Bright, vivacious and most likely to be voted "Most Popular Student of the Year", Deena was every lecturer's dream come true. Deena was independent, self-assured and well-liked. As cliche as it may sound, she was all of grace and charm at 22 years of ge. She wasn't gorgeous but she possessed a pleasant, attractive face with mischievous, sparkling eyes, and that in itself endeared her to many.
If you looked deeper though you would notice that she was haunted by her illustrious, academic past. Deena was, what everyone called, a 'second-timer' - a term varsity-mates coined for her. She wasn't just fresh out of Form Six, she had arrived at this varsity after taking up medical school for a year in a prestigious, local varsity. Friendship had its limits so we were polite enough not to prod too much into her past - especially when Deena was so bubbly - we figured, "Why foment sad memories?"
Simply put, we never uncovered the truth; we heard fragments of so-called "truth" embellished in its own controversy. One of her close friends, Lisa, explained that Deena deplored medical school as it was a constant pressure cooker. She could not wait to complete her compulsory first year so that she could switch courses and varsity. While she must have known that the rumours ('why give up a glamorous career in medicine?' most wondered) were flying fast and furious, Deena did not deny them nor did she proffer any explanation. She acted as if she did not care.
Despite the rumours, she was highly-popular. Her gaeity proved infectious - she could whirl into any room and brighten it with her presence. Fellow students and lecturers laughed when she made witty remarks and our tutorials seemed less humdrum whenever she turned up. It was no surprise then that one or two lecturers claimed her as their favourite student.
No one questioned why she seemed so chatty and bubbly. Was she depressed? Who knew? We were too caught up in our own lives that we noticed not the small silences or the pregnant looks she'd shoot us sometimes.
Once or twice she'd excuse herself from joining our activities and outings. She'd say she was tied up; that was one thing we'd never doubt. Everyone knew she was a busy undergrad, and busy with both studies and activities. If she was not the president of Economics Society, she was the treasurer of the Archery Club. It was simply amazing that she could juggle her extra curricular activities, cram in her studying, get all A's plus still have an active social life!
Although intensely private (we never heard her speak of her family or her previous friends), in rare and surprising moments Deena would give us an insight or two into her relationship with her boyfriend, KC, who was studying in Britain. Green-eyed monsters we'd be whenever we heard that KC sent her roses for birthday, Valentine and anniversary. Deena would shrug it off nonchalantly when we sighed with envy over her blooms. Some girls had all the luck!
So her disappearance in the middle of the first semester of our second year caught us by surprise. On a hot, searing August day, she just took off on her trusty Honda C70. No message, no byes. Initially, Sue, Deena's roommate, said it was perfectly understandable - after all Deena had always been independent and would go wherever she pleased. Being absent from tutorials and lectures was no big deal as we assumed she had a 'bout of homesickness and took off for home in Taiping. It was, after all, nearing study week - a time when undergraduates returned home for a one-week rest before the frenzied three-week university exams began.
Sujata was the one who dropped the bombshell that blistering Thursday in the crowded campus cafeteria. Vividly, I recalled her face - with fear written all over it - as she asked, "Do you know what happened to Deena?" The urgency in her voice was hard to miss; before I answered, she blurted out the whole story: Deena had been found dead, sprawled in a hotel bathroom. She had overdosed on paracetamol!
In movies, this would be the precise moment when the scene hangs in mid-air or it would be one played in slow motion. Time froze. The heat seered, my stomach lurched and the cafeteria was buzzing with chatter, laughter and noises. In the midst of all this, one fact burned in my mind: Deena dead?! "Are you sure?" Sujata nodded. "It can't be," - I told myself - "it's too unreal!"
Rushing to the faculty, I took in the growing crowd of friends and lecturers who were whispering. Some coursemates were sobbing. One of my lecturers had gone to identify the body. Apparently, Deena had booked into a hotel room for the night but when she did not check out the next day, the hotel management decided to investigate. When the staff broke the lock, she had already been cold for a few hours. Dead.
It's sad that unpalatable truths start tumbling out when a person passes away. In the suicide note that Deena wrote to her family, she regretted that she had been forced to excel in her studies by an academically-inclined family; how she had been pressured again and again for not doing medicine and how she received no sympathy from her boyfriend. Underlying the letter was the desolate cry that no one, no one understood her.
Her death shook us up - the happiness, success and love we witnessed fell away. They built a facade that hid a lonely and frightened girl of 22. She wanted to be accepted and loved minus the pressure and stress. Personally, we were guilty as we began to ask ourselves, "How much did we really know her?" Her family did not offer any explanation; perhaps none were necessary because even they, her closest, were at loss to begin. We shied away from the funeral as the family requested a private mourning.
Today, five years after Deena took her own life, I still mourn her untimely death. As friends, we suppressed our feelings and thoughts; no one discussed their feelings to her passing though everyone spoke about the tragic death. If anyone needed counselling, it should be us. "Would she still be alive if we had played a more active role as her friends instead of standing at the sidelines as spectators?" I berate myself time and again.
The answer still eludes me. Nevertheless, two years after her passing, I had a dream. Deena was in my dream and we were rushing like kids into an old, rickety bus; we were going for a picnic. In my dream, she was the laughing, bubbly child of the sun, all smiles with her deep dimples showing.
May peace be with you, Deena.
Friends who commit suicide. It's taboo but we have come across friends or even ourselves who tried to do it or contemplated it when we were truly desperate. Share those feelings with us at theeditor@i-asianwomen.com or drop by Say Your Piece.
by Krista
8th February 2001
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