Ismail had little memory of the trip to America, but his parents’ stories painted vivid pictures. His mother would describe their escape from Somalia as a modern-day epic, filled with danger, hope, and loss. They had left a civil war-torn nation in the dead of night. In her version, Ismail was barely three years old, clinging to her, wide-eyed but quiet, as they crossed the border into Ethiopia.
The dusty streets of the refugee camp were his first real memories—strange, fleeting flashes of heat and hunger. His parents never spoke about those years anymore, their memories of the camp as unwelcome as ghosts. His father had buried the past beneath layers of optimism about their new life in America, where anything was possible if you worked hard enough.
But as Ismail stepped off the plane in Minneapolis, the cold slapped him in the face, and he knew things would be different in ways no one had prepared him for. The winter winds cut through his thin jacket, and he clung to his mother’s hand as they waited for a cousin to pick them up. His father’s eyes scanned the crowd with the quiet determination of a man ready to start over again.
Other Somali families who had also fled the war settled around them in a small apartment in the middle of the city. The community was tight-knit, and in those early years, Ismail’s world felt small but secure. Everyone spoke Somali, cooked the same food, and attended the same mosques. But as the years passed and Ismail grew older, cracks began to appear in the foundation of that safe world.
School was the first place he felt it—the divide between the life his parents had built and the one he was expected to navigate. At home, they spoke of the importance of maintaining their culture, their language, and their religion. But at school, none of those things seemed to matter. They made him different, made him stand out in ways that attracted the wrong kind of attention.
By the time he was twelve, Ismail had learned to keep his head down. He’d slip his headphones on the moment he left the house, drowning out the world with rap music that pulsed through his veins like an electric current. Nas, Tupac, Biggie—they were his constant companions, their words filling the empty spaces inside him.
He liked the way their music made him feel—like he belonged to something bigger, a history that stretched back through the pain and struggle of being Black in America. He wanted to feel that connection, but it always slipped through his fingers. His Somali background made him different—a part of the African diaspora but not quite African American.
In the hallways of his middle school, the black kids spoke with a kind of effortless cool that Ismail couldn’t replicate, no matter how hard he tried. Their slang was fast and fluid, full of inside jokes and references that left him feeling lost. He’d laugh along anyway, hoping no one would notice how out of place he felt.
At home, it was a different kind of isolation. His parents spoke to him in Somali, but his grasp of the language was weak, fraying at the edges with each passing year. He could understand them well enough, but when he tried to respond, the words came out wrong. His mother would correct him, her voice tinged with frustration.
“Ismail, sidee baanad luuqadaada ugu hadli karin?” she’d say, shaking her head. “Maalin walba waan kugula hadalnaa, sideed ciyaalkaaga u bari? Sideed dhaqankaaga iyo dadkaaga u baran haddaad dayacdo luuqada?” Sometimes his mom will say that in a broken English. “Why don’t speak your language? Why don’t you learn your Somali culture? Do you want marry Cadaan girl?
He didn’t have an answer for her. All he knew was that his words never seemed to fit anywhere—too foreign for his friends at school, too broken for his family at home.
So he stayed quiet. He became an expert at blending into the background, nodding when his parents spoke, and keeping his responses to a minimum. In school, he let the music speak for him, hiding behind his headphones and the bravado of lyrics that weren’t his own. He scribbled in notebooks during class, filling the margins with cryptic lines of poetry that no one ever saw. The words were his only outlet, a way to make sense of the confusion that followed him like a shadow.
But no matter how hard he tried, that shadow always lingered. It was the unspoken thing that stretched between him and everyone around him—the feeling that he didn’t quite fit into any world—Somali, Black, or American. He was always in-between, lost in spaces no one talked about.
And so, the years passed, each marked by the same silent struggle. His parents pushed him to excel in school, reminding him constantly of the sacrifices they had made. “We came here for you, Halkan dartaa baa u imaanay.” his father would say. “Your education is the most important thing. Waa muhiim waxbarashadaadu.”
And Ismail loved learning; he did. But he hated the way his classmates would snicker when he raised his hand, mocking his accent or the way he mispronounced certain words. He hated the way he had to fight just to be taken seriously, not only because of where he came from but because he didn’t fit neatly into any of the categories they understood.
In those moments, the music became his shield, the only thing that made him feel like he belonged somewhere, even if that place was only in his mind.
As he got older, he realized that the battle was not just external—it was inside him too, a conflict that he couldn’t seem to resolve. He wanted to be Somali and make his parents proud, but the stories of his heritage felt like faded photographs, distant and blurred. He wanted to be black to connect with the culture of his friends, but he could never quite find the rhythm. He wanted to be American, to fit in without standing out, but his accent, his skin, his name—everything about him reminded the world that he didn’t fully belong.
With just the steady hum of the train to be heard in the darkly lighted compartment, the train rumbled across the countryside. The two people sitting across from one another were visibly tense, despite the dark skies outside that hinted at impending rain.
He hadn’t wanted to sit here. This particular carriage, this specific seat, was too exposed, too open. Yet he had because he didn’t care enough to move. It had been months since she died, and he felt like a shell, dragged through life by obligation, not by will. The seat across from him, however, was occupied, and that disturbed him. A woman sat there—her eyes avoiding his, though he could feel them on him occasionally. The problem wasn’t just her presence. It was the way she sat, the way her hair fell across her face, the slight curve of her lips when she was lost in thought. It reminded him too much.
And that made him angry.
His jaw clenched as his eyes flicked toward her again. She looked nothing like the one he’d lost—different hair, sharper features—but something about her haunted him. Why couldn’t she just sit differently? Why did she have to remind him of everything he was trying so hard to bury? He hated that. He hated her for it.
The woman shifted in her seat, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She had been watching him too, though not in the way he suspected. She didn’t care that he was a stranger. She cared because every inch of him made her skin crawl. There was something in the way he sat, the way his hands fidgeted, the way he stared at her with that cold, bitter intensity that reminded her of him—the one she had run from.
He had always sat like that, simmering beneath the surface, masking resentment with quiet control until it inevitably boiled over. This man across from her didn’t need to say a word; she knew his type. She had lived with it. It was a familiar sight—the subtle fury, the sudden outburst. Despite the overwhelming desire to go, she remained seated, her hands quivering in her lap. No, she was unable to. At this time, no. On this train, she was pursuing an escape rather than a goal or a place to go.
However, it was intolerable to sit across from this guy. He personified everything that she had abandoned, a constant reminder of what she despised. The minutes ticked by, and her pulse raced and her breath became shallow. Because he had brought this out in her, she despised him. She hated him for existing.
He shifted again, his eyes flickering toward her once more. He didn’t even realize how often he was staring until she shifted uncomfortably, her body tensing like she was preparing for something. For him to do something as if she expected violence. The accusation in her posture was like a knife in his chest. Did she think he was one of those men? One of *them*?
No. He wasn’t like them. He wasn’t some monster. But that look in her eyes—that suspicion, that flicker of fear—it reminded him of the time he had disappointed the one he had loved. The anger that had filled their home at times, the misunderstandings. He hadn’t been cruel, but he hadn’t been enough.
Her low but poisonous voice hissed at him, and he swung around to stare at her.
He looked startled, irritated, and blinked. “No, I wasn’t.
“Indeed, you were,” she fired back with piercing eyes. All this time, you’ve maintained eye contact with me. Tell me what you need.
As his annoyance level rose, he snarled, “I don’t want anything.” “Perhaps if you did something other than sit there and appear like—” Biting down on the words, he tried to stop himself, but by then it was too late.
“Assuming what appearance?” Her voice rose to a demanding level as she made her demand. Is it like your late wife?
A smack from her words landed on him. Just how did she find out? She used his anguish like a weapon by throwing it at him. As the hurt from her allegation transformed into something more sinister, he froze.
“Please, don’t bring up her name,” he said, his voice fearfully low. “Your knowledge of her is limited.”
She spat out, “And you don’t know anything about me,” but her voice now trembled, revealing something deeper. Sitting there, you hate me and judge me. “You have no idea the depth of my suffering.”
