Last week, we received a text message from the province telling us about a terrible news. One of our neighbors, probably a distant relative, took her own life and that of her three month-old child.
Dying is sad. Killing oneself is three times more so. As the rumors went, the girl had enough of the extreme poverty that battered the lives of almost all the residents in our barrio. With mind apparently clouded by hunger, she woke up early, fetched a pail of water on which she drowned her child before she hanged herself by a rope. Probably unsure she would die instantly, she even stuck a knife on her chest making sure whoever might find her first would not be able to revive her.
People have various reactions. I only felt extreme sadness for the girl. How difficult was life that she chose death over it?