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“Being uncomfortable is good, beta. It’s in discomfort that growth happens.”
What a son of a bitch time was, chewing up everything in its path.
“Look to the future, child,” her father used to say. “This is why our feet point forward, not back.”
“But you don’t love something because you’re blind to its faults, right? You love it despite its flaws.”
Human beings could apparently be turned into killers as effortlessly as turning a key. All one had to do was use a few buzzwords: God. Country, Religion. Honor. No, men like Rupal were not the problem. The problem lay with the culture from which they bubbled up.
As children, we were taught to be afraid of tigers and lions. Nobody taught us what I know today—the most dangerous animal in this world is a man with wounded pride.
Maybe, in the end, that’s all that love was—doing the hard thing. Not roses and valentines and walks on the beach, but simply being present, day after ordinary day. The extraordinary romanticism of ordinary life.