On Compassion and Loyalty

Compassion and loyalty are two of the most important things in life. In fact, I  can’t emphasize enough their importance in each of our lives. These two abstract concepts aren’t as abstract when it comes to shaping our lives. We either have them or we don’t; and in case some of us don’t have them, everything else in our lives are pretty much worthless. But I’m not here to talk about their importance. There’s something that some of us suffer from – something that’s potentially a cancer to our existence as individuals. That something is called being a tad too compassionate or loyal. As one of those individuals who suffer perpetually from this fatal flaw, I’m here to share a word of caution with you.
   Ever since I can remember, this flaw has been a part of me. If I were to lose this trait today, I would cease to be myself. Yet there’s this greater part of me that would be only too glad to lose this flaw of mine. For I’ve suffered, time and again, because of this tad too much loyalty and compassion that I carry about with me. The people who feel the most, suffer the most. Period. Everybody loses friends; but nobody feels more cut up upon losing a friend than one who is burdened with too much loyalty and compassion. With a friend missing from our side, we don’t just feel like abandoned puppies; we sport the same kind of faces as we drag our reluctant and troubled selves around, trying to appear normal. What’s worse, we visit and revisit and re-revisit the scene of the holocaust, trying to salvage bits and pieces of ourselves, just so we can figure out what went wrong between ‘us’. I’m not really sure that it’s always we who are to be blamed for losing friends; I’m not even sure about there having been an ‘us’ in the relationship, in the first place. Maybe this ‘us’ that we care so much about, was in reality only ‘me’. Maybe there wasn’t this other hand, except in our imagination, and so, that clap that we were waiting for, never sounded. Or maybe, there was once an ‘us’ that has ceased to exist, and nobody is to blame, except time and circumstances. Shit happens. And just because we feel this urge to love and to belong too much, it doesn’t mean that we start holding ourselves responsible for every shit that happens. If someone is gone, there’s someone else to care about. A busted friendship isn’t really the end of the world. When we look around, we find so many hands that are looking for another hand to grasp. Why shouldn’t we hold some of these hands and celebrate life, instead of moping around? We too deserve to be happy, to love and be loved, instead of blaming ourselves every time for all that happens.