What is it that matters the most?

Thoughts on “What is it that matters the most?

I was trying to put in a few words this morning.

But then I was feeling slightly obtuse.

I did not perhaps understand why or what is it that matters the most?

The birds were chirping and perhaps, calling my name I looked up. They were free.

Was I?

So did freedom matter?

Or was it the ego inside me driving me, pushing me to not listen to anyone but to that just one dream inside my head- write since you love to write.

Often our egos fuel even the most innocent thoughts inside us, therefore they say, “Be careful where you put your egos in.”

So, now that I was confused, I stopped writing and began pondering over this fact.

Ego or freedom, what was it?

But then perhaps none, I said to myself and then a memory hit me.

Back when I was very small, an old man used to come begging in the afternoon when my parents were away for classes.


What is it that matters the most?

He used to always sit on our stairs and I would give him a glass of water and some biscuits that I would be saving the whole day to give him on thee day next.

But, yes my mother feared him and doubted he was a kid-picker, but she could not control his coming, so she controlled me.

She would lock the double door and all I had was a window that too was grilled.

So, one day the old man told me, “For all your biscuits and all your water, let me tell you one thing. Remember it, for I have nothing else to give you. If you remember it and practice it, it will become a gift one day.”

I was tiny but his voice quivered as though he was slightly emotional and even though ordinarily I would hardly listen, his livid eyes kind of opened my ears.

I listened and listened quite nicely.

“When you grow up do things that would add meaning to your life. Do something which will help you understand your life and your role on Earth and work alone until you find true friends.”

“Does begging help you understand your life?” I asked for children are cruel when young I have heard.

“Yes, it does. But I am not a beggar.”

“What do you think I am?” He laughed loudly.

“A kid-picker.” I told him what my mother told me for I had no brains.

“Ahhh! But I am not that, kid, I am a God-picker. God bless you.” He said and vanished in no time.

After that day, he never came again and I never saw him again even though i waited many afternoons for him saving my biscuits for him only to feed the crows in the evening.


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