A Murder Over Gonzaga – Journal 8/30/17

I knew as soon as I saw what happened I was going to write about it.

I knew the killer, not the victim, and that tells me more of the story than I could experience in interviewing the dead. Today I mourn the loss of what the media is already calling the “victim” or the “driver” instead of giving the humanity that journalism fails to lend itself to. Gagandeep Singh. We’ve lost a great mind.

At the hands of this murder was someone I went to high school with. Had art projects with. Saw in the hallways. Never suspected. This is the person I won’t be characterizing further than “killer”. That is how I choose to tell this story. Unlike the glorification of killers that happens, this degenerate doesn’t deserve a human name.

I don’t know how many of you out there know someone who has killed a person. Who has killed another human being with a life and aspirations and dreams. With their own goals and set of morals. Do you know anyone with that under their belt?

I do now.

Tonight he sits in a jail cell with a body count. A family weeps for a lost son and brother and uncle and nephew. A mother wonders what she did to make her son end up doing this.

And I’m here. Struck with a very eerie and sad state for having been so near someone like this, a killer, for so long. Interacted with them. Bought them lunch when they didn’t have money. Someone that fell into the background. Never was in my friend group, never was on my bad side, he was just in the grey and far as I could tell wasn’t a fucking psychopath.

It makes you think about life, somewhat. People I’ve graduated with have “grown up” to be married, have kids, buy houses, cheat, steal… and kill. I graduated 2 years ago. But none of us are grown up yet.

It makes you take a step back and wonder what your place is. The legacy, of course, you’ll leave. When I was much younger I dreamed of dying in such a way that everyone would see me as a hero. I’d be revived, get the girl, and the bad guys would be vanquished. All would be well. Real life is not a dream. While that’s an entirely redundant statement, I doubt the killer knew much about reality. For this is Radio Reality City. I know more about reality than at least one other person who went to Puyallup High School.

At the same time, it drains me to think about. I’m a generally happy, upbeat person. My job makes me happy. My social life makes me happy. School makes me happy. I’m happy. It takes a lot to really rock me.

This did.

You can read Wikipedia articles on murder victims, read the news on what the hurricane is doing to people and animals alike in Houston and not even flinch. 30 bodies doesn’t sound like a lot, and we’ll watch the movie Patriot’s Day that depicts tracking down the Boston Marathon Bombers when it comes to theaters.

But when you know someone well enough and they take someone else’s life into their own hands for the worse… the idea of having known someone who’s done that has fucked with me.

I’d love to tell you all about my new interest in cryptography. How I took a certification course to be Basic Life Support certified. How I have solid plans to move out. My thoughts have been eclipsed by this.

We’ve lost a great mind to a heinous crime. Today Radio Reality City mourns for Gagandeep Singh. Though I don’t know him, I wish I did before today. Long live his aspirations.

This journal’s excerpt is going to be from “Han 570-CR”:

0 46075 ba5rd
p5nc9d5
kaqg 4a6jd
e6c0q r5

7a 7h0qj 407.d da9k
0d p65o078

p97 0q paajd
c bka7 r5nhcq0l5d’
5o568 ba5r 0d 9b
7a 0q756b657

cqe dar5 d55
4hc7 7h58 4cq7 7a’

nk5c6k8′

Thus my interest in cryptography begins. Crack the code and see what I mean.

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