The unseen

I wonder how many people are carrying something heavy without anyone noticing. The man serving coffee with a smile. A student sitting quietly in the back of classroom. The women walking home after work. The friend who keeps everyone laughing. The stranger passing on the street.

We look at people and assume that we understand their lives. We see a few moments of their lives and convince ourselves that we have seen the story mb

But the truth is that every person is carrying a story that we do not know. Every person has worries that they don't know. Fears that they have deeply hidden. Dreams that they have not shared. Scars that are not visible. A battle that nobody sees and applauds.

I think one of the greatest illusions of adulthood is realising that nobody has it figured out. When we were children the adults seem so certain.

So confident and so capable. We imagine they know exactly that they are going. Then we grow up and discover something surprising. Most of the people are simply trying their best. Trying to make good decisions and trying to take care of people they love and trying to find happiness. Trying to survive difficult days.

And often they are doing all of that while carrying burdens that no one can mee mostly.

I remember once seeing an elderly man sitting alone on a park bench. There was nothing unusual about him. No dramatic scene and no visible saddbee. He was simply watching the trees sway in the wind. For some reason I could not stop wondering about his life. Who has he loved? What dreams has he chased? What mistakes still visited him at night? What victories of his were never celebrated? How many people has he failed to bid a proper goodbye? How many versions of himself had existed before being g the person sitting in that bench.

We pass people like that every day. Entire universe hidden behind the ordinary faces. It is easy to forget. The cashier at the store. The driver waiting at traffic signal. The person standing ahead of us in a queue. Each one has a story as complex and important as our own. Each one is the main character of life we know about almost nothing.

And somehow I find that comforting m because it remains me that kindness matters. A smile matters and patience matter. Showing up matters. Keeping the small promises matter. The small things matter. We may never know what some one is glingt hrkugh. We may never realise the how much of a simple act can mean to them.

But that does not make it less important. In fact it makes it more important. The world often celebrates big achievements like big success and victories. Yet most lives are shaped by smaller things. A conversation at the right time. A helping hand. A word of encouragement. Some one choosing kindness when they did not have to. May be that is why I try to remember myself that every one is fighting a battle that I cannot see. It more than just a clever quote. It is the truth.