Standing with his fists clenched, he snapped, “Like I care.” The idea that I’m passing judgment on you is absurd. Would you believe I’m interested enough to bother? As if you’re the only one experiencing difficulties, you do nothing but sit there and pretend. This is nothing compared to everything I’ve lost.
A fury that was almost wrath flared over her eyes. Despite feeling her body quiver, she stood tall, matching his intensity. “I’ve lost plenty,” she yelled, her voice piercing through the constant hum of the train. Is it your belief that no one else has endured hardship? Am I the sole survivor of the abyss? I went astray quite some time ago.
As they stood inches apart, scowling at one another, the tension between them was palpable. The tension between them was almost too much to bear, but neither of them moved. They gasped for air, their hearts racing for reasons beyond this very moment. In silence, years of anguish and unspoken trauma poured out.
His chest tightened, the anger swirling inside him mixed with confusion. Why was she reacting like this? She wasn’t the one he was angry at. She wasn’t the one who had abandoned him, the one who had left him drowning in grief. But looking at her, all he saw was what he had lost, what had been taken from him. He didn’t understand it, and that scared him.
And she, standing before him, felt the familiar weight of fear pressing down on her chest. Beyond his statements and charges, there was more. His intense presence and the way he towered over her brought up memories of helpless evenings when her world seemed to be crashing down around her. He didn’t frighten her, but she despised him for transporting her to that place of captivity.
“I ran,” she finally confessed, her voice quivering with resolve and her eyes filled with unbridled, defiant energy. No choice but to go was given to me. He made it so I couldn’t breathe. Whenever we were in his company, he was adamant about making me feel guilty. I just didn’t have what it had to keep going through all the uphill battles.
He took a step back, her words cutting through his anger, leaving behind something else. Something like shame. He hadn’t been expecting that. His fists unclenched, and for the first time, he looked at her, really looking at her, seeing the pain behind her fury.
“I didn’t leave,” he muttered, almost to himself. “She… she left me. And not because she wanted to. Not because she was angry, tired, or sick of me. She left because her body gave up. And I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.”
She stared at him, her anger slowly dissolving into something more fragile, more empathetic. She sat back down, her hands shaking as she ran them through her hair. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice softer now, like a wound that had been exposed to air.
He sat too, slowly, the weight of his confession pulling him down. “I thought I hated you,” he admitted, his voice hollow. “You reminded me too much of her. The way you sit, the way you look away. I don’t know why, but it felt like you were mocking me without even knowing it.”
“I thought you were him,” she said, still not meeting his eyes. “The way you stared at me. That look—so full of anger. It was the same. I thought you were going to hurt me.”
They both fell silent after that, the echoes of their confrontation still lingering in the quiet space between them. The anger, the resentment—it had all been a projection, misplaced. Neither of them was the enemy they imagined.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible over the soft rumble of the train.
“Neither do I,” he said, staring out the window, the rain now streaking down the glass.
Minutes passed in silence, the tension between them no longer sharp but heavy with the weight of shared grief and shared pain.
“I’m not him,” he said after a while, his voice softer now. “And you’re not her. But I think we’ve both lost something. And I think we’ve been fighting ghosts.”
She nodded slowly, her eyes still locked on the floor, tears brimming at the edge of her lashes but refusing to fall. “I don’t know if I can ever stop running,” she whispered. “Not after what I’ve been through.”
“I don’t know if I can ever stop grieving,” he replied. “But maybe… maybe we don’t have to stop right now. Maybe we just need to keep moving.”
For the first time since they’d sat down across from each other, she looked at him without anger, without fear. Just exhaustion. “I guess that’s all we can do.”
The train rattled on, the rain pouring harder against the windows, as two strangers shared their silence, neither knowing where they were going, but somehow knowing they weren’t alone in the journey.
The rain battered against the windows, a relentless rhythm that seemed to match the weight between them. The train continued its steady course, a muted landscape flying by, unnoticed by the two who sat in uneasy stillness. After everything had spilled out—raw, messy, uncontrolled—there was nothing left but the quiet, the shared vulnerability neither had asked for but couldn’t escape.
He shifted slightly in his seat, feeling the awkwardness settle in now that the anger had dissipated. The silence wasn’t hostile anymore, but it wasn’t comfortable either. It was something else—fragile like both were afraid to break whatever fragile truce they had formed.
She wrapped her arms around herself, still looking out the window but no longer tense. The intensity of the earlier moments lingered in her chest, but something had shifted. She had spent so long-running, so long hiding, and here was this man who, for all the wrong reasons, had made her confront things she had buried. He wasn’t the man she had feared he was. But the shadows of their pasts loomed so large that she wasn’t sure they could ever fully be free of them.
“I didn’t mean to lash out,” he said after a long stretch of silence, his voice quieter, almost hesitant. “I just… I haven’t talked about her. Not to anyone.”
She didn’t respond at first, her fingers tracing the edge of her sleeve as if searching for the right words. “I haven’t talked about him either,” she finally whispered, as though saying the words out loud gave them too much power. “I left without saying a word to anyone. I just walked out. No goodbye, no note. I didn’t even take a bag. I just couldn’t breathe anymore.”
He looked down at his hands, feeling the weight of her confession. He didn’t know what to say—he didn’t know if there was anything to say. Her pain, her fear—it was a mirror to his loss, but reflected in a way that made him feel useless, powerless to fix anything. The train moved, and so did they, but neither knew where they were headed.
“Do you think you’ll ever go back?” he asked, surprising himself with the question.
She shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. “No. Not to him. I don’t think I can. But… I don’t know where I’m supposed to go. What I’m supposed to do now.”
He sighed, leaning back in his seat, staring at the ceiling of the train. “I don’t know either. I wake up every day, and it’s just… it’s empty. She’s gone, but the world just keeps moving, and I’m still here. And I don’t know why. I feel like I’m stuck in place, while everything else goes on without me.”
Her fingers stilled, her gaze drifting away from the rain-streaked window to him, finally seeing him—this man who had been a shadow of her fears just moments before, now so clearly broken in his way. She felt a strange connection, a recognition of someone else adrift in a sea of loss. “I think we’re both running,” she said softly. “Maybe from different things, but it’s the same in the end.”
He nodded, though his eyes remained distant. “Yeah… maybe.”
The train lurched slightly as it began to slow, the scenery outside turning into the outskirts of a small, nondescript town. She glanced out at the unfamiliar streets, the people huddled under umbrellas, and for a moment, the idea of getting off, of just stepping into another life, flashed in her mind. Could she start over here? Could she leave behind the person she had been and become something else?
She doubted it.
“I don’t know where I’m going,” she murmured, almost to herself.
“Neither do I,” he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper.
The train came to a halt, the hiss of steam and the quiet clatter of footsteps from outside breaking the heavy silence inside the carriage. For a moment, she thought she might get up, leave this carriage, leave this conversation, and keep running. But something stopped her—maybe it was the weariness, maybe it was the realization that running wasn’t going to fix anything.
He glanced at her, noticing her hesitation, and for a brief moment, their eyes met. There was no anger, no hatred, just understanding. “You don’t have to figure it out today,” he said quietly. “Maybe… maybe it’s okay if you don’t know. If we don’t know.”
She exhaled slowly, as if she’d been holding her breath for hours, and nodded. “Maybe.”
The train started again, its wheels grinding against the tracks, pulling them away from the station, away from that moment of indecision. Neither of them knew where they were headed, but for now, that was enough. The rain continued to fall, a steady, rhythmic reminder that time marched on, no matter how lost they felt.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, not just for what had happened between them but for everything—for the man she had once loved and feared, for the pain she carried with her. For all the things she couldn’t change.
He didn’t say anything in response, but he didn’t need to. His silence spoke volumes. In the quiet of the moving train, they both understood that there was no simple resolution to their stories, no quick fix to the wounds they carried.
They were two strangers on the same path, and for now, that was enough.
The rhythmic clatter of the train lulled them into a deeper silence, the kind that felt less like tension and more like a shared respite from the chaos in their minds. The rain outside had slowed to a gentle drizzle; its quiet pattern is now a soothing backdrop. Neither of them spoke for a long time, but the heaviness between them had lifted, leaving behind a fragile sense of peace. It wasn’t closure, but it was a pause—something neither of them had allowed themselves in a long time.
