A Two-Year Reflection on the Battles We Fight in Secret

Today, July 18, 2026, marks exactly two years since an incredibly eventful and defining period in my life.

As I sat down to write today's blog post, searching for a spark of inspiration, I looked back at my recent work. I realized a theme was emerging; I had recently published two poems written during that turbulent time in July 2024. In the introductions to those pieces, I noted that:

“On a personal level, July 2024 was a monumental year filled with significant challenges—the kind I would not wish on my worst enemy. It marked the end of an era and foreshadowed the next chapter of my life. It was a baptism of fire that I did not want, but it was a necessary part of my unfolding journey. Looking back now, it is the very experience that helped me metamorphose from a caterpillar into a butterfly.”

Reflecting on that anniversary today, I remembered a powerful story I heard a few years ago. It is a story that spoke directly to my own situation back in 2024, capturing what it means to endure an invisible, crushing struggle. To mark this two-year milestone, I decided to transform that narrative into a poem.

Every heart needs oxygen to survive, and sometimes, kindness is the only air we have left. This is that story.

Be Kind

Hassan Aden - July 2026

Be kind.
Be kind, please.
Be not unkind.
It is not wise—
It blinds the eyes.

If only you knew,
That everyone you meet,
Or greet,
Or need,
Or love,
Is fighting a much harder battle.

A father sat in a train carriage.
The train was packed with passengers;
It was the height of summer, rush hour,
Every single chair occupied by strangers.

The air felt thick with tension,
Everyone averting their gaze.
Civility was in short supply,
And kindness even less so.

Yet, his children were upbeat,
Playing hide-and-seek,
Dancing to their own internal beat,
Showing and shouting and being unique.

Unlike their father, who was fighting
Just to keep a fragile smile on his face,
Willing to pay any price
To hide the sadness inside.

The man sitting next to the father
Desperately wanted some peace.
He had survived a long day at work,
With even less sleep the night before;
Looking forward to get home and unwind.

He was patient.
He was a family man.
He held his tongue.
He scoured the train for another chair;
Finding none—resigned to stay.

He waited, and he waited some more,
Until he could contain his impatience no more.
Leaning over, he whispered to the father:

"Excuse me, sir. Do you mind asking your children
To behave and sit down? I am getting a headache.
Two straight hours of this relentless chaos—
Jumping on chairs, playing hide-and-seek,
Disrupting every passenger here.
As a father, don't you recognise
How important it is to teach your children to behave?"

The father, holding back a flood of tears,
Moved closer to the man.
He placed a gentle hand on his shoulder,
And whispered back:

"My children and I, just over two hours ago,
Put their mother—my wife—to rest.
They were completely inconsolable,
And their clothes are still heavy with their tears.*

I am relieved that, for a brief moment on this journey,
They have found a bit of light relief.
They are escaping the painful memories
Of the empty home that awaits them when we step inside.
I am dreading that empty house.
I simply do not have the heart to ask them to sit down.
But you are welcome to do so."*

The man sat crestfallen,
Wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole.
His heart grew heavy with a crushing guilt;
The guilt in his chest melted
Into a fierce, protective love for the children.

He wrapped his arms around the father,
And whispered:
"Please forgive me, I regret saying something.
I am deeply sorry for your loss."

In that quiet moment, the man remembered
A wise saying he had once heard from his father:

"Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle."