Love for People
A good friend once asked me this: Do you see other people to be the same or to be different from you? And not very surprisingly, we have the same thought.
People are more of the same than different.
Frankly speaking, before all this, a few years back, if she had asked me this very same question, I would have answered differently. I guess because I see the world differently. But as I discover this vast land’s secrets and slowly covering its enormity, I become aware of our connections. The thin lines. The almost invisible link. The floating thread.
It is when we see the reflection of ourselves in others that we begin to understand and finally see where they are coming from, where they are now, and where they are going. The clarity may come as a surprise as abrupt as a bomb exploding from nowhere or as shocking as an unexpected death. Or, it may come as familiar as the smell of the coffee you drink every morning or as the way your bed sheets feel as you rub your feet with it. In either ways, the end is reached. But none of which is achieved if we do not pay attention,
in the little things,
…to recognize that we were once that young lady who stomps her feet in the beat of the music emanating from her earphones; that grandpa who, while sleeping, unintentionally lays his head on a shoulder of a stranger; that kid who asked for spare coins to buy sweet candies.
in the good things,
…to see that we were once that mom who fed a beggar in the streets; the middle-aged boy who aided an old lady cross the hectic urban roads; that younger sister who brought the older sister food and water when she was sick; that boy who defended a friend against the bullies and the harsh words.
and most especially, in the bad things.
…to embrace that we were once that person who raises his voice when angry; that woman who shuts down when feeling insecure; that little girl who throws tantrums when hungry; that guy who boasts around inappropriately and gives a little or no credit at all to the works of others; that man who gets irritated with the little favors and nuances; that drunk person who lashes out at anyone without any logical reason.
These may be the key elements to relate to people who may be out of range of our comfort, to the seemingly not relatable soul, to the Old and to the Young generations. Because what is age, really? It is just a number. Marking our time here on Earth. And what is time, really? It is just a dimension outstretching to the vessel that deteriorates – our body. But our soul, there, age and time has no true value. Our soul expands as we experience, as we feel, as we see. It is not merely the amount of time we spend on experiencing, feeling, and seeing. It is on how we spend it. Do we pay attention? Do we listen?
With our similarities, we begin to shake the clouds and shades. We begin to see clearly that we were one, at some point in time. To see that we were woven under the same setting sky. But sometimes we still forget to relate, no? And so we struggle to connect genuinely. We contemplate. We try. Then we remember. And so we build this everlasting relationship. A magical thread that will bind these differently same beings, surprising the world with its dynamics arising from their diversity, and showing its potential to be more than just pieces of a puzzle being brought together. In this crossroad, we stir motions, we create.