Why do I feel worthless most of the time?
14.06.2025 00:30
As the vendor's words resonated in the quiet twilight, I felt a pang of empathy for his family's plight. His voice quivered slightly as he recounted the tragedy that befell his family. I could sense the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air, casting a somber veil over the once lively tea stall.
In that moment, I saw a mix of sadness and gratitude in his eyes. It was like we shared an unspoken understanding, a connection born from sharing our stories.
As I stood in the store, the proprietor's eyes widened in awe at the sight of the rock. Recognizing its rarity, he made an astonishing offer of two hundred thousand dollars.
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He explained that the rock symbolized my life, and its varying valuations mirrored how others perceived my worth. He taught me that irrespective of my origins or circumstances, I possessed an intrinsic value akin to a precious diamond awaiting discovery.
Shocked by the sudden surge in value, I hurried back to inform my father. Yet, he wasn't finished imparting his wisdom. He sent me to a prestigious gemstone store with the rock, advising me to remain silent and raise two fingers if queried about its price.
Upon returning home, I relayed the curious events to my father. Unperturbed, he then instructed me to take the rock to a museum, repeating the same silent gesture if anyone sought to purchase it. Once again, I complied, and this time, a gentleman eagerly parted with two hundred dollars for the rock.
Overwhelmed by the magnitude of the offer, I hurried back to my father to share the incredible news. It was then that he delivered a profound lesson that would stay with me for a lifetime.
However, we were not ready for what was about to follow.
As we got ready to leave, I felt thankful for the chance encounter at the tea stall. Even though the day was ending, I carried with me a sense of warmth from the vendor's resilience. It was a reminder of the power of sharing and connecting with others.
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While we had our snacks, I noticed that the vendor was enveloped in a strange aura of melancholy. Completely opposite to the bright smile he greeted us with. As my friend and I talked about our hardships, I noticed he had come up to us. He politely asked us if he could join our conversation. We gladly took him in.
The sun was in it's final moments as our bikes stuttered to a stop at a tea stall. I noticed that it was awfully silent. Dead silent. It felt quite unusual since we were in the countryside. Pushing those thoughts aside, we ordered tea and some snacks.
“Now, all that our family owns in this stall. My father and uncle were both very hardworking. My family spent all out lives toiling under the sun. They only had work on their mind until they reaped the results. After reaping the fruit, they began searching for excitement — which gambling easily provided. With all this success, they became addicted to gambling. Don't we all get addicted to something that takes our pain away? With the initial wins, they grew bolder and began wagering entire fields. And, they lost everything. My family was devastated. After a week, my father hanged himself from that tree” — he said pointing at a Banyan tree behind the stall.
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“My father was successful in life. But, he had a terrible habit — gambling.”
Armed with this newfound insight, I embarked on life's journey with renewed confidence, understanding that my worth was not dictated by external stuff but by the choices I made and the company I kept.”
From our hardships to our relationship issues, we talked it all out that day. Every single piece of our hearts that was struggling to find light. It was enlightening.
He proceeded to narrate an incident of his childhood that shaped his life.
He pointed towards the fields and said, “All these fields were owned by my family.” — with a slight smile of reminiscence on his face.
I was out with my friend. It had been an incredibly tiring week, so we decided to get off our schedule and do something new. We took out our bikes and just went along till the end of the day.
We sat there in stunned silence, grappling with the gravity of his story. It was a stark reminder of how quickly fortunes could change, and how the pursuit of fleeting thrills could lead to irreversible consequences.
As the vendor finished his story, we all sat there, deeply moved by his words. I wanted to say something to comfort him, to let him know that his openness meant a lot to us. So, I just placed my hand on his shoulder, offering silent support.
Though puzzled, I followed my father's instructions faithfully. At the market, a lady expressed interest in the rock for her garden. Without a word, I raised two fingers, and to my astonishment, she promptly offered two dollars in exchange.
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As the vendor heard every word we said with full attention, he asked if he could share one story from his life as well. “Oh come on, stop with the formality!” — I sighed in slight exasperation.
Rather than offering a direct response, my father handed me a simple rock with an intriguing task: sell it in the marketplace. However, there was a twist — whenever someone inquired about its price, I was to silently raise two fingers without uttering a word.
But amidst the sorrow, there was also a glimmer of resilience in the vendor's eyes. He spoke of rebuilding his family's life from the ashes, of finding solace in the simplicity of running the tea stall, and of cherishing the moments spent connecting with people like us who stumbled upon his humble abode.
“As a young boy, I often found myself contemplating the true worth of my existence. One day, I mustered the courage to inquire about this from my father, seeking the wisdom of his life experiences.