By Dr. Adnan Bouzan

O human being—
O bearer of many faces and of stories hidden behind your eyes.
I write to you a letter that seeks not ready-made answers, but small spaces of mercy that might be kindled within you, turning you into a lamp for a road that still crawls through this world.

I see you — not with an eye that passes judgment, but with a heart that listens to the echo of your breath. I see you when you rise from the bed of night weighed down by memories that will not be silenced, and when you walk the city streets as your shadow walks: expectant, hesitant, clinging to the last thread of a hope that has yet to learn its name. I see you in the quiet moments when questions chase you unanswered: Why do we love? Why do we hurt? Why do we build walls while true immortality is born from doors that open?

I do not ask you to be an angel or a superhero, nor do I ask you to bury your weakness forever. I only ask that you attend to your weakness as one attends to strange music that may reveal the melody of the self. Weakness is not betrayal but a ring that teaches you how to hold your hand when the world trembles. Sin is not an eternal seal; it is a lesson that must be read again with broader awareness and a less rigid breath.

Within you there is a sea teeming with waves: there are the rocks of anger, the sands of forgiveness, and the isles of small memories where your childhood still dwells. Extinguish the fire of revenge gently, as the sea douses the flame of a sinking ship — not merely to forget, but to understand. Understanding does not erase pain, but it humanizes it; it turns it into a lesson that teaches tomorrow how not to repeat the error.

Gaze upon your face in the eyes of others and you will find the threads of your story entangled with theirs. We are not isolated islands but an archipelago of small tales that sometimes intersect and turn into a roaring sea, and sometimes meet and bloom into gardens. Do not suppose that the greatness of your matter is measured by titles or wealth; it is measured by your capacity to keep your heart a safe place for others when the world becomes too narrow for them.

Forgive — for forgiveness is an inward rite that needs no witness. Forgive because the heart that carries a lump of grief cannot drink or bloom. Forgive because forgiveness is freedom that grants you a purified memory unburdened by weights. Do not forgive only for their sake; forgive for your own: to return to yourself lighter, to love with clarity without growing weary.

Love — even if the city does not love you in return. Love as the spring loves, without the assurance of the world’s gratitude. Love is a small, quotidian act: a cup of coffee shared with a solitary passerby, or a kindly word given to a child who fears the shadows. Love does not change the world in a single blow; it seeps slowly, like light slipping through the cracks of a wall until it overcomes the darkness.

Do not flee your pain as if it were a mere annoying guest; receive it, ask it its name — it may hold an explanation for a past you have not yet understood. In the depths of pain the seeds of transformation are born; every scar is a small map that teaches you where not to return and where to begin anew. Remember: you are greater than any chapter that has closed in your book.

Tell yourself the truth. In an age in which the voice of falsehood grows louder and masks multiply, honesty with oneself is revolution. Confess your mistake before time charges you a greater fee. Greet your fear as a human being who needs an embrace, and know your ambition as a companion that must not overwhelm your conscience.

A final pause: do not wait for the world to arrange ideal conditions for you to be a righteous person. The world will not stop to sort your papers. Do good today, because goodness itself feeds the soul. Help without expecting thanks, speak without demanding applause, and give your embrace without conditions. These small touches are what bring us closer to one another: we who carry pain and dream together.

And if everyone betrays you, do not betray yourself. Self-betrayal is harsher than any other betrayal; by it you lose your compass and become a traveler without a destination. After all that, continue — not because the road is easy, but because continuing is proof that you did not surrender to the spirit that seeks to extinguish your light.

I do not write you a testament; I hold up a mirror. Do not stare into it to find fault with yourself, but to see the beauty in your heart that deserves to remain alive. Be human — that is all I ask, and it is the greatest thing the world needs.