Sometimes in life one meets a person who changes one’s entire outlook on life. ‘’If you judge someone, you have no time to love them –Mother Teresa” read the words on a large framed-cardboard pinned on the wall at the back of the eight-grade classroom. I cringed in disdain every time I saw the words. To me, it was better to judge and hate some people because they did not deserve to be loved. I was wrong. Past the flaws and imperfections of someone, lies the magnificent beauty of a glowing soul begging for a chance to be loved.
His name is Amir. Amir was my mother’s boyfriend soon after my father passed away. In the opening three years of my relationship with this tall, blond, blue-eyed man, I looked at and treated him with resentment and anger. I was opposed to him in every way possible. If he lit up the room, I would draw the curtains. If he entered the room, I immediately left. However, Amir had never done or said anything to hurt or upset me. I simply hated Amir for what he represented. He represented something much more close to a monster. He represented a soulless, heartless, two-dimensional figure. Above all, he represented my profound pain and loneliness (Gellis, 2011). Sometimes I sat back and meditated on how I was treating him; but every time I wanted to cease my thoughtless actions, images of my father my crossed my mind and I would hear his voice. I would remember our fishing trips in the small lake beyond the woods when I was younger. I would remember his strong arms paddling as the boat set out into the water and as I reached out to touch his hairy skin, I never could. There was nothing in the world I wanted more than my father’s presence. Yet here was Amir thinking he could simply walk in and replace what was lost, like a substitute in a football match.
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Unaware of it, my hate was my protection from fear. Deep down, I knew that I was not ready to love another person for the fear of losing him altogether. I dreaded the thought of being left behind to deal with my misery and loneliness. Despite the way I treated her, Amir never reciprocated the hated. I wish he did but he never. In the rare moments I got to look him straight in the eye, I saw a glint of humility. They say eyes are windows to the soul. Never was that more true than with Amir. Unlike me, he saw me as a good person who is just but scared and confused. I was never the enemy but rather a lost friend.
Later in the spring of the fifth year, I learnt that Amir was suffering from terminal cancer. It came both as a surprise and a shame to me that we had lived in the same house for five years yet I did not know of it. Neither Amir nor my mother had ever mentioned this to me. Perhaps she was afraid of letting me lose twice. Perhaps it was why Amir never bothered about the hate I directed towards him. As he lay on his deathbed, he told me that he had been praying for me to stop hurting myself through my hate. He forgave me but asked me that to forgive myself first. “Love is the answer” were his final words to me before he died. The truth of the matter is that I would never get to know who Amir was a person but I will live to remember what he taught me, to love always.
In conclusion, as I was browsing the internet about five years later, I came across the same Mother Teresa’s quote. The old cringe was replaced by a warm-hearted smile. Amir had changed my entire perspective on life and I could see things in a whole different light. It is now my personal mission to love unconditionally.
References
Gellis, M. (2011). Autobiographical Writing in the Technical Writing Course: Journal of Technical Writing and Communication , 41 (3), 325-335. http://dx.doi.org/10.2190/tw.41.3.g