He watched the raindrops slide down the window, their paths erratic but somehow mesmerizing. His mind wandered back to the last time he had felt this lost, the day he realized there was no going back to the life he had once known. He had tried to hold on and had fought against the inevitability of losing her, but in the end, he couldn’t save her. And now he couldn’t save himself from the emptiness she left behind.
“I keep thinking about it,” he said quietly, breaking the silence without looking at her. “The last conversation we had… I was angry. Not at her, but at the situation. I didn’t tell her I loved her before she left.”
His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, his hands gripping the edge of the seat. “I can’t stop replaying that moment. What if I had said it? Would it have made a difference? Would she have known how much she meant to me? Now I’ll never know.”
She listened, her chest tightening as his words sank in. She had her regrets, her what-ifs that haunted her. She hadn’t said goodbye either. But unlike him, her silence had been intentional—a desperate act of self-preservation.
“I never said anything,” she murmured, her eyes fixed on the floor. “I just left. No explanation, no warning. He wasn’t a bad man—not at first. He was kind and gentle—everything I thought I needed. But slowly, he became something else. Controlling. Demanding. And every time I tried to speak up, he twisted it around, making me feel like I was wrong, like I was the one who was broken.”
She paused, her voice trembling with the weight of memories she had tried so hard to bury. “I didn’t say goodbye because I didn’t think he’d let me. And even now, I feel guilty. Like I abandoned him, even though I knew I had to leave. It’s twisted, I know, but I can’t shake it.”
He turned to look at her then, seeing the raw vulnerability in her expression. It wasn’t pity he felt—it was something deeper, an understanding of the invisible chains that still bound them both to their pasts.
“It’s not twisted,” he said softly, surprising himself with the gentleness in his voice. “It’s what happens when you’re stuck in something you can’t control. You’re trying to survive, and sometimes that means leaving without saying the things you want to say.”
She looked at him, her eyes searching his face for the judgment she had expected but didn’t find. Instead, she saw something like compassion, a reflection of her pain.
“Maybe,” she whispered. “But it doesn’t make it any easier.”
“No,” he agreed, leaning back against his seat. “It doesn’t.”
They sat in that shared understanding for a while, letting the steady motion of the train soothe the rawness of their conversation. The world outside blurred into shades of gray and green, the rain continuing its soft descent as if the universe itself had slowed to give them this moment.
After what felt like an eternity, she broke the silence again. “Do you think it’s possible to… to move on? From all of this?”
He didn’t answer right away, turning the question over in his mind. He had asked himself that question every day since she had passed. Was there a way out of this grief, this suffocating sense of loss? He wasn’t sure. But something in him stirred, a quiet, fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a way forward, even if he couldn’t see it yet.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly, his voice low. “But I think… maybe we don’t have to figure that out right now. Maybe it’s enough that we’re still here. That we’re still trying.”
She nodded, the weight of his words sinking into her. Maybe he was right. Maybe the answer wasn’t in moving on but in learning to live with the ghosts of their pasts. It wasn’t about erasing the pain, but about carrying it differently, finding a way to keep going despite it.
For the first time in what felt like forever, she didn’t feel like running. There was no destination, no escape waiting for her at the next station. Just this moment, this fragile connection with a stranger who understood the depths of her pain without asking.
The train began to slow again, pulling into another station, but neither moved. They weren’t ready to leave this strange, shared space just yet. The train doors opened, and passengers shuffled in and out, but they remained in their seats, two people adrift in the same sea of uncertainty.
And as the train pulled away from the station, she turned to him with a quiet resolve. “Maybe we don’t need to know where we’re going right now,” she said, her voice steady for the first time. “Maybe it’s enough that we’re not alone.”
He nodded, his gaze meeting hers. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Maybe it is.”
The train carried them forward into the unknown, but for the first time, neither was running. They were moving. Together.
The house was silent when I finally made up my mind. My wife was asleep upstairs, and my son’s soft breathing came from his room down the hall. I stood in the living room, the lights off, staring at the letter I had just finished writing. My hands were shaking, but I felt a strange calm wash over me as I read the words one last time:
“Tell my son that his father loved him. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to stay. I’m sorry I couldn’t be the man you both deserved.”
I folded the letter carefully, placing it on the kitchen counter where I knew my wife would find it in the morning. I couldn’t bring myself to look at any of their pictures as I walked out the door. I was already struggling to keep my emotions in check, and I knew that one glance at their smiling faces would shatter what little resolve I had left.
The walk to the bridge felt like a march toward the inevitable. Each step carried me further from the life I could no longer bear. My heart was heavy with a mixture of dread and resignation. By the time I reached the bridge, the weight of my decision had settled firmly on my shoulders.
Now, standing at the edge, I stare down at the dark, swirling water below. The wind is cold against my skin, but I barely notice it. All I can think about is how peaceful it will be once this is over. No more pressure. No more pretending. Just silence. I take a deep breath and prepare to take that final step when a voice cuts through the darkness.
“You really think that’s the way out?”
I whip around, startled. A man steps out from the shadows beneath the bridge, his clothes ragged, his face weathered. He’s a homeless man, clearly. His eyes, though, are sharp and focused, as if he’s seen this scene play out before.
“What do you care?” I snap, the desperation in my voice betraying me. “This isn’t your problem.” He doesn’t flinch, just shrugs and walks closer, settling himself down on the cold concrete like he’s done it a thousand times. “Maybe not. But I’m here, and so are you. So, talk to me.”
I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. This man, who looks like he’s barely hanging on himself, wants to talk me out of jumping? But something about the calmness in his demeanor, the way he looks at me without pity or judgment, makes me pause.
“I’ve got nothing left,” I say, my voice cracking. “I’ve got a job, a family… but I’m drowning. Every day, it’s harder to pretend like I’m okay. I can’t keep going like this.”
He nods slowly as if he’s heard this story before. “You’re not the only one who feels that way. The world’s full of people carrying weights they think they can’t handle. But you’ve got more than you realize.”
I shake my head, unable to meet his eyes. “You don’t understand.”
“Maybe I do,” he counters, and there’s something in his voice that makes me look up. “I had a life once. A good one, too. A family, a job, a future. But one mistake—just one—and it was all gone. An accident. I was driving too fast, too tired, and I lost control of the car. My wife and kids didn’t make it.” His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I look at him, really look at him, and see the pain etched deep in his features, the kind of pain that never fully goes away.
“I tried to end it too, more times than I can count,” he continues, his voice steady but laced with sorrow that I recognize all too well. “But every time, I couldn’t do it. Maybe because deep down, I knew it wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t bring them back. So now, I survive. Day by day, meal by meal. And maybe one day, I’ll find a way to forgive myself. But until then, I keep going, because as long as I’m breathing, there’s still a chance for things to get better.”
The words hang in the air between us, and I feel something shift inside me. This man, who has lost everything, still chooses to live. He still believes there’s a reason to keep going, even when life has taken so much from him.“What if I can’t fix it?” I ask my voice barely a whisper. “What if I’m just not strong enough?”
He stands up, walks over to me, and places a hand on my shoulder. His grip is firm, reassuring. “You don’t have to fix everything right now. Just make it through tonight. Go home, tell your son you love him. Take it one step at a time.”I think about my son, his bright eyes full of trust, and I realize that I can’t do this to him. I can’t leave him with the memory of his father giving up.
I take a deep breath, the cold air filling my lungs, and step back from the edge. The tears I’ve been holding back finally spill over, but this time, they’re not tears of despair—they’re tears of release.“Thank you,” I say, my voice choked with emotion. “I don’t know what I would’ve done…”He gives me a sad smile. “Just remember, there’s always more to live for than to die.”
I watch him walk away, his silhouette blending into the night until he’s gone. My chest feels tight, but there’s a warmth there too, something I haven’t felt in a long time. I’ve lived on this bridge for years, seeing people come and go, some with hope, others with despair. But tonight, I did something that mattered.
