Going down the memory lane.

Last year, I went with my mother and my maternal uncle to visit one of our relatives who lived in a far corner of our district. The same day, I was supposed to leave with my friends for a trip to a tourist place. My friends kept calling me throughout the day because they were already busy making arrangements, though nothing was fully confirmed yet as some of them were still not ready.

By afternoon, I left with my mother and uncle. After reaching the village, they went inside the house while I chose to stay outside. I wasn’t willing to sit indoors and decided instead to park my car on the lower, more spacious side of the locality. Being a village, there were wide open areas on the outskirts. After parking, I stayed outside in the bright winter sun. The days were cold, but basking in the sunlight felt pleasant and comforting.

Soon, I started interacting with a group of local kids who were playing nearby. I have always had the habit of talking to people; it helps me understand places better, know people closely, and learn from life itself. During this interaction, I was deeply disheartened to learn that one of the boys had lost both his parents at a very young age. He was still a juvenile, innocent and gentle, yet burdened by a story that shook me from within. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Sitting there, listening to him, I felt a strange mix of pain and peace—pain at the hardships he was facing, and peace in being reminded of how blessed I am to have my parents and the comforts of life. I silently thanked the Almighty for all that I have. That interaction taught me more than many experiences ever could.

The boy later told me that he kept pigeons at his house and insisted on showing them to me. Though I had no particular interest, I agreed. He soon returned, holding a pigeon in his hands. The bond he shared with those pigeons was beautiful to witness. They clearly gave him peace and helped him forget, even if briefly, the hardships of his life. Watching him, I felt my eyes well up. Despite his tender age, he carried enormous responsibilities. He told me he had two or three sisters—he couldn’t remember exactly as he spoke—and they were completely dependent on him. To support them, he did small jobs around the village. They lived in a dilapidated house, struggling every day.

That moment taught me a lifelong lesson: we should never measure our happiness by looking at those who are above us. Instead, we should remain content with what we have and be mindful of those who live with far less. That perspective brings peace and keeps despair away. I carried this lesson with me from that very day. Whenever I face hardship or feel anxious, I recall that boy and the heavy responsibilities he bore at such a young age. I still haven’t forgotten him. I sincerely wish him success, comfort, and a better life ahead.

Thank you for going through my post. Have a great time ahead.