The real story: Complaining vs. Reality

We have so many problems nowadays that are not really any. We as humans create this fictional world for us to get more and more, to complain that ‘’ we ‘’, only we have the biggest problems.

If you want to help someone and ask about their grief, they start telling a story, which in your imagination is actually not grief, but they tell it so long and decorate it so much, that you think the whole world is just revolving around these people.

But as soon as you need somebody, who should listen to you because your inner being is full, then nobody is there… Love? No sign about.

Like many other people, there are two people in me, once the Harun, who was so successful in life that many were jealous of him, once very rich, strong, speaking three languages like his mother tongue, graduated from one of the most reputable schools with unbelievable scores, someone who has traveled the world, has helped thousands of people to climb the stairs of success in life, many times even at his own expense, owns medals of heroism from the army.

Then there is another Harun. Blacker than the black itself.

A Harun from whom they have stolen his youth. An innocent boy who was sexually abused by adults at the age of 11, adults who were there actually in charge to protect him.

A boy who lost his comrades as a soldier in front of his eyes in a bomb attack in Afghanistan. A boy who himself survived several times a bomb attack as a miracle.

His love was raped and taken out of his hand. A boy who had to bury this love of life after years because of a car accident and found out that one of the dead children was his own daughter who had been hidden for years.

A boy who struggled to the top despite this difficult situation and founded one of the largest advertising agencies in his country and was then ruined by his closest friend and had to pay off millions of debts for years, but still kept alive.

This boy has not stopped creating miracles by surviving the brain tumor twice.

He loved and was always rejected. His love could never end in front of the altar, but always in the hospital.

He was infected with COVID-19 just two months earlier and survived in the intensive care unit.

A body and soul that was destroyed by so many stings that he no longer knows the number himself.

But this boy never gave up on ‘’ hoping ‘’ and helping other people to be their breath. He has given hundreds of children a better life and still runs without stopping a day.

Nothing that has happened in his life has hurt him as much as the fact that nobody has ever listened to him. Ever someone loved him back whom he loved too. He was always the boy who had to pull the shorter one. A life that could only be lived halfway and there was no happy ending as in his stories.

Everyone writes these days. Everyone has become a writer. One gives me the golden six pieces of advice on how to get rich. The other talks about the 8 miracle rules of the stock market investment. The other complaints in her poetry about the boyfriend who has left, which could be lived at least for a while, I don’t even have that.

Dear friends, the reason why I write is different… and it has been going on for years without end, has a very simple reason, I could never open my inner self, nobody ever wanted to listen to me. Nobody wanted to love me as much as I loved them. My only wealth in the world is my pen, the paper, and the reasonably functioning heart that has become very old and dirty…

all else is a luxury for me…

How once William Blake has told in his poetry:

‘’Every Night and every Morn Some to Misery are Born. Every Morn and every Night Some are Born to sweet delight. Some are Born to sweet delight, Some are Born to Endless Night’’

But this heart, even if it lives everything in its dreams, will never stop listening to other people in need and children and loving them. There should not be another Harun in this world. One is enough, only one should bleed, the rest should live in paradise, thanks to its sacrifice.

With the wish to wake up to the eternal rest one day and never experience this pain again. But you, my friend, you should have everything beautiful in this world and be loved forever. That would be my only happiness.

Author: Harun Resit Aydin

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