I walk back to my spot under the bridge, the cold seeping back into my bones. My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t eaten in two days. The nights are getting colder, and I don’t know how many more of them I’ll survive. But tonight, that doesn’t matter as much.
For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m part of something bigger than just surviving. I made a difference in someone’s life, even if only for a moment. And as I settle in for the night, I realize that maybe, just maybe, there’s still something worth holding on to.
As I walk away from the bridge, the weight on my chest begins to lift, just a little. I think about what the man said, taking it one step at a time. I can’t fix everything overnight, but I can try. I can go home, hold my son, and tell him that his father loves him.
And maybe, I can start to believe it too. As I turn the corner toward home, the thought hits me with a clarity I haven’t felt in months:
When you first read Dhoodaan’s poem “Likaaco,” you might find the language tough to get through. His words aren’t immediately clear and need some real thought. But, if you use a Somali dictionary and spend time digging into the vocabulary, you’ll see that Dhoodaan was much more than just a poet. His poetry is packed with deep philosophical wisdom, showing a rare and impressive level of intellect.
Dhoodaan’s work goes beyond regular poetry; it blends literary art with philosophical thought. To truly understand his poems, you need a solid grasp of both language and philosophy. Nowadays, it’s mostly literature experts, philosophers, and seasoned poets who can unpack the layers of meaning in his verses.
Dhoodaan lived in a society that sometimes struggled to grasp his advanced insights and philosophical ideas. His thoughts were ahead of his time, making his work a goldmine of intellectual and cultural value. Surprisingly, it was timely then, and it’s still timely now. Which proves his thought process and his higher intellect and wisdom.
In this article, I’ll dive into some verses from “Likaaco” to show how Dhoodaan’s poetry is deeply connected with philosophical ideas. By looking at these links, we can better appreciate the incredible depth of his work and the rich philosophical tradition in Somali poetry. Plus, we’ll see that even the most profound thoughts can sometimes benefit from a little humor and plain language.
Human Desire and Divine Will:
The poem begins by reflecting on the interplay between human desires and divine will: “Aadmiga hawaa lagu larbee, waxa u laacaaya / Kolba libinta qaar Eebahay, waa u liilgaline” (Desires motivate people, but only some receive success from God). This reflects the long-standing philosophical debate over free will and determinism. Human ambitions motivate action, yet the poet suggests that divine intervention is required for ultimate success. This concept is consistent with Stoic philosophy, which teaches acceptance of events beyond one’s control as part of the natural order.
The Stoics, such as Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius, advocated focusing on our actions and attitudes, emphasizing the importance of internal virtue and self-control. They held that while we can work hard and strive for our objectives, fate, or the divine will, frequently determines the results. This acceptance of what we cannot control leads to a sense of inner peace and resilience as we align our will with the natural order of the universe.
In the context of the poem, Dhoodaan acknowledges the human drive to achieve and succeed but tempers it with the understanding that not all efforts will result in success. This is so because, in the poet’s opinion, a higher power determines success to some extent. This interplay between human effort and divine will echoes the Stoic emphasis on accepting the limits of our control while striving to act virtuously within those limits.
Learning Through Suffering:
In the lines, “Qofna lurkiyo ciilkaa bartoo, luun afkaw mariye / Ragse laqan fariiduu noqdaa, amase waa liide,” some people learn through suffering and bitterness, speaking of it from experience. However, others become wise through trials, or they fail. The poet addresses the transformative power of suffering. This theme is central to the philosophies of Friedrich Nietzsche and the existentialists.
Nietzsche famously argued that what does not kill us makes us stronger, emphasizing that personal growth often comes through enduring and overcoming hardships. He believed that suffering is an integral part of life that can lead to greater strength, wisdom, and resilience. Nietzsche’s philosophy encourages embracing challenges as opportunities for self-improvement and development.
Similarly, existentialists like Jean-Paul Sartre and Albert Camus explored how individuals find meaning and authenticity in life by confronting and embracing their existential challenges and suffering. Sartre posited that humans are condemned to be free, meaning they must navigate the inherent difficulties of existence without a predefined purpose, creating meaning through their choices and actions. Camus, on the other hand, introduced the idea of the absurd, the conflict between humans’ search for meaning and the indifferent universe. He suggested that embracing this absurdity without surrendering to nihilism leads to a more profound appreciation of life.
The poet’s reflection on learning through suffering aligns with these philosophical views. It acknowledges that suffering is a fundamental aspect of the human experience, capable of leading to significant personal growth and wisdom. However, it also recognizes the dual nature of suffering, where some individuals emerge stronger and wiser, while others may falter and fail.
By addressing the dual outcomes of suffering—wisdom or failure—the poet captures the existential reality that life’s challenges can have varying impacts on individuals. This nuanced view underscores the importance of resilience, perspective, and the willingness to learn from hardship.
Personal Balance:
The poet’s assertion, “Ana labada cayn kuma jiree, laan badhaan ahaye” (I do not belong to either type; I am a moderate branch), highlights the importance of balance and moderation. This notion closely aligns with Aristotle’s concept of the Golden Mean, which advocates for moderation and balance in all aspects of life as the path to virtue and happiness.
Aristotle believed that virtues lie at the mean between two extremes of excess and deficiency. For instance, courage is the difference between recklessness and cowardice, and generosity is the difference between wastefulness and stinginess. Living a balanced life, according to Aristotle, leads to eudaimonia, or human flourishing. Eudaimonia is achieved through the practice of virtuous behavior and the maintenance of harmony in one’s actions and emotions.
The poet’s self-description as a “moderate branch” reflects this philosophical ideal. By positioning himself as neither extreme nor extreme, he emphasizes the value of moderation and balance. This balanced approach to life’s ups and downs is portrayed as key to achieving well-being and stability. The poet suggests that moderation allows for a more sustainable and fulfilling existence, where one can navigate challenges and successes without being overwhelmed by either.
Physical Strength and Weakness:
The verses, “Nimaan luggi jabnayn baan ahiyo, xoogga lawyadu e / Hayeeshee laxaad kuma socdee, laangadhaan ahaye” (I am someone whose legs are not broken and whose tendons are strong, yet I do not walk with full strength; I limp), illustrate the duality of human physical existence. This imagery speaks to the broader human condition of having both strengths and vulnerabilities.
Philosophers like Søren Kierkegaard and existentialists emphasized the acceptance of one’s limitations as a pathway to authentic living. Kierkegaard, often considered the father of existentialism, explored the notion of embracing one’s inherent flaws and limitations as essential to achieving true self-understanding and authenticity. He believed that recognizing and confronting our weaknesses leads to a deeper and more meaningful existence.
Similarly, existentialist philosophers such as Jean-Paul Sartre and Albert Camus argued that acknowledging the inherent limitations and absurdities of life is crucial for living authentically. They posited that individuals must confront their vulnerabilities and the limitations imposed by their physical and existential conditions to find genuine meaning and purpose.
The poet’s acknowledgment of his physical condition—strong yet limping—symbolizes the human experience of grappling with both capabilities and limitations. By accepting Due to our awareness of our intellectual limitations, this Socratic method of inquiry encourages a never-ending quest for knowledge. The admission of ignorance is the first step towards acquiring true knowledge. He believed that by questioning everything and recognizing our cognitive limitations, we open ourselves up to genuine understanding and wisdom. Due to our awareness of our intellectual limitations, this Socratic method of inquiry encourages a never-ending quest for knowledge.
The poet’s acknowledgment of his intellectual limitations, despite having a healthy mind and heart, aligns with this philosophical tradition. It underscores the importance of humility in the pursuit of knowledge. By admitting that we do not know everything, we create space for learning and personal development. This acceptance of our cognitive limitations is a fundamental aspect of many philosophical traditions that value the pursuit of wisdom.
Moreover, this humility fosters a mindset of lifelong learning. It reminds us that intellectual growth is a continuous process that involves questioning our assumptions and being open to new ideas and perspectives. This approach not only enhances our understanding but also cultivates a deeper sense of empathy and connection with others.
