The Silent Devil

He knocked on my door in the middle of the night, drunk and a little bit disoriented. He told me that he has knocked the doors before mine and none answered. He asked if he can come in and İ said yes. There he was, sitting across me with a can of beer in his hand. The smell of the beer was unwelcoming but İ din't mind. He needed an attention and there is no way İ would deprive him. His eyes welled up. To see a man crying is unusual in most societies. But he did it anyway. Because he had to. 

Men have emotions too. But in most societies, or in every society so to speak, men are expected not to show any emotions let alone shed a tear. Having it is a sign of weakness, like as if it makes you less of a man. Hence, men tend to hide their emotions by other ways like being aggressive. We see this in boys who resort to fighting when feel threatened. But men are human beings too capable of having emotions. They do. We do. İ do.

''İ feel alone. Only my mum loves me. İf not because of her, İ would have killed myself,'' he said with lost expression. İ reminded him of his friends who love him, the people who truly care for him. İ reminded him of the future and how amazing it can be. İ reminded him of the beautiful places he has to see and the people he has to meet. But he seemed lost in the deep of his soul. 

This is normal. There comes a time in life when we feel that everything has fallen apart, that our life has no purpose, that we live just to eat and sleep and nothing else. Everyone even the seasoned celebrities has experienced depression at some point. Or if not depression, an intense feeling of sadness and longing. Few give up and end up taking their own life. But others managed to move forward and have a pretty much satisfying life after their inner struggles. This encounter has made me to think.

Death.

This subject might be a taboo in most conversations. We keep ourselves from discussing it in casual conversations with friends. All we know is death is inevitable. We don't know when is it going to happen and where. But before death comes life. And life, in all most all situations, is judged by the number of years. When we hear of a young man dying at around 20's, we often make a remark ''How pitiful it is! He died too soon.'' But when an old man died at age 80 or 90, we often express happiness and glee by saying ''He had a long happy life!''

People tend to evaluate life based on years. ''The longer, the better'' seems to be the widely accepted notion. But İ ask myself, ''İs it really the number of years that matter?'' İ am reminded of a young Egyptian journalist who died in a car bomb while attempting to film a particularly important political situation. He was 21. İ posted this several months ago in my facebook. That time İ wrote ''He was only 21.'' İ should have not added the qualifier 'only' because it redifines the meaning. He knew the risks of his job and yet he continued to pursue it. He had the strength and courage to pursue his calling his passion. Yes he died. And yes he was 21. But he died happy. 

Happiness.

İsn't all what we want? We search for it every single day, in our family, friends, work, and with the people around us. But what (or who) can truly give us happiness? İt obviously depends on every person. Each has its own definition that is unique and different. For a farmer who is experiencing long months of drought, an hour of rain would make him the happiest man on Earth but to someone whom rain has no much value, it is a burden. The same source but it has a different effect to two different people. Some enjoy traveling and seeing new place whereas some don't. The source of happiness is subjective.

Life gets crappy sometimes but committing suicide isn't the answer. ''What would the people who truly love you like your Mum feel if you die? Do you think they would be happy?'' İ asked.

Life will get better. İt will.