No HOLDS BARRED
Raja Petra Kamarudin
One million people commit suicide each year:
WHO
(AFP) - One million people die by their own hand each year,
accounting for more deaths than wars and murders put together, the World Health
Organisation said yesterday, calling for urgent action to address the
problem.
“Data from the WHO indicate that approximately one million
people worldwide die by suicide each year. This corresponds to one death by
suicide every 40 seconds,” the organisation said in a report launched ahead of
the World Suicide Prevention Day on Monday.
And while the number of deaths by suicide is staggering, the number of attempts each year is 20 times higher, the WHO said, pointing out that five percent of people in the world try to kill themselves at least once during their lifetime.
And while the number of deaths by suicide is staggering, the number of attempts each year is 20 times higher, the WHO said, pointing out that five percent of people in the world try to kill themselves at least once during their lifetime.
And the problem is getting worse, the organisation said,
insisting that “given the magnitude of the public health problem of suicidal
behaviours”, urgent action was needed.
Yes, I have attempted suicide at least twice in the course of my life and the first one was sometime in 1979-80 while I was a student at the university in Green Bay, Wisconsin. I had just returned from my three month long trip through the South West States of New mexico, Arizona and Colorado as a part of my semester's project; Art in Quest of the Universality or living on the street as an artist. It was a program introduced by the University of Wisconsin in Madison, a program called 'The University without Walls" and I was of the few selected to do the pioneering of this course of study.
At the beginning of the semester I made all the necessary arrangements with four faculty members from my art department; writing proposals and making commitments as to how i would be graded and what I am expected to do; my goals and intentions.This was not the first trip i took with similar intentions as my first trip was to England where I started keeping my journals in 1978-79.
Back to my story, I had just arrived from this long and eventful journey of the Southwest States living out of a 1965 Chevy Impala bought for two US dollars from my former girlfriend who got the car from her grandma. The car was parked in the driveway with one half of her passenger side flatten out from an accident i experienced somewhere on Highway 666 between Gallup and Durango on the border between Colorado and New Mexico.( I wrote about it somewhere sometime ago in my blog about this accident.)I was sitting on the front steps of my closest friend Francis Wilson's home facing a willow tree in the small yard. Upon my return I had found out that Fran was in the process of separating from his wife and so no one was home and the event was a shock to me as I loved them both like my family.
I also came to realize that my son and his Mom had left for Mannheim, Germany where my former wife had a teaching job and thus I would not be seeing my son for sometime and this too was a shocker as I had totally forgotten about their plans. Missing my son was not an easy thing for me to dealt with as he was all I had to remind me of who I was and why I needed to be where I was. I felt an emptiness deep within and no one to turn to and all I had to my name was in the battered car.
I entered the house as Fran had left it unlocked for me when I called him to let him know of my return.I stood in the kitchen with a sick feeling in my stomach from hunger as well as depression. As I went through the kitchen cabinets to search for food I found a bottle of Jack Daniels still unopened and without thinking much started pouring it down my throat. By the time I stopped I had finished three quarters of the bottle and I began to feel the burning sensation in my stomach making me almost collapse to the floor but I hung on to the counter and with my mind going in warp speed from pain and fear I saw the knives stuck in the rack and decided to end it by slitting my wrists. Before i made the move to grab a knife I saw the telephone and my immediate thoughts were of my home and my eldest brother. If anyone could help me I figured he was the one as he had often talked me into some senses in the past.
I reached into my wallet and found his home phone number in Terengganu, Malaysia and started dialing even as my mind was doubtful as I had never called anyone in Malaysia after my seven years in the States; I had burned my bridges with my past including my family.The phone rang and I was surprised and then it was answered by a young lady and again my heart fell into disappointment. I asked who she was and when she told me she was a housekeeper and that my brother was at work, I said 'Shit!." She came back with 'Oh but your father is here, cant't you talk to your father?" It was as though she felt my disappointment and chastised me. So she got my father on the phone and all this while I realized that the line was so clear it was like I was in the same country as he was.
When my father came on the phone I unloaded all my pains and sorrow on him telling him of my grieve and that I was about to do a stupid thing. After a short silence father did something which I loved and hated him at the same time, he laughed! Only those who are close enough to him would know this laughter; a humorless laughter of an old man.He said, " It is your son's Karma that he has to leave you and live away from you, it is my Karma that you left me to live away from me and now it is your Karma-la so what are you whining about? Accept your Karma-la! Go on and live your life like a ma,." he said with the most gentle voice like only my father could. There was no anger, no judgement only flat out, 'don't worry be happy.'
I felt warm tears flowing out of my eyes down my cheeks and felt the greatest relief and an exuberant warmth engulfed my whole being; three quarter of a bottle of jack Daniels Whiskey in my stomach and I was clear headed and sober like I had never been before. I left the house and drove to the nearby Pamperin Park, at Duck Creek where I used to live in Green Bay. I sat at a picnic table and got out my typewriter and decided to write a thank you not to my father for saving my life.Later i showed the letter to my close friend at the International Student Center at the University and after reading it she asked to make a copy of it to share with her husband and kids. She said this words came from your heart and I wish more children would think of their parents like you.Later in the evening as I sat listening to a Pink Floyd album I had a strange feeling of elation; I felt all my aches and pains from the whole journey to the Southwest and my bouts of suicide lifted and separated from my being; like it was all hanging in front of me. I said Alhamdullilah and thanked the Lord for His saving grace. I thanked my father for being laconic and being there when I needed someone most.