Societal Critique and Responsibility:
While the poem primarily focuses on personal reflection, its broader implications critique societal issues like corruption and exploitation, as hinted at in the poet’s experiences and observations. This critique resonates with Karl Marx’s analysis of societal power structures and Michel Foucault’s exploration of how these structures shape knowledge and behavior.
Karl Marx’s focus on the inequities and alienation within capitalist societies parallels the poet’s concerns about the misuse of resources and corruption. Marx argued that capitalist societies inherently create divisions between the wealthy and the poor, leading to the exploitation and alienation of the working class. The poet’s observations reflect a similar dissatisfaction with how societal resources are mismanaged and the resulting impact on individuals and communities.
Michel Foucault’s examination of power dynamics offers a lens through which to understand the systemic issues highlighted in the poem. Foucault explored how power is exercised within society, not just through overt control but also through subtle means that shape knowledge, behavior, and societal norms. His work emphasizes the pervasive nature of power and its influence on every aspect of life, from institutions to individual interactions.
The poet’s critique suggests a call for greater awareness and action against social injustices. By highlighting these issues, the poem encourages readers to reflect on their roles within societal structures and to recognize the importance of addressing corruption and exploitation. This call to action aligns with both Marx’s and Foucault’s advocacy for challenging existing power structures and striving for a more equitable society.
Application to Contemporary Life:
The insights from the poem are highly applicable to contemporary life. Acceptance of limitations can lead to a more fulfilling and less stressful existence, promoting mental health and well-being. Recognizing and accepting our limitations allows us to focus on what we can control and improve, reducing unnecessary stress and fostering a sense of peace and contentment. This acceptance is crucial in a world that often pressures individuals to achieve unrealistic standards.
Embracing adversity as a source of growth encourages resilience, an essential quality for navigating the challenges of the modern world. Resilience helps us adapt to change, recover from setbacks, and continue moving forward despite difficulties. By viewing challenges as opportunities for personal development, we can cultivate a mindset that enhances our ability to cope with life’s inevitable hardships.
Striking for balance in all aspects of life helps prevent burnout and fosters sustainable success. Achieving a balance between work, personal life, and leisure is key to maintaining long-term productivity and happiness. The poem’s advocacy for moderation aligns with contemporary understandings of work-life balance, emphasizing the importance of maintaining harmony to ensure overall well-being.
Conclusion: The Philosophical Synthesis
In conclusion, the poem serves as a rich tapestry of philosophical reflections, weaving together themes of duality, ethics, resilience, and societal critique. It exemplifies how poetry can distill complex philosophical ideas into accessible and emotive narratives, capturing the essence of the human experience. By drawing on diverse philosophical traditions, the poet offers timeless wisdom that resonates with readers across cultures and generations.
The poem challenges readers to reflect on their own lives, embrace the inherent duality of human existence, and acknowledge both their strengths and weaknesses. It encourages ethical living and calls for resilience in the face of adversity, reminding us that growth often arises from overcoming challenges. Moreover, the poem serves as a poignant critique of societal issues, urging readers to actively engage in creating a better world.
Through this synthesis of thought and emotion, the poet provides profound insights that continue to inspire and guide. By exploring the complexities of human nature and society, the poem prompts introspection and encourages readers to strive for personal growth and contribute positively to their communities. Ultimately, the poem serves as a timeless reminder of the enduring relevance of philosophy in navigating life’s complexities and striving for a more just and fulfilling existence.
Source:
Asher Horowitz | Department of Political Science | Faculty of Liberal Arts and Professional Studies | York University. (n.d.). https://www.yorku.ca/horowitz/courses/lectures/35_marx_alienation.html
Aristotle’s Doctrine of the Mean. (n.d.). https://www.plosin.com/work/AristotleMean.html
Existentialism (Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy). (2023, January 6). https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/existentialism/
Marcus Aurelius’ philosophy: Self-Control as a Way to Succeed in Life. (2024, April 30). Headway Media. https://makeheadway.com/blog/marcus-aurelius-philosophy/
Søren Kierkegaard (Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy). (2023, May 22). https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/kierkegaard/
Understanding power for social change, powercube.net, IDS at Sussex University. (2010, March 8). Foucault: power is everywhere | Understanding power for social change | powercube.net | IDS at Sussex University. Understanding Power for Social Change | powercube.net | IDS at Sussex University | Understanding Power for Social Change. https://www.powercube.net/other-forms-of-power/foucault-power-is-everywhere/
➢ Badanaa ardaydu marka ay jaamacada dhigtaan waxay xooga saaraan akhriska casharada laga rabo iyo buugta macalimiintu u asteeyeen si ay ugu baasaan imtixaanada iyo tijaabooyinka laga rabo. Qaabkaas waxbarasho ee noocaas ahi waa mid dajisan oo loo qaabeeyay in qofka lagaga dhiso qaababka kala duwan ee uga faa’idaysan lahaa garaadkiisa, kartidiiisa, iyo hibooyinkiisa. Arintan aniga oo markii horeba inaan wax ka qoro maagan, ayaa maalin dhawayd waxaan wax iska waydiinay Dr. AbdiRizak M. Warfa oo runtii isaga laftiisu talo iyo fikirba igu soo kordhiyay.
o Dadka qaar waxay ku doodaan in ujeedka u wayn ee waxbarashu yahay in ardayga la baro “xirfad” u uku shaqaysto oo uu bariiskiisa ka bislaysto, halka qaar kale ku doodaan waxa ardayga wax loo baraa in “garaadkiisa la kobciyo”. Labada qoloba ma qaldana, waxayna ku xidhantahay wadanka ardaygu joogo, jaamacada ama macadka uu wax ka barto, dhaqanka nololleed ee goobtaa ka jira, iyo xidhiidhka ka dhexeeya fursadaha shaqo iyo waxbarashada degaankaas.
o Tusaale ahaan, qofka wax ka barta jaamacad ku taala Marayknanka ee qaaliga ah, waxa shaki la’aan ah daynta uu waxbarashada ku dhigto iyo qarashka kaga baxaa inay saameyn ku yeelan doonaan go’aanka iyo habka uu u qiimeeyo waxa uu bartay iyo sida uu u isticmaalayo. Halka ardayga wadankiisu usoo dirsaday in uu soo barto qaabka loo dhiso biriish ama laami, ee wax ku bartay deeq dawladeed uu ka fikir duwanaanayo midka isla dalkaa laga soo diray wax ku barta. Isku soo wada duub oo, jaamacada dhamaynteedu ma aha Meesha waxbarashadu ka bilaabato, balse waxaaban aaminsanahay in markaa uun ka dib ay waxbarashada rasmiga ahi bilaabato.
•Qoraalkaygan oon ugu talo galay in aan si kooban ugu sharxo 3 cashar oo aan jaamacada ka bartay, wuxuu guntiisa iyo gunaanadkiisu isugu biyo shuban doonaa qorshe waxbarasho oo ka madax banaan nidaamka jaamacada, gundhigna u noqon doona qaababka aan rabo inaan uga faa’iidaysto xirfadihii la isoo baray.
Maxaan Jaamacada Ka Bartay?
❖ Waxa ugu horeeya ee aan jaamacada ka bartay haddaan ku billaabo, waxaan ogaaday in aan ahay jaahil haantiisa cilmigu madhantahay, oo u baahan in uu wax korodsado inta noloshiisa ka dhiman. Sababta koobaad ee jahligayguna waxay daarranayd qaladka aan marka horeba ka haystay waxbarashada, iyo ismooganaanta naftayda. Markasta oo aan akhriyo bug, waxaa ii soo baxda jahliga aan ku jiro iyo mugdiga ku gadaaman waxbarashadayda, waayo waxaa duma gidaar qab ahaa oo igu wareegsanaa. Aqoonta noloshu sideedaba way jaadad iyo noocyo badan tahay, si kasta oo aad wakhti u gelisana, waxa aad ka barato waxaa ka badan inta kaa maqan, ogaanshaha in in badani kaa maqantahayna wuxuu sahlaa in inta aad taqaano ama baratay ku anfacdo oo baahiyahaaga ay daboosho.
