I was sitting on a park bench, contemplating the things I had done and felt, when suddenly my phone rang. It was a call from my former colleague. I answered the call with a sense of curiosity and a question in my head, "Vincent, do you know? The company CEO's son died at a bar yesterday, beaten to death by the guy we fired from our company, that's what the witnesses at the bar said." I was shocked to hear that, not because of the shock itself, but because of the guilt of having been complicit in the incident yesterday. For some reason, my name wasn't mentioned in the involvement. I walked home slowly, my presence ignored by my wife. I locked myself in my room, sat in the darkness, contemplating everything. "What have I done? Can't I? Can't I do it one more time?"
That night, I went to the young man's grave and stared at it with confusion. I tightly gripped my chest, full of ambiguous feelings (I hate this feeling... this guilt.)
At home, I sat on the floor again beside the shattered vase. My daughter approached me, standing in front of me with an awkward expression and a nervous tone, apologizing for something she shouldn't even have to apologize for, "I-I'm sorry, Papa Elia... About what I did yesterday, I don't know what my mistake was." I stared at my daughter's face for a long time. I didn't know what to say; I was confused. I've been confused lately. I didn't know why everything was so ambiguous. I lowered my face, unable to look at my daughter's face. I remained silent, unable to explain that I was the one who made the mistake because my ego was too big.
Elia looked at me for a very long time, then slowly fell asleep on my lap. It felt warm. I felt guilty because I didn't deserve a warm feeling like this, especially from the person I had hurt at that time. I realized all my mistakes. I looked at my hands. I cried, muffling my sound. I covered my weeping face with my left hand out of shame. I felt utterly useless, like a grilled clam that had lost its edible content.
Every day, I go to the young man's grave with blue hyacinth flowers because I feel compelled to do so. I pray in church, asking for forgiveness for my sins because I am too ashamed to apologize to the person I wronged, and lately, I've been involved in charity work. (I am such a coward; I hate this cowardly side of me.)
In the room, I screamed hysterically and cried in the darkness, illuminated only by the light from the window, with a trembling voice, "No, atonement is just an escape for me to run from guilt, so what am I doing? What have I been doing all this time!!" My wife came into the room and merely told me not to make noise. I sat in the corner of the room. I just sat there doing nothing. (I think the right way to atone for something is to keep feeling guilty... I can try to fix everything as an atonement, but maybe atonement isn't about peace but about remaining guilty.)