…
My father once told me a story about his past, when he was but a little boy.
The story goes like this:
He was walking down the street as he came back from night school, exhausted and with only a couple of copper coins in his cheaply made pocket.
He couldn't help but notice that one of the beggars who were trying to play on people's hearts had something strange about him.
My father said that he didn't usually give any money to beggars, but the strangeness of that man piqued his interest and made him want to go to his side and understand why or what made him feel that way.
My father approached the side of the beggar, but the man remained indifferent and lost in thought. He waited, and waited, and waited, but to no avail.
He thought that maybe the beggar was too drunk to notice him, but just as he turned his back to the beggar, the man began to speak with his rotten teeth.
"He who seeks to change the world must have the resilience to take on its suffering, pain, and sorrows, for one does not achieve greatness without going through a mountain of one's own corpses.
I took on the pain of the world, and the only thing it left me was this shattered body and mind…"
The words of the beggar didn't make sense to my father at the time, nor did they make sense to me while he was telling me the story.
But now I understand my father's words…