❖ Waxaa kale oon bartay sida ugu haboon ee aan u isticmaali lahaa xirfadaha aan ka bartay. Inta badan ardaynimadu waxaa lagu bartaa dulqaadka. In qofku dul u yeesho oo ku samro waxbarashada wakhti qofku da’ahaan yaryahay jidh ahaana xooggan yahay. Xiliga dhalinyaronimada ee qofku wali waayo arkin way adagtahay in uu isaga oo fursad u uku shaqayto heli kara gaar ahaan dadkayaga qurbaha iyo meelaha fursadaha leh jooga, in aad wakhti iyo hantiba geliso waxbarasho xataa dhaqaalaha kaa soo galaaba iska kooban yahay. Sidoo kale ka bulsho ahaan, dadka Soomaalidu ma qiimeeyaan muhiimada waxbarashad, taasina waxay keentaa in qofku wax u barto inuu baahida kaga baxo, balse ardaynima ayaa ah xiliga xiliga qofku ugu baahida badan yahay. Waxba yaana dulqaadka waxbarashada ku dheeraane, akhriska oo u baahan la qabsi iyo dulqaad joogto ahi wuxuu ka mid yahay arimaha ugu muhiimsan ee qofku joojiyo marka uu jaamacada dhameeyo, balse anigu aan hubo inaan kansho fiican u heli doono.
❖ Arinka 3 aad oo ah mida aan is leeyahay waa tan ugu muhiimsani waa in aan bartay qaabka loo raadsado cilmiga iyo duruusta iga maqan ama aan jaahilka ka ahay. Asluubta haboon ee wax loo darsaa waxay salka ku haysaa abuurta dunida iyo amarka Eebbe u sheegay malaa’igta in Aadam khaliif looga dhigayo dhulka, inay su’aal ka keeneen iyaga oo ku dacwoonaya in uu fasahaad iyo dhiig ku daadin doono, balse ay iyagu ay mahadintiisa iyo amaantiisa ka shaqaynayaan, waxa Eebbe ugu jawaabay, “waxaan ogahay wax aydaan aqoon u lahayn.” Si uu malaa’igta ugu bayaamiyo Eebbe in uu xikmad ka lahaa abuurista Aadam iyo in aduunka wakil looga dhigo, wuxuu Aadam baray magacyada dhamaantood, wuxuuna malaa’igta xujo uga dhigay inay u sheegaan magacyadaaas qaar ka mid ah, taas oo muujisay xikmada Eebbe ee aan xataa malaa’igta macsuumiinta ahi gaadhi karin. Cilmi in la helaa waxay u baahan tahay inaad marto jidka saxda ah ee aad cilmigaa ku heli karto, waxbarashadii jaamacaduna waxay ii sahashay in aan jidkaa helo.
Gunaanad:
✓ Aan soo koobee, inkasta oo waxbarashadayda rasmiga ahi hadda bilaabatay, wax badan ayaan ka faa’iiday jaamacada. Waxyaabaha ugu muhiimsan ee aan ka faa’iiday waa in aan bartay naftayda, kartidayda, iyo heerka ay gaadhsiisan tahay aqoontaydu. Waxaa kale oo aan bartay dad badan oo wanaagsan oo saamayn togan ku yeeshay qofnimadayda, korriinkayga, iyo caqligaygaba. Qofka bini aadamka ahi marka uu jid qaado waxa ugu muhiimsan ee uu u qaaday waa in uu jidkaasi geeyo meel uu dan iyo ujeedo kalahaa, sidaa darted dhib kuma hayso in jidkaa roob ku helo, in uu kaligii safro, iyo in cidi marti soortaba, lkn haddii uu sooryo, sariir, iyo saaxiib jidkaa ka helo waxaa mudan in uu abaalkaa celiyo, mahad naqna ku daro. Maalinka qof sidiisa safar ahaa soo marana, qofkaa marti sooro, una miyiriyo oo diiqadda iyo qalada jidka ka biiyo. Aniguna waxaan goostay in aan noqdo qof abaalkii loo galayna guda, amaan iyo mahadnaqna, cid walba oo maalin I tartay ku tuulo.
Maxamed ibraahim Warsame (Hadraawi) Allaha u naxariistee.
Marka aad tuducyadan oo qayb ka ah maansada “Dabahuwan” ishaadu ku dhacdo, waxaa laga yaabaa in aad markaaba dusha ka eegto, ka dibna aadan aad ugu fiirsan. Ujeedkooduse ka qoto dheer wax halmar la dulmaro, sidaana lagaga bogto. Maansadan oo aan in mudo ah gorfaynteeda gacanta ku hayo, waxaa iiga soo baxday in aana si yar oo fudud waxba uga qori karin, waxaana go’aansaday inaan lixdan tuduc caawa dul istaago. Inta aynaan u galin dulucda qoraalka, bal aan wax yar iftiimiyo khatarta ay leedahay in dadka la baro cilmi qaloocan ama dhan ka raran.
Wadanka Mareykanka oo aan ku noolahay, doodaha ugu badan ee dhawrkii sano ee ugu dambeeyay ka socda waxaa ka mid ah buugaagta ay tahay in ardaydu dugsiyada hoose ku akhrisan karaan, iyada oo siyaasad ahaan labada xisbi ee talada dalka isku haystaa kunkala aragti duwanyihiin, buugta loo ogolaanayo goobaha waxbarashada, iyo madalaha bulshadu wax ku akhrisato (Library). Taasi waxay muujinaysaa inaan marka horeba la isku waafaqsanayn in qaabka waxbarasho, halka taariikh ahaana ay marar badan dhacday in boqortooyo ama dawladi mamnuucdo buug ay markaa u arkaysay in ay halis ku yihiin nidaamkeeda iyo dhisnaanta ama gacan ku haynta bulshadaas. Tusaale kale haddii aan soo qaadano, qoraagii caanka ahaa ee Cesare de Beccaria, (1738-1794) oo loo yaqaano aabaha barashada culuumta dambiayada, wuxuu buuggiisii ugu horeeyay “De delitti e delle pene” “Crime and Punishment” “Dambi iyo Ciqaab” u daabacay si qarsoodi ah isaga oo markaa ka baqayay in dawladu ciqaabto. Wuxuuna ku dhiiiraday in uu magiciisa ku daro markii uu hubsaday in buuggu taageero ka helay bulshada, dawladuna ayna ku darin buugta la mamnuucay, balse mudo gudeheedba waa la mamnuucay buuggii.
Aan u soo noqono tuducyadeenee, waxa uu abwaanku ina tusayaa sida arin dhow oo aan meel fog jirin, la inoogaga jeedinayo indho sarcaad iyo khayaal, illaa aan ka ilowno dhibtii aan xalkeeda raadinaynay. Marka aad fiiriso dhibaatooyinka dhulka Soomaalida ka jira, dhamaantood waxaynu xalisan karnaa inaga oo aan cidina ina dhexdhexaadin, balse si aan xalkaasi u suurto galin waa in la inoo soo diraa wakiilo iyo dad ku takhasusay xalinta khilaafaadka, oo ka socda beesha caalamka. Waxyaabaha qosolka leh ee halkan ku jira ama erayada abwaanku muujinayaan waxaa ka mid ah, taariikhda dunida kama jirto umad beesha caalamka iyo Qaramada midoobay soo dhex galeen, oo heshiisa ama arin isku afgarata. Taas caksigeeda waxaa marwalba la arkaa, umad iyadu dhexdeeda heshiisa oo nabad iyo walaaltinimo ku wada noolaata.
1991 markii dawladii Soomaaliyeed ee lixdankii xornimada qaadatay ay burburtay, waxay u kala qaybsantay 3 maamul oo labo nabad gelyo ahaayeen, midna dagaal sokeeye ka socday. Maanta oo 30 sano wakhti ka badan laga joogana, waxaa 3dii maamul ka dhex dhashay 5 maamul oo kale. Sidii ay Soomaalida xorta ahi usii kala tifmaysay, heer waxay maraysaa reer walba iyo jifo walbaba calan samaysato, balse dhibkeenu qabiilna ma aha, siyaasad xumana ma aha. Dhibkeena salkiisu wuxuu ku qotomaa wadaanta aan moodayno inay ceel inoogu jirto, balse aynu banaan cidlo ah ka soo dalwinayno.
