It was a night in summer, I could see the sky filled with twinkling stars and I was wondering How the lost souls become stars, some myths are just beyond explanations, My imagination was distracted when the phone rang, I picked it up. It was him. He was X [He knew me and so did I]
“Waqas, I want to commit suicide”
“Why? Are you in senses”
“Waqas, I am a sinner, a big one”
“what did You did. Can You meet me Now”
He agreed, came to my place and told his story which was no different than many of the stories I listened to daily. He was reluctant to tell, By his expressions It seemed like he was opening the secrets which I will hate learning about. I asked him politely for more details. After listening to his whole story I realized that the situation was just a disobeyance of societal norms and was not a sin any case. Anyways, I used every possible way to relieve his anxiety, told him some tips to avoid that in future, showed him through religious books that he was not at fault and all his tension was relieved. People are reluctant to share their dark sides and thus the condition rolling like a snowball, make them hypocrites in the end.
Okay, Now rewind back and see if I would have treated him like a criminal, I may have become the reason for his reinforcement of that particular act and maybe his suicide. Hate is not a solution, Not at all. A few months later, he met me and told me that How much tension was released from his nerves. He was back to religion, He was back to love, he was back to life.
This story of Thomas Edison, although may be a bit fictitious to someone is mostly true as per my research:
One day Thomas Edison came home and gave a paper to his mother. He told her, “My teacher gave this paper to me and told me to only give it to my mother.”
His mother’s eyes were tearful as she read the letter out loud to her child: Your son is a genius. This school is too small for him and doesn’t have enough good teachers for training him. Please teach him yourself.
After many, many years, after Edison’s mother died and he was now one of the greatest inventors of the century, one day he was looking through old family things. Suddenly he saw a folded paper in the corner of a drawer in a desk. He took it and opened it up. On the paper was written: Your son is addled [mentally ill]. We won’t let him come to school any more.
Edison cried for hours and then he wrote in his diary: “Thomas Alva Edison was an addled child that, by a hero mother, became the genius of the century.”
So, My people! Your words matter, Your actions matter, Your body language matter. I remember every word of kindness someone has spared for me. Every word of love someone has uttered for me, Every action that is done for raising me up, Every criticism whose purpose was construction.
We don’t know what people are passing through, what life the happy faces are living inside, We are only aware of what we see and what we see may just be an illusion.
It’s all up to us How we treat our belongings, we raise them up or bury them in the depths of guilt fear and nervousness.