the Bird Chirps of Regret
The first rays of light in the morning accompanies the receding darkness of the night. When bright colors of nature once again scar off the uniform blackness that enveloped the land, it is time to start anew, completely anew. The clear blue sky heads into the mind through the eyes, clearing out any mental debris that tired it from the night before. Refreshing, reinvigorating...it re-balances the senses and reassures one that what is past is the past, and what is future starts now, ready to be written on a new, blank chapter.
Nature talks back, amid this opening scene, with the orchestra setting up and getting ready to play. She reminds one, that one is a survivor, a battle-hardened veterans of countless struggles, passing through countless nights of uneasiness, anxiety, failures, uncertainty, all hidden, or chosen to be hidden, in those dark corners, where lights cannot reach. One tries so hard to shield those pains, away from the scrutiny of the public, so ready to judge, to laugh, and to gossip about weaknesses that throw one down the lowest levels of naivete, of self-induced gullibility, of utterly unquestioning innocence.
Lest one forgets, she says, that those are the qualities that make a person move forward. Hey, what is so bad about naivete? A human is born with plenty of it, believing in a world that is willing to carry one to whatever and wherever one feels like doing and going. Then one trips, one falls, one timidly gets up again, and then falls again. One was never told this was possible. With each fall, a shock accompanies it. But with each subsequent fall, the shock reduces. One learns to expect the fall coming, just like one waits birds to chirp against the sunrise. Nature never disappoints one, one should not either.
Yesterday, another hard fall made one cry. But upon hearing the birds, one knows that the tears must halt. The orchestra of light has no extra seat for tears. Swallow it, let it ferment inside, and only on the inside. Nature has not done you wrong, and she does not forgive those who cannot step beyond the past. But she is also benevolent, making sure that one also knows that one also has not done anything wrong. Mistakes can be made, guilt can be felt. But wounds can be healed, and healing those wounds is a skill that one must learn, must practice.
OK, maybe she will tolerate one kind of tears, that of joy, of gratitude. Not that of happiness that what is bad can be forgotten, but that of satisfaction that it can truly never be. The deeper it damaged one once, the more it reminds of how much can be learned from it. In one way, one can be defined as a victim, but a humble victim of an unknowing instructor. For the instructor, one only reserves the utmost respect, only the most unreserved thanks for teaching one more about oneself. And that instructor, one might want to keep, no matter how initially hesitating, so that more lessons can be had.
People are too fixated on an absolute definition of success, one of complete triumph accompanied by unquestionable euphoria. But things are never black or white. Nature has never turned on light like flickering of a switch, driving away darkness instantly. And she has never allowed the sounds and colors to come to full blossom, without giving them a fully timed process of development. In same way, success is gradual, a part by part effort spanning many events, over many years, each step culminating in another that one may not yet predict.
Yet, gradual success is incremental, it is small, even tiny. so tiny that it is almost always fully overwhelmed by the pains that come along with it. That pain, learn to enjoy it. It is what makes the success exist, meaningful, and sweet. To be denied the ultimate success is not a failure. It is a partial but definite victory. It is a moment that makes one realize that while one may not be that special, one is not nothing. The instructor still instructed, even for a long time, and felt worthy of doing so. That, by itself, reaffirmed one's value.
So, make friends, not enemies. Heck, there is no enemies out there, only teachers. Hold grudge for no one, and let thankfulness dissolve any feelings of hate and hurt. It is the bird that keeps silence in the darkness of the night. The darkness may be impenetrable, but the bird stands firm and patient. Light will come, and it will once again beautify the world. And when that light arrives, the bird will chirp, with no regret, bathing joyfully in the sunshine lest the coldness of the night be forgotten. One thanks, one grows, one matures. But without surviving first, none of that is possible.
Nature talks back, amid this opening scene, with the orchestra setting up and getting ready to play. She reminds one, that one is a survivor, a battle-hardened veterans of countless struggles, passing through countless nights of uneasiness, anxiety, failures, uncertainty, all hidden, or chosen to be hidden, in those dark corners, where lights cannot reach. One tries so hard to shield those pains, away from the scrutiny of the public, so ready to judge, to laugh, and to gossip about weaknesses that throw one down the lowest levels of naivete, of self-induced gullibility, of utterly unquestioning innocence.
Lest one forgets, she says, that those are the qualities that make a person move forward. Hey, what is so bad about naivete? A human is born with plenty of it, believing in a world that is willing to carry one to whatever and wherever one feels like doing and going. Then one trips, one falls, one timidly gets up again, and then falls again. One was never told this was possible. With each fall, a shock accompanies it. But with each subsequent fall, the shock reduces. One learns to expect the fall coming, just like one waits birds to chirp against the sunrise. Nature never disappoints one, one should not either.
Yesterday, another hard fall made one cry. But upon hearing the birds, one knows that the tears must halt. The orchestra of light has no extra seat for tears. Swallow it, let it ferment inside, and only on the inside. Nature has not done you wrong, and she does not forgive those who cannot step beyond the past. But she is also benevolent, making sure that one also knows that one also has not done anything wrong. Mistakes can be made, guilt can be felt. But wounds can be healed, and healing those wounds is a skill that one must learn, must practice.
OK, maybe she will tolerate one kind of tears, that of joy, of gratitude. Not that of happiness that what is bad can be forgotten, but that of satisfaction that it can truly never be. The deeper it damaged one once, the more it reminds of how much can be learned from it. In one way, one can be defined as a victim, but a humble victim of an unknowing instructor. For the instructor, one only reserves the utmost respect, only the most unreserved thanks for teaching one more about oneself. And that instructor, one might want to keep, no matter how initially hesitating, so that more lessons can be had.
People are too fixated on an absolute definition of success, one of complete triumph accompanied by unquestionable euphoria. But things are never black or white. Nature has never turned on light like flickering of a switch, driving away darkness instantly. And she has never allowed the sounds and colors to come to full blossom, without giving them a fully timed process of development. In same way, success is gradual, a part by part effort spanning many events, over many years, each step culminating in another that one may not yet predict.
Yet, gradual success is incremental, it is small, even tiny. so tiny that it is almost always fully overwhelmed by the pains that come along with it. That pain, learn to enjoy it. It is what makes the success exist, meaningful, and sweet. To be denied the ultimate success is not a failure. It is a partial but definite victory. It is a moment that makes one realize that while one may not be that special, one is not nothing. The instructor still instructed, even for a long time, and felt worthy of doing so. That, by itself, reaffirmed one's value.
So, make friends, not enemies. Heck, there is no enemies out there, only teachers. Hold grudge for no one, and let thankfulness dissolve any feelings of hate and hurt. It is the bird that keeps silence in the darkness of the night. The darkness may be impenetrable, but the bird stands firm and patient. Light will come, and it will once again beautify the world. And when that light arrives, the bird will chirp, with no regret, bathing joyfully in the sunshine lest the coldness of the night be forgotten. One thanks, one grows, one matures. But without surviving first, none of that is possible.
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