That semester I had had a solo Art Exhibition at the University Faculty Art Gallery and I was the first student to be accepted to exhibit there. I got four straight 'A's for my courses and found a very decent place to live out on a farm, my housemate the owner was as unique a man as they come.The Chevy Impala met her final days at the hands of a few Malaysian students who borrowed her for ride up north to Door County in Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin. On their way back the engine finally blew up ; they forgot to add two quarts of oil as I had advised them to do before they left. I never asked for any compensation for the car but got 40 dollars for her tiers which were sporty donated to me by a rich Thai student. Fran Wilson remarried and we played many rounds of golf together.
Yes, I have attempted suicide at least twice in the course of my life and the first one was sometime in 1979-80 while I was a student at the university in Green Bay, Wisconsin. I had just returned from my three month long trip through the South West States of New mexico, Arizona and Colorado as a part of my semester's project; Art in Quest of the Universality or living on the street as an artist. It was a program introduced by the University of Wisconsin in Madison, a program called 'The University without Walls" and I was of the few selected to do the pioneering of this course of study.
At the beginning of the semester I made all the necessary arrangements with four faculty members from my art department; writing proposals and making commitments as to how i would be graded and what I am expected to do; my goals and intentions.This was not the first trip i took with similar intentions as my first trip was to England where I started keeping my journals in 1978-79.
Back to my story, I had just arrived from this long and eventful journey of the Southwest States living out of a 1965 Chevy Impala bought for two US dollars from my former girlfriend who got the car from her grandma. The car was parked in the driveway with one half of her passenger side flatten out from an accident i experienced somewhere on Highway 666 between Gallup and Durango on the border between Colorado and New Mexico.( I wrote about it somewhere sometime ago in my blog about this accident.)I was sitting on the front steps of my closest friend Francis Wilson's home facing a willow tree in the small yard. Upon my return I had found out that Fran was in the process of separating from his wife and so no one was home and the event was a shock to me as I loved them both like my family.
I also came to realize that my son and his Mom had left for Mannheim, Germany where my former wife had a teaching job and thus I would not be seeing my son for sometime and this too was a shocker as I had totally forgotten about their plans. Missing my son was not an easy thing for me to dealt with as he was all I had to remind me of who I was and why I needed to be where I was. I felt an emptiness deep within and no one to turn to and all I had to my name was in the battered car.
I entered the house as Fran had left it unlocked for me when I called him to let him know of my return.I stood in the kitchen with a sick feeling in my stomach from hunger as well as depression. As I went through the kitchen cabinets to search for food I found a bottle of Jack Daniels still unopened and without thinking much started pouring it down my throat. By the time I stopped I had finished three quarters of the bottle and I began to feel the burning sensation in my stomach making me almost collapse to the floor but I hung on to the counter and with my mind going in warp speed from pain and fear I saw the knives stuck in the rack and decided to end it by slitting my wrists. Before i made the move to grab a knife I saw the telephone and my immediate thoughts were of my home and my eldest brother. If anyone could help me I figured he was the one as he had often talked me into some senses in the past.
I reached into my wallet and found his home phone number in Terengganu, Malaysia and started dialing even as my mind was doubtful as I had never called anyone in Malaysia after my seven years in the States; I had burned my bridges with my past including my family.The phone rang and I was surprised and then it was answered by a young lady and again my heart fell into disappointment. I asked who she was and when she told me she was a housekeeper and that my brother was at work, I said 'Shit!." She came back with 'Oh but your father is here, cant't you talk to your father?" It was as though she felt my disappointment and chastised me. So she got my father on the phone and all this while I realized that the line was so clear it was like I was in the same country as he was.
When my father came on the phone I unloaded all my pains and sorrow on him telling him of my grieve and that I was about to do a stupid thing. After a short silence father did something which I loved and hated him at the same time, he laughed! Only those who are close enough to him would know this laughter; a humorless laughter of an old man.He said, " It is your son's Karma that he has to leave you and live away from you, it is my Karma that you left me to live away from me and now it is your Karma-la so what are you whining about? Accept your Karma-la! Go on and live your life like a ma,." he said with the most gentle voice like only my father could. There was no anger, no judgement only flat out, 'don't worry be happy.'
I felt warm tears flowing out of my eyes down my cheeks and felt the greatest relief and an exuberant warmth engulfed my whole being; three quarter of a bottle of jack Daniels Whiskey in my stomach and I was clear headed and sober like I had never been before. I left the house and drove to the nearby Pamperin Park, at Duck Creek where I used to live in Green Bay. I sat at a picnic table and got out my typewriter and decided to write a thank you not to my father for saving my life.Later i showed the letter to my close friend at the International Student Center at the University and after reading it she asked to make a copy of it to share with her husband and kids. She said this words came from your heart and I wish more children would think of their parents like you.Later in the evening as I sat listening to a Pink Floyd album I had a strange feeling of elation; I felt all my aches and pains from the whole journey to the Southwest and my bouts of suicide lifted and separated from my being; like it was all hanging in front of me. I said Alhamdullilah and thanked the Lord for His saving grace. I thanked my father for being laconic and being there when I needed someone most.
That semester I had had a solo Art Exhibition at the University Faculty Art Gallery and I was the first student to be accepted to exhibit there. I got four straight 'A's for my courses and found a very decent place to live out on a farm, my housemate the owner was as unique a man as they come.The Chevy Impala met her final days at the hands of a few Malaysian students who borrowed her for ride up north to Door County in Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin. On their way back the engine finally blew up ; they forgot to add two quarts of oil as I had advised them to do before they left. I never asked for any compensation for the car but got 40 dollars for her tiers which were sporty donated to me by a rich Thai student. Fran Wilson remarried and we played many rounds of golf together.
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