On Easter, a colleague of mine was tragically murdered.
Though we weren’t especially close, he was a kind, shy, and funny soul whose sudden and violent death affected me more deeply than I ever could have anticipated.
It was the first time someone still actively present in my life had passed away, and the shocking nature of how it happened added a profound layer to my grief.
The sadness I felt was unfamiliar and overwhelming—an intense, personal experience of loss that opened my eyes to the depth of human grief.
But through this grief I was able to understand human relationships with a different perspective or perhaps on a deeper level.
Through my deep grief, I came to understand something powerful: you don't need to be especially close to someone to feel love for them. Their mere presence in your daily life matters—it contributes to your world in subtle but meaningful ways, often without either of you fully realizing it.
When I was younger, I dreamed of making a difference in the world. But as I grew older and life wore me down, that desire began to fade. Now, through loss, I’ve come to truly see that we do make a difference—simply by existing in each other’s lives. A quiet presence, a shared laugh, a kind glance in the hallway—these small, everyday moments ripple outward in ways we may never see.
So knowing this, I ask: how will you present yourself to the world around you?
Your acknowledgment of someone, a simple smile, a casual joke, or a caring word as you pass by—these moments carry weight. They leave an impression. They matter—even if neither you nor the other person are aware of it.
So today, how will you choose to carry yourself?
I also found myself thinking deeply about the teenager who murdered my colleague.
To be honest, the grief I felt over such a sudden and tragic loss far outweighed any anger I might have had toward the offender. In fact, I’m not sure if I felt anything at all.
As the weeks passed and my heart slowly began to heal, I started to realize something: every person—whether they’ve done right or wrong—is simply trying to live the best they can with the circumstances they were given. Our environments, upbringings, and the opportunities we do or don’t receive all shape the way we navigate this world.
This isn't to say that the perpetrator shouldn’t face the consequences of his actions—he absolutely should. But somehow, through this tragedy, I was led to reflect on my own past—on the mistakes I've made, the poor choices, the moments I'm not proud of. Looking back, I see that I was often just trying to survive in the only way I knew how.
That realization brought with it a sense of self-compassion I hadn't felt before. And from there, my thoughts turned to my family. Like many, they’ve hurt me, made choices that left lasting impacts, and sometimes failed to do what was best. But even so, I now see that they, too, were simply trying to survive—navigating life the only way they knew how.
Then, a sudden thought struck me: the people we often consider the “lowest” in society—the ones who commit crimes, cause pain, and bring suffering—yes, they technically have the choice to do right instead of wrong. But what if, in some cases, it’s not that simple?
I began to see that some people seem to lack what I can only describe as “the light.” This light, to me, feels like the soul—the divine essence within us, the spark of higher consciousness trying to express itself in this dense, dualistic world.
And some souls, weighed down by layers of trauma, pain, neglect, and disconnection, become surrounded by so much darkness—so much inner “muck”—that they lose sight of the light completely. In that blindness, they can no longer clearly perceive their conscience, and without that compass, they’re unable to consistently choose what benefits others or uplifts humanity.
It’s not an excuse for harm—there must still be accountability—but it is, perhaps, an explanation. And in understanding this, I find myself holding space for both justice and compassion. Compassion for all humanity.
Didn't Jesus, as he was being crucified, say, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do"? In that moment, he wasn’t condemning, but offering compassion — recognizing that their actions came from ignorance, not malice.
Similarly, Buddhism teaches that people do not do evil out of inherent wickedness, but out of ignorance — a deep misunderstanding of who they truly are. When we forget our true nature — mistaking ourselves for the body, the ego, the personality — we fall into patterns of fear, greed, sadness, and violence.
But when we awaken to the truth that we are not merely these temporary forms, but souls — unique expressions of divine consciousness — and live from that awareness in every moment, then the shadows of suffering begin to dissolve. In that light of remembrance, negativity fades, and peace, compassion, and clarity naturally arise. Imagine a world where we all remember and embody our true being, our soul in our everyday lives!
The death of my colleague brought with it deep grief and sorrow—but also, unexpectedly, profound wisdom and love.
At his funeral, I witnessed just how much love surrounded him, how many lives he had quietly touched. In that moment, I was reminded that even in a world that often feels heavy with pain, there is still so much goodness—so much light.
Of course, if I had the choice, I would trade all the insight, all the revelations, just to have him back. But since I can’t, I hold close the precious gift his life—and his passing—has given me: a deeper understanding of love, of humanity, and of what truly matters. It’s a gift that will remain with me always, and through it, I will remember him for the rest of my life.