Si aad uga baxdo dabinka iyo qoolka mugdiga ah ee geedka kugu xidhay, waa inaad marka hore qirato inaad dabin ku jirto, marka aad intaa fahanto ayaad raadin kartaa qaabkii aad dabinkaa uga bixi lahayd. Maansada “dabahuwan” oo aan maalinba inyar kasoo qaadan doono, qodobka aynu hadda soo dul istaagnay wuxuu kaliya ina tusayaa, in dhibka iyo xaaladaha ku haysta aadan xalin karin, haddii cid kale kuu sheegayso dhibkaaga ee aadan adigu fahmin raadinina sidii aad xal ugu keeni lahayd. Waayo nolosha ma jiro qof qof caawiya, isaga oo aan dani ugu jirin, dantaasi ajirna ha noqotee.
Tarlton Law Library: The Index Librorum Prohibitorum and the Censorship of Law Books: Dei Delitti e Delle Pene. (n.d.). https://tarlton.law.utexas.edu/Index-Librorum-Prohibitorum-Censorship-Law-Books/Dei-Delitti-Delle-Pene#:~:text=Beccaria%20at%20first%20published%20his,De%20delitti%20e%20delle%20pene.
Picture yourself stumbling upon a weathered book, its cover whispering secrets. That’s what you’ll find in “The Alchemist” by Paulo Coelho. This unpretentious masterpiece has captivated readers with its enchanting storytelling and timeless wisdom inspiring them to chase their dreams no how audacious they may appear.
Strengths of “The Alchemist”;
“The Alchemist” doesn’t rely on tricks or complex storylines to enthrall its audience. Instead, it mesmerizes readers, with a tale that conceals a wealth of philosophical depth. Coelho effortlessly weaves together themes of destiny, purpose, and the transformative power of perseverance within a narrative that feels like a conversation with a friend. The book’s ability to seamlessly integrate insights into a plot has undeniably contributed to its broad and enduring appeal.
Impact, on Readers and Appreciated Aspects;
A multitude of readers have discovered solace within the embrace of “The Alchemist ” praising its emphasis on the significance of intuition and the pursuit of one’s legend. Coelho’s use of language to convey concepts has enabled readers from all walks of life and age groups to connect with the book’s profound message.
The story is filled with elements that whisk readers away, to far, lands creating a captivating reading journey that goes beyond geographical borders.
“The Alchemist” is replete with inspiring quotes that resonate deeply with readers and offer profound insights into life, purpose, and the pursuit of dreams. Here are a few of the book’s best quotes along with an exploration of how they can inspire and motivate:
“And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.”
This quote speaks to the power of determination and the belief that the universe aligns in support of our aspirations. It inspires individuals to trust in their dreams and to persevere despite obstacles, knowing that their unwavering commitment can set the wheels of fate in motion.
“People are capable, at any time in their lives, of doing what they dream of.”
Encouraging a sense of empowerment, this quote emphasizes the boundless potential within each person to realize their dreams. It serves as a reminder that age, circumstance, or past failures need not hinder one’s ability to pursue their aspirations. It instills the belief that every moment holds the possibility for individuals to actively create the lives they envision.
“When we strive to become better than we are, everything around us becomes better too.”
Highlighting the transformative power of personal growth, this quote underscores the interconnected nature of self-improvement and the world around us. It motivates individuals to embark on a journey of self-discovery and self-improvement, understanding that as they evolve, their surroundings and experiences also reflect positive change.
“There is only one thing that makes a dream impossible to achieve: the fear of failure.”
Encouraging readers to confront their fears, this quote emphasizes the role of fear in inhibiting progress and stifling potential. It serves as a call to action, urging individuals to confront their apprehensions and take courageous steps toward realizing their dreams, recognizing that it is often fear itself that poses the greatest obstacle to achieving success.
“The simple things are also the most extraordinary things, and only the wise can see them.”
Encouraging mindfulness and a deeper appreciation for life’s simple pleasures, this quote reminds individuals to remain present and attuned to the beauty that surrounds them. It inspires a shift in perspective, encouraging individuals to view everyday experiences through a lens of wonder and gratitude, recognizing that wisdom lies in the ability to discern the extraordinary within the seemingly ordinary moments of life.
These timeless quotes from “The Alchemist” serve as beacons of inspiration, guiding readers toward a deeper understanding of themselves and the world around them. They encourage individuals to embrace their inner strength, pursue their passions with unwavering determination, and cultivate a profound appreciation for the journey of self-discovery and personal fulfillment.
Weaknesses:
While “The Alchemist” has garnered widespread acclaim, some readers have expressed a desire for more intricate character development beyond the central protagonist. They yearn for a deeper exploration of the supporting cast, whose roles often serve as mere catalysts for Santiago’s journey. Additionally, a few have suggested that the book could benefit from a more nuanced exploration of the philosophical concepts it introduces, catering to those seeking a more profound understanding of spiritual and existential themes.
NB- I understand the significance of embracing our journeys and being the protagonists of our own stories. As a neutral observer, it’s important to acknowledge the viewpoints of other readers who have pointed out the main character-centric nature of the narrative. They have expressed a desire for more intricate development of the supporting characters, suggesting that a more nuanced exploration of their roles could have added depth and richness to the overall storyline. Furthermore, some have highlighted the need for a more comprehensive examination of the philosophical concepts introduced in the book, catering to those seeking a more profound understanding of the spiritual and existential themes woven into the narrative. It’s worth noting that while the focus on the main character serves a specific purpose, incorporating more intricate plot developments and twists could potentially enhance the engagement of readers looking for a more multifaceted storyline. Since I don’t have anything to blame the author I loved how Paulo Coelho developed this amazing novel.
Conclusion:
In the end, “The Alchemist” remains a testament to the power of storytelling to touch the deepest recesses of our souls. Despite its minor shortcomings, the book’s ability to resonate with readers on a profoundly personal level speaks volumes about Coelho’s mastery in crafting a narrative that transcends mere entertainment. “The Alchemist” stands as a timeless beacon, reminding us that our most fulfilling journeys often lead us back to the very essence of our being.
Reference:
Coelho, P. (1988). The Alchemist. Harpercollins Publishers.
Ku baraaruga Gallada Illaahay ee noloshaada ku jira.
In qofku tirsado nimcooyinka uu haysto oo ku baraarugsanaado waxay wax badan ka badashaa hab fikirka qofka iyo qaabka uu u wajahayo dhibaatooyinka iyo duruufaha nolosha ee soo wajaha. Aadmigana waxa ku badan ku baraarugsanaanta dhibaatada iyo waxa inaga maqan raadintiisa, ee muhiimad badan ma siino waxa aynu haysano ku xamdigooda. Illahay quraankiisa wuxuu ku leeyahay isaga oo inta tusaya muhiima ay leedahay in aan ka mahadnaqno nimcooyinka aan haysano: ﴾لئن شكرتم لأزيدنكم ولئن كفرتم إن عذابي لشديد ﴿”Haddaad ka mahad celisaan (ku shukridaan) nimcooyinka aan idin siiyay, waan idiin badin (siyaadin) haddaad se ku kufridaan oo ka abaal dhacdaan, cadaabkaygu waa mid daran.” Ibrahim 7 tafsiirka Sheekh Maxamuud (AUN) Dhanka suugaanta Soomaaliga haddaynu uleexano, Hadraawi (AUN) waa kii tuducyo ka mid ah maansadiisa ‘Dabahuwan’ kusoo qaatay isla arintan isaga oo leh:
“Addoonku Rabbow ma dayo
deeqdaada intuu hantiyo
duntii maqan buu tebaa
wax uu degdeg kaaga filay
haddaanay ku soo dul quban
cadhuu la dakaamayaa
dibnuhu baryaday karaan
daryeel kama mahad ceshaan
jiilaal la darbaysanyahay
diihaal iyo gaajo kulul
haddii beri roob ka da’o
qof doogey markaas illow
siduu u ducayn yiqiin
xusuusba ka sii durduri
Nin duunyadu mool ku tahay
dadkiisuna maansha yahay
ayaa misna kuugu duda
waxaanu u daafad hayn
qofkaad shar u diiddan tahay
u doortay si kahyr ku jiro
ayaa misna kuugu duda
waxaad uga daacad tahay”
Haddaan wax yar is dultaagno erayadan cajiibka ah, nafteenana aynu muraayada hor gayno, waxaa inoo soo baxaysa in inteena badani ay ku sifoobayso tilmaamaha abwaanku sheegay ee sida wax loo baryo uun yaqaana, balse mahad celinta ka madhan. Marwalba oo duruuf iyo baahi ina qabsato waynu naqaanaa sida gacmaha kor loogu taago, marka ducadeena la aqbalo ee aynu muraadkeena helno, inyar mooyee inteena badani waaban iska illownaa inaynu baahi aragnay oo la inoo gargaaray.
