The Tempest

There might come a time, dear friend, when all will be taken, including me, a mere stranger, from you. Every cushion of comfort will be pulled away. And you will be observed. Your grit will be tested. Your spirit for life will be measured. You will have nothing apart from your own self, not even hope, nor an illusion of it; and you must keep falling and lay fallen unless you find your own feet. That time, my dear friend, you will look for hope everywhere you thought it existed, in the vast ocean you thought you embodied, and even amidst every fistful of sand you carefully sieve through your weak fingers; and yet, you might not find it anywhere.

That is the time life will show you to yourself. How small an element you really are, and how little is the strength you really possess to stand through the tempest, alone. How little your value is, without the people and the cushions around you. How little your true contribution is. Worse, of what meagre worth you have made yourself.

You might want to give in to the overwhelming truth, you might want to retire from your search for hope, you might want to believe in the futility of every effort to recoup.

You might not want to simply acknowledge the truth, only to stand up again and fight the demon inside. With no weapon other than faith and self-belief. You might not want to do it. For it is too great a task. For it takes true grit. True willpower. The kind that’s written down in history and has given birth to its heroes. The kind that’s life-changing.

You might not want to do it. But you know what? Eventually, you will. Because that’s how we human beings are. Even in the times when we have nothing, we have will. A very capable but obedient will, that will not raise its head until we beckon it. And if we let it stay asleep inside, that’s all we’ll always be. Asleep. And that’s all we’ll always be worth. Nothing.

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