It sometimes takes the misery of others for one to count his blessing, to be thankful and grateful, eternally.
I realize from what I went through today, the parallel in the stories foretold often in the Quran. Muhammmad (peace be upon him) was in many occasions, when lost and dejected by the treatment he received from his own people, be comforted in the stories of the miseries and tragedy of the earlier prophets, of Jesus, Moses, Aaron, Jobs and others.
Only in the light of another’s misery one feel the lightness of one’s own pain.
Today, I sat in the company of two old ladies. Distraught and poor. I held back my tears as I watched them eating a few pieces of biscuits and a cup of plain tea. I could see that they are hungry.
‘ Maaf deh, mak cik dok malu nok mitok, sebab mak cik dok makang lagi.’
I almost choke as I answered them. ‘Malu mende gok mak cik, orang kaya pung dok berhenti m’itok (meminta).’ And I silently add, ‘and had our fair share of rejection too.’
They could not understand it, I am sure. I said it not about others but myself.
To be here, they must have traveled a long way, and another long way awaits them before they could see the door of their home somewhere. Home – if one could call it such.
And as I watched them, I wash away the anger and frustration bottled within me earlier. The anguish of losing something once in a while, as I could now see, is nothing in the scale of true, almost perpetual misery.
I realize from what I went through today, the parallel in the stories foretold often in the Quran. Muhammmad (peace be upon him) was in many occasions, when lost and dejected by the treatment he received from his own people, be comforted in the stories of the miseries and tragedy of the earlier prophets, of Jesus, Moses, Aaron, Jobs and others.
Only in the light of another’s misery one feel the lightness of one’s own pain.
Today, I sat in the company of two old ladies. Distraught and poor. I held back my tears as I watched them eating a few pieces of biscuits and a cup of plain tea. I could see that they are hungry.
‘ Maaf deh, mak cik dok malu nok mitok, sebab mak cik dok makang lagi.’
I almost choke as I answered them. ‘Malu mende gok mak cik, orang kaya pung dok berhenti m’itok (meminta).’ And I silently add, ‘and had our fair share of rejection too.’
They could not understand it, I am sure. I said it not about others but myself.
To be here, they must have traveled a long way, and another long way awaits them before they could see the door of their home somewhere. Home – if one could call it such.
And as I watched them, I wash away the anger and frustration bottled within me earlier. The anguish of losing something once in a while, as I could now see, is nothing in the scale of true, almost perpetual misery.
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