before. He fought with all the skillset acquired over the years: tenacity, wisdom, fearlessness, and wit. All failed. The battle was the longest he faced, lasting for two years. He was tired. I trusted that Amedeo would survive, until May 2022, when Amedeo was struck the last blow — the death of a mother. Amedeo died. I was shocked! In the bathroom, crying my eyes out, weeping on the battlefield of life, the battle still on, I looked unto God, vexed, screaming, “Why!!” There is no one left. The child died long ago, and now the man is dead. Who else? I asked. I have known him all my life. But amid the battle, another man, a new man, emerged on the scene with strength never seen before. He fought with great grace and power. Is this a cavalry, one sent to deliver me from this battle, or a replacement for the man? Is there another man, another person? I thought it was just man and child. Who is this exactly? This new man took me by my hand and drove me to safety. I named him Exnihilo, which means “created out of nothing.” He is refined, having the whim of a child, the perspicacity of the man, and the wisdom of the divine. Exnihilo, more in touch with his feelings, submits more to God, and moves with a carefully selected pack. I still don’t know where he came from but I am enjoying his defense and offense. In short, he is the one writing.