It’s not justification, just an explanation.
It’s not an excuse even though you say it is. When someone speaks to gain understanding, an excuse is not present. I know you think it seems so lousy; like justification for so called ‘bad behaviour.’ But I challenge you to really think outside your own box of care. If it was you, yes, you, would you dare? Would you label your explanations as justifications?
My guess is no. Only because we can treat others like the dirt of the earth while we expect the greatest sympathy. How human. It’s so easy to say “that’s an excuse” to every word from the mouth of a vulnerable being. It’s so easy to say and not hard to think. It’s easy to judge what you aren’t feeling. You might even say: “I’ve been through worse. And yet I stand here proudly today.” But you miss the point, again and again. You are far too kind to yourself. Your scars are a kitten’s work. Their scars come from much bigger beasts. But yet you stand tall and say they are weak when they cry. So somehow you are so great because you're happy that you’ve survived… worse?
Oh great person, yes, aren’t you truly the wisest. You show how you obviously see what is truth and what is lies. But how do you do this great work? By using your heart or your eyes? You use only your eyes. But did anyone ever tell you not to judge by what you see. The truth always rest behind everything. And yes, I will say that excuses do exist and some persons are hiding behind their excusing ways. I understand such a truth completely.
However, it’s easy to blame. It’s easy to shame. It’s easy to say that an explanation is a hurting soul’s redemption game. But it’s not a game. It’s a brutal pain. When pathways are murky and people’s judgments are great. Even the people you love are playing the ‘I know what’s wrong’ game. All we ask is that you listen to our feelings without evaluation. We don’t want to be big news at your gossip station. Our issues are not breaking news. Our suffering not public events. And our insecurities not mock-able comedies. Even our behaviours and actions are not to be laughed at.
No one laughs when people die. Strange isn’t it? But they laugh and sneer when someone says: “I want to die!” People cry when people die. Not always because they are sad, but they know they can’t rewrite the history of a dead person. So if that insecure soul died one day, what would you have to say? If you had a dialogue of all you said to their face and behind their back read, would you be proud of yourself then? Or would your own judgments cause disappointment?
An excuse is not an explanation. And excuse diverts and distracts intentional acts of badness. An explanation is there to provide insider knowledge and truth. We explain ourselves to find clarity and comfort. When we speak, we only want someone to listen, to hold our hand, and to not be dismissed. All we ask of you is an affectionate ear and an open heart; someone who is proud of our strength and who mourns for our scars. All we need is judgments denied for no human knows what goes on deep inside. All we want is love and care. Leave judgments at death’s door. No one likes to venture there. Your kindness will prove that love is still present and your openness will show maturity and care deeper than ever.
Chose to see an explanation not as an excuse, no, not a justification. See it for what it is – a way to know the real truth of the pain. And once you know the truth, both you and I are free.
About the Creator
The Little Sil
I'll write about everything in an anything kind of way ♥
Religious cult survivor / Photographer/ Wild hearted dreamer
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More stories from The Little Sil and writers in Humans and other communities.
All The Things I Have To Say To You
Dear you, With a name and face unknown to me, Here is a letter for you. I’m sure not much will change about how I feel in the coming years. Although one cannot be sure for our thoughts are like transient little beings migrating south. I’ve long wondered about you as every little girl has. You’re my prince you see; the very man my barbies kissed when I was 5 and the person, I imagined playing weddings at 7. All this time I’ve been building an expectation of you. Don’t worry – I don’t expect you to ascend from the heavens with roses.
By The Little Sil4 years ago in Poets
Hard Work or Talent?
