When my mom found out she was pregnant with me, my dad booked her an appointment for her to get an abortion. On the day she was supposed to go to the clinic, she went for a walk around the city of Canberra to clear her head and think of what she really wanted. As she contemplated my future, she happened to walk by a large gathering so she decided to check it out, turns out that the Pope was visiting Australia that very same day. My mom’s not Catholic, but something the Pope said made her decide to turn around and take me back home. 9 months later, I was born. When I was 10, I found my older sister passed out on her bed. She had swallowed bleach and if I hadn’t called the ambulance on time, she would have died. The second time, I wasn’t so lucky. When I was 16, a guy I thought I knew showed me what it means to be just a girl. I went home that night bloody and bruised. I told my mom I fell off my bike. In 2004 I flew into Sri Lanka for a one night stay at a hotel on the beach before catching my early connection to Bangalore. The next night, the Tsunami hit killing everyone in that hotel and leaving the whole building in pieces. In 2006, after years of battling depression, I gave in and swallowed a bottle of pills in my dad’s apartment while he was at work. My uncle happened to stop by 20 minutes later to find me passed out on the floor. If he had found me 30 minutes later, I wouldn’t be here today. In 2012, after closing up at work, I realized I left my house keys inside. I rushed back to look for them and after 15 minutes of searching, realized they had been in the bottom of my purse the whole time. After berating myself for being such an airhead, I locked up and started walking back up my usual route to the train when I noticed a bunch of police cars and an ambulance. A girl had just been raped and brutally beaten on the same path I always take home. Today as I was going into work, I was finishing my coffee by the trash so I could throw away the cup. As I turned around to walk away, I heard a loud crash and as I looked back to see what it was, a car slid two inches from where I was standing after a deadly head-on-collision with another car. I don’t know much about fate or destiny. I like to believe in them, but there have been too many incidents in my life that make me question their existence. I don’t know what I am alive for, or why I’ve had so many close calls or if there’s even any point to them at all, but one thing I am sure of is that I am grateful to be alive. Any time I feel myself slipping down that familiar path of depression, I remember the people I’ve encountered who weren’t so lucky. I remember my sister. I remember those who’ve hurt me and those who have been hurt. I remember my mother, the way she took me back home and stood up to her family. If my purpose is anything, if we even have one, maybe it’s nothing more than to just survive. This may not seem like much, but with life’s constant reminder of how fragile it really is, I’ll take it. I wasn’t supposed to be born, but I was. I at least owe myself enough to see it through.
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