With hate

lonely

 

He has won with hate.

Almost forty years ago, he was abandoned. He was fifteen years old. Lost and baffled in the city he found himself in, he didn’t know what to do. He had no name.

He was a child whose existence barely mattered, he was puny, not meant for the wrath of the world. And his luck took him to the worst places. He worked as a laborer, as a cobbler, he was sold off as a servant once and was brutally beaten up. He somehow managed to escape. He accepted all the misery as if it was a part of his life. Suffering was normal for him.

He looked at people on the streets, laughing and smiling, and he always wondered, what brings that on their face. He had adjusted to the life he built for himself, a tiny shack in the slum area, a few friends, and a daily job. He worked at a construction site, carrying bricks, bags of mortar. He just earned enough to feed himself. He never really understood though why people smiled.

Often some stranger would look at him and smile, he hated it. He felt as if people pitied him. He didn’t want that, any of it.

The city was not very welcoming, but not so bad anymore, like the initial few years. He had not discarded the old memories. He wanted to remember every single thing that happened to him because that kept him alive. He was driven by hate. He just didn’t find the idea of being loved normal. Many people tried to be nice to him, old men and women, few would offer him a cup of tea, some invited him to come to their house and eat with them, some would want him to just talk to them, but he didn’t like any of it.

Hate is a strong emotion. While it can help you reach success, it can take away the light even when there is some, making you only see the darkness and the void that sucks you deeper within itself, making you hollow, depriving you of any positive emotion.

His life follows the same daily ritual, waking up early, walking to the construction site, having some little food in the nearby shop. This has been his ritual for all these years. He is 55 now.

He has lived all his life with a single emotion, an emotion that made him live all these years. He has no regrets. He has lived to this point and will live further. And he thinks that he has won with hate. Maybe he has. Or maybe he has just survived. Who knows what life could have been if he chose the other side of emotion. What could have been?

 

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