Suicide Note by Janice Mirikita


An Asian American college student was reported to have jumped to her death from her dormitory window. Her body was found two days later under a deep cover of snow. Her suicide note contained an apology to her parents for having received less than a perfect 4.0 GPA.

How many notes written
Ink smeared like bird prints in snow.

Not good enough, not pretty enough, not smart enough
Dear mother and father,
I apologize
For disappointing you.
Ive worked very hard,
Not good enough.

Must be a genius.

Must have a BIG

loving heart for fuckups.

Wear collared buttondowns, surfshorts

and "slippahs" with shades.

Long gray ponytail. Laugh.

So first of all I hoping I'm posting this to the right section, cause to be honest I have no idea, this is some kind of recount of my night...

My roomate and I were heading back from the coffee shop with the full intention of enjoying our calzones while watching Howl's Moving Castle (awesome movie btw), when we run into a couple people we had previously met. Fighting the urge to be anti-social we strike up a conversation, which goes from Canada to boots, and of course parkour. My roomate has no idea what parkour is. Peter, Phil, and I all agree that it is imperative that she finds out. 

What is it about the late night?

I'm tired, I'm cranky, I'm not focused

yet up I sit and up I stay

staring at a screen, waiting on a wheel

that spins round, and round, and round

internet's slow, everyone online, but I don't mind

it's odd but I'm content to sit, to watch

to ponder, but ponder's too heavy, I'm not doing much

just sitting haunched, squinting with out glasses

excited about this new world, this new place

where I am free, I can be creative, I can express!

me, do I want myself here? putting it on the line

in front of strangers, people I don't know, never met, never saw

I'm scared, but exhilarated, who cares?! I'm here!

I'm free to be, free to think, to hope, to dream

it's late I need sleep, classes to survive

but up I sit and up I stay

What is it about the late night?

The wanderer throws his seed in the air in the field. Birds eat of the seeds. The seeds crack in their beaks and the sound is pleasant.

(Joyful fractures from nature’s infants)

The wanderer’s face is old and rough, chipped out of marble, tough and wise, the face of an emperor. He listens to the sound of the birds eating, his hand atop his dog’s head. He listens and sorts out the noises.

(A flinty, filthy fool looks at the birds)

The wanderer’s dog keenly watches the birds with grey eyes, one paw lifted up as if to dash forward at an instant, snout in line with the flock. The dog leans forward, trembling slightly, but knows better than to dash forward. The dog hears much more than the wanderer, yet does not realize the meaning.

(Dogs seek but never find)