In a small town surrounded by dusty roads and silent fields, two boys grew up with the same dream—to become the best runners their country had ever seen. Their names were Ayaan and Rohan, and from the outside, their lives seemed similar. They attended the same school, ran on the same broken track, and dreamed under the same open sky. Yet the paths they took, and the lessons they would teach the world, were very different. From an early age, Rohan was known as “the gifted one.” He ran faster than everyone else without much effort. Teachers praised him, classmates admired him, and coaches spoke about him with pride. His stride was smooth, his breathing calm, and his victories came easily. People said he was born to run. Talent, they believed, lived in his blood. Ayaan, on the other hand, was ordinary. He ran slower, tired faster, and often finished near the back. No one applauded his efforts. No one called him special. But Ayaan had something few noticed—an unbreakable determination. While others went home after practice, Ayaan stayed. While others rested on weekends, Ayaan trained alone. He believed that if talent was a gift, then hard work was a choice—and he chose it every day. As the years passed, the difference between them grew clearer. Rohan continued to win local races with ease. Because success came naturally, he trained only when required. “Why push so hard when I’m already the best?” he often thought. He enjoyed praise and believed talent would always carry him forward. Ayaan’s journey was much harder. He woke up before sunrise, running through empty streets while the world slept. His legs ached, his lungs burned, and doubt often whispered in his mind. There were days he wanted to quit, days when progress felt invisible. But each time he stumbled, he reminded himself of one truth: effort never lies. Even when results are slow, work is never wasted. Their first major competition came in high school—a regional championship that attracted scouts and professional coaches. Rohan entered with confidence. Ayaan entered with quiet focus. When the race began, Rohan surged ahead effortlessly, while Ayaan stayed behind, steady and controlled. As expected, Rohan won. The crowd cheered his name, and reporters asked about his “natural ability.” Ayaan finished far behind, unnoticed and exhausted. That night, Rohan celebrated. Ayaan trained. Time moved on, and both boys entered a national sports academy. Now the competition was tougher. Everyone was talented. Everyone was fast. For the first time, Rohan met runners who were as gifted as he was—some even more. Suddenly, talent alone was not enough. Training sessions became brutal. Discipline mattered. Consistency mattered. Rohan struggled. He wasn’t used to pushing past comfort. When training became painful, he slowed down. When coaches criticized him, he felt offended. “I’ve always been the best,” he told himself. “Why should I suffer like this?” Ayaan, however, felt at home in struggle. Pain was familiar to him. Discipline was his companion. While others complained, he listened. While others skipped sessions, he showed up. Slowly, almost invisibly, he began to improve. His times dropped. His endurance increased. His confidence grew—not from praise, but from proof. Years later, the two met again at a national championship—the kind that could decide careers. Rohan was still talented, but inconsistent. Ayaan was not the fastest on paper, but he was reliable, focused, and mentally strong. The race was long and demanding. Halfway through, Rohan pushed hard, relying on his natural speed. But as fatigue set in, his form broke. Doubt crept in. He had never learned how to fight exhaustion. Ayaan ran differently. He paced himself. Every step reflected thousands of unseen hours. When his body begged him to stop, his mind answered, “Keep going.” One by one, he passed runners who had relied only on talent. In the final stretch, Ayaan surged ahead—not because he was born faster, but because he had trained his body and mind to endure. He crossed the finish line first. The crowd roared, surprised by the name they barely knew. Rohan finished far behind. For the first time, he understood a painful truth: talent opens doors, but it does not keep them open. After the race, Rohan sat alone, staring at the track that once felt so easy. Ayaan approached him, offering a quiet smile—not of pride, but of understanding. “I always thought talent was everything,” Rohan admitted softly. Ayaan shook his head. “Talent is a spark. Hard work is the fire.” Years later, Ayaan became a respected athlete and mentor. He taught young runners that success is built when no one is watching. Rohan, too, changed. He learned discipline late, but sincerely, discovering that talent grows only when watered by effort. The world often debates hard work versus talent, as if one must defeat the other. But the truth is simpler and deeper. Talent may give you a head start, but hard work decides how far you go. Talent can shine once—but hard work shines every day. In the end, the most powerful force is not what you are given at birth, but what you are willing to build through patience, pain, and persistence. Because talent may impress—but hard work transforms.
By The best writer about 7 hours ago in Humans
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