Disclaimer: In Real Life is a platform for everyday people to share their experiences and voices. All articles are personal stories and do not necessarily echo In Real Life’s sentiments.
[source: Nicholas Chew on Unsplash]
I had a backpack with a few small presents, and was waiting for a train at an LRT station on the Kelana Jaya Line when I noticed him.
[source: Nalau Nobel on Unsplash]
I remember his gaze: Fixed. Just staring.
The way he was standing: no movement. Just still.
“His focus was on the railroad tracks. For at least two minutes. His body language, and his behaviour, both told me something just wasn’t right with his situation.”
The train was two minutes away, according to the displays. I just watched him for another thirty seconds. That gaze didn’t shift. He didn’t move.
I could hear a clock ticking somewhere like it was counting down the seconds to a tragedy or disaster.
I still don’t know why I decided to approach him. I didn’t know was I was going to do, or say.
Professional training and experience had told me, instinctually that something was wrong here. I also know I’m not trained for this kind of thing.
[source: Ethan Hu on Unsplash]
I remember deciding that I’d talk to him, and best case walk him back a bit, and worst case, tackle him to the floor.
What I said, was perhaps the most ridiculous thing I could say, “Salam. My name is Fuad. You ok bro?”
I got no response. He just continued to stare at the tracks, without moving, but breathing slowly, and calmly. That sheer calm was unnerving.
If I didn’t get a reaction out of him, I was scared he would jump. That, or I was talking to a hallucination of my own. He was holding a phone in his hand, and I caught sight of the screen. I recognized the open app and the music blaring from his phone.
Screenshot from Mobile Legends Bang Bang (MLBB)
“MLBB ke?” I asked him, “I main jugak.” I just wanted to communicate and connect with this young man. I talked a bit, about the game, about how I was kind of new, and inexperienced and could use help to get better.
The younger generation use games as not just a means of socializing, but also as a means of escape from their real-world problems. And it worked – sort of. He turned his head, and gave me a sidelong glance, “Main (hero) apa?”, he responded.
I answered, and we talked for a minute or so about the game. I took a step back from the edge, and he turned to keep talking to me. another few seconds, another step, and suddenly, he had his back to the platform.
I pulled out my phone and swapped in-game contacts. I made it seem as casual as I could, “Nak main? One match bro.”
He agreed. We were leaning against a pillar, side by side and played one quick match. We won, and we shared a laugh as we celebrated the win.
“What’s going on with you?” I nodded in the direction of the tracks, “I saw you just now. You were, thinking, about it.”
He knew exactly what “it” I was referring to. This was also the proverbial “it” moment, “I’m here to listen, and help. Just, want to make sure you’re ok.”
He shook, and I could hear it in his voice, he was trying desperately not to cry. “Not ok bro. Memang tak ok.” He looked away. He was doing his best to not break down in front of a complete stranger. He mumbled his story.
It’s the story we’ve all heard in some form or another: Pandemic. Death. Parental job loss. Academic struggles. The plotline is the same, just the content is different.
I asked him to get some mental health help. I told him where he could go to get that help for a low price at PPUM.
I got him out of the station, and into a Grab car for his journey home. All the way home, I kept in touch with him through the game’s community chat channel.
In game Chat screenshot from Mobile Legends Bang Bang (MLBB)
I stayed in touch with him over the next few weeks. We played a little and he shared the important things with me though: He did listen. He did get the help he needed. First from the on-campus therapist at his university. Then at PPUM. He did confess that he was thinking about ‘suiciding-by-train’ that night.
Understand that I was never his therapist or anything. Just… a friendly face, one that he needed at that point in his life.
I’ve not seen him since that one night in the station, but his life is going a lot better, and we play together once in a while.
[source: Nicholas Chew on Unsplash]
Words are powerful. They can attack and cause harm, rally hatred and fan the flames of anger.
Or, they can offer comfort, a show of support. The right words helped me save a life. I know from this experience. But when I think about it, words don’t adequately express what I feel about playing a role in saving a life.
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