I just found out that someone I knew is dead. I was told that he committed suicide. Apparently he took a drug overdose and died in Malaysia.

I heard that he was depressed and ashamed because he somehow felt that he was a disgrace to his family. This is what I heard. I don't know how true it is. What I do know is true is that he is dead.

Either way, I was shocked but unable to feel anything else. Why? This person, while he was alive, was absolutely evil to me. All the contact I ever had with him involved him insulting me, terrorizing me, tormenting or threatening me in some way.

He died this summer, a little over two months ago.

I'm not happy that he's dead, but I feel nothing.

And because I feel nothing, I feel guilty.

Am I supposed to be sad at his death, because part of me feels that I should.

I didn't know him well. I couldn't tell you anything about him other than that he was evil and to describe his physical features.

I know that my picture of him isn't by any means complete. There are others who knew him, loved him, thought him the nicest person in the world probably, while I hated him with every fibre of my soul, so honestly, I couldn't tell you.

He was the same age as me. He would be twenty now. He was the one that threatened/tried to spread a rumour that I was pregnant while we were in secondary school, and he would call me all day long to harass me and send me threatening text messages when he was tired. Ironically, I just discovered, also to my shock that he fathered a son some time ago. If he were alive, I would call it poetic justice, but now it just seems sad.

As someone who obsesses about death a lot, I find myself both horrified and intrigued by the discovery of his death, and truthfully, somewhat in awe.

We will all die, and now, even though I barely knew him, he has at least, a bit of my sympathy, if not for anything else, then for the loneliness that he must have felt at the end. If I could, I would have liked to ask him what his final moments were like, if he was aware of the exact moment he died, what he saw afterward, and how he finds where he now is.

Bilal Roda was my enemy in life, but I at least share with him the fear of his death. And for that he has my pity.

I hope he finds peace.

Update: So it turns out that the person that informed me of his death got some facts wrong.

It was an overdose, but it wasn't suicide, so the title's been changed.

He died in Nigeria, not Malaysia.

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