Another bad day, I said to myself, not realizing the fact that every day on Earth is a privilege — a truth I was about to understand very soon.
After I woke up, I made myself some coffee and began looking at pictures of me and my friends. I hated most of the pictures, just as I hated my past. But there was one photo that I truly cherished: a picture of me and my friend Omar. A couple of years ago, he found himself in a crossfire and passed away.
“I miss him,” I whispered to myself, trying to push the memory away. I finished my coffee and remembered that I had to go to the studio to work on my upcoming album. Excited, I ran to my room and got ready. I stepped outside and got into my car.
I had forgotten to buy a few small things from the mall the day before, so I figured I could pick them up on the way to the studio. I parked my car, walked into the store, and grabbed what I needed. As I was paying, it suddenly felt like time had stopped. A loud boom was the last thing I heard.
I had been shot.
Fatally wounded, I lay on the ground as chaos erupted around me. Flames lit up the store, but I couldn’t get out. I was so close to the exit, yet so far away. I was losing hope, thinking these were my final moments on Earth — and then, a familiar voice shouted my name.
I couldn’t believe it.
It was Omar.
He picked me up, and I could tell from his face that he realized how badly I was hurt. He rushed me to the hospital. Time felt like it froze again. I don’t remember what happened after that.
When I woke up, I was lying in a hospital bed — and Omar was next to me.
“Omar! It’s you!” I said, in disbelief.
He smiled and replied, “I owed you one,” then quietly walked away.
I was completely perplexed. The doctors informed me that I would survive, but without Omar, I would’ve died on the spot. A few days later, I had fully recovered and returned to the studio to record my new album.
The sound engineer asked where I had been.
I told him I had been injured and needed a few days to recover.
After finishing my album, I went home and reflected on everything that had happened. I realized that being alive was a miracle. Those could have been my final moments — and there was nothing I could have done about it.
I thanked Omar once again.
And from that moment on, I began to cherish even my worst days.
Because life is a privilege, and every minute matters — until it’s too late.