Haddaan usoo noqdo faa’iidooyinka ku jira mahadnaqa iyo qaabka ay wax uga badalaan, waxaa jira cilmi baadhisyo badan oo ka hadlaya faa’iidooyinka ay leedahay in qofku tirsado nimcooyinkiisa oo ka mahad naqo. Haddaynu hal iyo laba kasoo qaadano daraasadahaas iyo natiijooyinka kasoo baxay, Dr. Robbert Emmons oo ah aqoonyahanada kasmo-nafeedka ee wax ka dhiga Jaamacada Kaalifoorniya ee Davis ayaa wuxuu sameeyay daraasad ay ku eegayaan sida mahad naqa iyo ka war haynta nimcooyinka aad haysato ay farxad kuu siin karaan, ayaa wuxuu ku ogaaday in ay is badal badan oo dhanka wangaasan ah kala kulmeen bukaano la daalaa dhacayay xanuunada dhimirka. Daraasadan oo uu ku eegay saddex kooxood ayaa waxa lagu ogaaday in qaybtii tirisay nimcooyinkoodu ay ka farxad badnaayeen qaybihii kale ee dhibaatooyinka hayta tirsaday. Marka qofku cabasho iyo catow uu maalinkiisa ku qaato, ama cadho iyo diiqad wakhtigiisa ku lumiyo, wuxuu dayacaa fursad uu nimcooyinka mawle ugu deeqay uga faa’idaysto.
Caqabadaha ka dhasha in uu qofku dhibaatooyinka haysta xoogga saaro waxaa ka mid ah, daal maskexeed hoos u dhiga hawl maalmeedkiisa sida in uu shaqooyinkii maalinlaha ahaa qaban kari waayo. Welwel badan oo hadheeya qalbigiisa si joogto ah maadaama wax lagu farxo oo noloshiisa ahi ayna u muuqan. Iyo in uu marwalba wakhtiga ku lumiyo waxa qayrkii haystaan ee isaga ka maqan, taas oo keenta in qofka xasadkiisu bato, dadka kaleba guulaha iyo horumarka ay gaadhaan uu ka xumaado ama u quudhi waayo. Waxa afkiisa ku bata erayada quusta iyo yasmada ah ee uu isku maaweeliyo marwalba oo cid uu yaqaaano ay talaabo horay u qaado.
Faa’iidooyinka mahadnaqa iyo nimco tirsashadu aad bay u bdanyihiin, haddaynuse hal iyo laba ka soo qaadano, 1. Waxay adkaysaa qanaacada nafta. Qofku marka oo xooga saaro waxa gacanta ugu jira ama hareera yaala, waxa dhadhan u sameeya noloshiisa taas oo yareysa welwelka gudeed ee ka dhasha damaca wax aanu gaadhi karin. 2. Waxaa badata deeqsinimada qofka. Qofku marka uu ogyahay waxa uu haysto kana mahad celiyo wixii la siiyo, wuxuu ku dedaalaa in uu hoos u fiiriyo cidda aan haysan intiisa in le’eg ee uu caawin karo. 3. In qofku dantiisa iyo hawlihiisa gaarka ah ku mashquulo. Taas oo yaraynaysa in uu cid kale wax ay haysato damco ama xaasido.
Waxaa jira saddex qaab oo qofku kor ugu qaadi karo ka warqabka nimcooyinka uu haysto iyo ka mahadnaqooda. 1. Samayso buug maalinle ah oo aad ku qorato nimcooyinka aad haysato ee illaahay ku siiyay sida caafimaadka, cibaadada iyo camalka wanagasan ee aad samaysaba. 2. La saaxiib dadka kugu baraarujiya hibooyinka aad leedahay in ka badan intay kuu sheegaan dhaliilahaaga. Saaxiibku waa muhiim, waxaana haboon in aad xulato saaxiib ku taageera e aan lugaha kugu dhagin. 3. Wax ka badal hab fikirkaaga iyo qaabka aad naftaada ula sheekaysato. Cadowgaaga ugu wayni waa naftaada, haka ogolaan inay ku han jabiso ama ku tusto inta kaa maqan. Marwalba adigu tus inta aad haysato ee aad hawlyaraan ku heshay.
Waxa uu ahaa wiil mudo badan ku mashquulsanaa waxbarasho oo aan jaanis badan u helin sheeko iyo haasaawe. Inta ugu badan wuxuu dhalinyaronimadiisa ku qaatay kalinimo oo qol gaar ah ayuu ka dagaanaa guryaha jaamacada. Inkasta oo ay jikada wadaagi jireen ardey kale oo guriga qayb ka deganaa, ma ahayn dadka wax karsada oo inta badan umuu baahan jirin isticmaalkeeda. Wuxuu la qabsaday koobnaantaas iyo noloshaa isku tiirsanaanta ah ee aanu qofna waxba ku darsan.
Markii uu jaamacada dhameeyay hore ayuu shaqo ka bilaabay, wuxuuna guri kooban oo labo maqsin ah ka iibsaday meel magaalada dhexdeeda ah. Maadaama oo wakhtigii badnaa ee uu waxbarashada galin jiray soo koobmay, shaqadiisuna aanay ahayn mid culays iyo saacado dheeri ah uga baahan, wuxuu dareemay kalinimada isku-filaanta. Wuxuu garwaaqsaday inuu u baahanyahay wehel iyo qof nolosha la qaybsada.
Waxay is barteen gabadh sidiisa aqoon leh oo wax baratay, dabeecad ahaanse aad uga duwan isaga. Waxay la noolayd ehelkeeda, gurigana waxaa ku wehelinayay dhawr caruur ah oo iyada hoos uga sii yaraa. Intii hore ee ay isku cusbaayeen aad buu u koolkoolin jiray, oo marna mayna dareemin daneyn la’aan dhankiisa ah. Waxay ku heshiiyeen inay aqal galaan, reerkuna waa isugu duceeyay.
Maadaama oo aanu noloshiisa intii badnayd cidna la soo noolaan, durba waxaa culays ku noqday nolosha wax qaybsiga iyo lamaanaha oo sida uu dareemay khalkhal galisay isku-filaanshihii iyo maamulkii kaligii gacanta ugu jiray. Inaksta oo gabadhu ku dedaashay in aanay talada ka faro maroojin xaajigeeda, waxay dareentay in wax kasta oo ay samaysaa diiqad galiyaan.
Wax uu dulqaato oo iska adkaystaba, maalinkii dambe ayuu furka tuurtay. Dhibku wuxuu ka dhashay dawada cadyga. Xaaskiisu waxay dawada cadayga ka maroojisaa dhexda markay isticmaalayso, halka isagu uu salka ugu dambaysa kasoo tuujiyo. “Waxaa tahay qof aan masuuliyad garanayn oo mudayac ah. Maalin walba dawada cadayga waad khasaarisaa. U malayn maayo inaan sidan kusii wada joogi karno, ee iigu yeedh oday warqada kuu qaada.” Hadalada caynkaas ah oo iyada qaadan waa ku noqday, waxay ahaayeen sababtii qoyskoodu ku burburay, dhibtuse intaa ka xeeldheer.
