The blessing of anger

From anger to awareness

1.

The first quote about anger that I heard and remember was when I was 20: “Anger is pouring someone else’s mistake onto yourself.” At that time, my ego was still huge so I only saw other people’s mistakes and rarely saw my own, that’s why I liked this quote very much and often used it to comfort myself.

Years later I read another, better sentence and used it as the title of an article about anger published in the book Think Differently – Live Differently. It said: “Anger is the poison we pour on ourselves.” This sentence is better because it no longer cares about whose fault it is, nor does it distinguish between the angry person and the person being angered — it only focuses on the harmful effects of anger itself. Whether you are the cause or the victim, whenever you are angry, you immediately experience the feeling of living in hell. Hell is a place where people live without joy, without happiness, without peace, without tranquility. The moment you are angry, you lose all your joy and peace. You imbue every cell of your body with a very bad, very toxic energy. Anger is like a fire that boils you from the inside, making your whole body freeze like a rock.

Have you ever observed a person in anger — from a child to an old person? The moment someone is angry is easy to recognize because the “killing spirit” — that wave of negative energy — fills their whole being. It is expressed through every sharp glance, clenched jaw, frozen body, and tightened fists.

Anyone trying to hold back their anger will look like that. Those who cannot hold it back will release it in other ways: If the jaw isn’t clenched, anger finds its way out through the tongue and teeth — through harsh, insulting words. If the hands aren’t clenched to hold it in, the anger flows through broken dishes, shattered phones, cracked televisions… or someone’s broken jaw.

Anger, when it reaches an aggressive state, always finds a way to express itself — and most people simply cannot hold it back. Only those who are truly alert, aware, and strong can contain their anger. But the irony is: those who are truly alert and aware, rarely ever get angry. Do you remember the story of the Buddha? He was once stopped by a group of people who cursed and spat on him. He simply wiped his face and said: “Are you done? If you are, let me continue. If not, please wait. When I finish my work in the next village, I’ll come back so you may continue this.” It was the Buddha’s alertness and compassion that moved the man so deeply. He fell at the Buddha’s feet, wept, and asked to take refuge.

You might also think this is a lie — because how could anyone spit on the Buddha like that? Yes, they did. The Buddha was widely criticized in his time for a simple reason: he stood against the oldest religious tradition in India — Hinduism. He opposed the hierarchy of Indian society, challenged the arrogance of the Brahmin priestly class, and denied long-standing beliefs rooted in the scriptures. So it is understandable that many people hated him Just ask yourself: If someone were to oppose your faith, tell you that your religion is false, rubbish, stupid… Would you be angry? Would you want to spit in their face — or even eat them alive?

Even if you say you love your religion, believe in it, even if your religion preaches nonviolence — you might still be violent. Violent, both consciously and unconsciously. And this violence… is anger. Only in anger do people commit violence. Compassionate people never commit violence. And the same message is found in the famous saying of Jesus: “Whoever slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. And whoever takes your coat, give him your cloak also.”

What is this, if not love, compassion — the awareness of the enlightened? The enlightened person is never angry, never commits violence, even when they are the victim of violence. His compassion allows him to accept everything naturally — without resistance, without suppression.

2.

That is the story of the masters — but what about us? We are not yet as awake and aware as they are, so telling ourselves not to be angry is truly an impossible task. I would never advise you to “not be angry,” because I know that trying to control anger doesn’t work. We don’t control anger — in fact, it is anger that controls us.

In the grip of anger, we say things we know we shouldn’t say, we do things we know we shouldn’t do — but because we’ve lost control of ourselves, we just say, just do, and then very quickly, when the anger passes, we are filled with regret and sorrow.

Words spoken in anger are like sharp knives stabbing into someone else’s soul — and the other person, in turn, will try to stab our soul back in revenge. In the end, when the storm of anger is over, what’s left is a battlefield full of wounds and damage that can never be healed like before. Something is broken in the soul of both sides, and no glue can ever mend it.

Can you remember? How many times have you been angry, acted out of control, and how many times have you felt regretful, tormented after that anger? How many times have you been hurt, then hurt others, and wished you had never done such things? How many times have you felt remorse and promised never to do it again — only to repeat it anyway? Can you see the cyclical nature of anger? Can you see the cycle repeating in your own actions?

It’s heartbreaking to admit this, but my dear, we are living in an incredibly dark night of unawareness and unconsciousness. The question is not, “Why do we behave so unconsciously?” The real question is, “How long are we going to continue behaving and living this unconsciously?” Only when we decide to end it at the root will we have a chance to break free from its recurring loop. Otherwise, like weeds, it will keep growing back — and when the weeds take over all the soil, the seeds will die. (In using this metaphor, I want to apologize to the weeds. There is nothing wrong with weeds; I love the grass and wild plants just as much as I love roses, the moon, and the stars.)

3.

A reader texted me and asked, “How can I control myself and stop getting angry?”

I’m hesitant to answer these questions because there is no right answer. Not to mention, I haven’t completely mastered my own anger, so I’ll give a “phong-long” (flexible like a wind, not fixxed) answer based on what I know:
“The only way is to be silent, and calmly observe yourself. At first, observe and recognize anger after you’ve been angry – this is very easy, anyone can do it. Take it a step further: observe and recognize anger while you’re angry. Don’t let it take over all your consciousness. This isn’t so difficult either – just a little bit of awareness is enough for anyone to recognize when they’re angry, without waiting for someone else to point it out.

And then, when your awareness becomes stronger, you’ll reach a point where you can recognize anger before it even arrives — when you’re just… getting ready to be angry. Isn’t that wonderful? Just like how people can predict the weather, you can completely predict your own anger.

The moment you realize you’re about to get angry, stay calm and regain control of your awareness. Don’t let yourself be pulled deeper into it.”

To help you understand this more easily, let me give you an example.

Many times during an argument, you feel excited — you want to say very harsh things that you know will hurt the other person and make them angry. In that moment, you want to say those satisfying words — but somewhere in your heart, where love still resides, an invisible force rises up and holds you back. It prevents you from saying those cruel things. It tells you that if you speak those words, the other person will be hurt, and you’ll regret it deeply.
If, at that moment, you choose to follow this awareness, you might still curse — but you won’t use the insulting words anymore. That is the moment when your awareness takes control.
I believe everyone has experienced moments like that — the moment you “intentionally” say hurtful things, and the moment you “stop yourself” just in time, before you let out the toxic words already formed in your mind.

The second step, after realizing that anger is coming, if possible, is simply to sit quietly, close your eyes, take a deep breath, and wait for it to pass. Of course, this is not easy — but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.

Destroying anger when it’s still just a seed in your mind is not easy, but it’s certainly much more worthwhile than cleaning up an entire forest of emotional “rubbish” after you let it run wild.
(Speaking of which, I want to apologize to the image of the seed. For me, the seed is something very beautiful, very sacred. There’s nothing wrong with the seed. Every seed is good — if planted properly. Even the seed of a poisonous plant has its own value.)

And so it is with anger. Anger, too, has its good side — if you can see it. It’s a wonderful opportunity for you to practice silence, mindfulness, and to observe how anger works, how it feeds your ego. And the moment you see all of that clearly, anger begins to fade.

Only awareness and mindfulness can make anger disappear — there is no other way. But hey, letting anger disappear is not enough. You need compassion in order to transform that energy into love.
This is one of the great alchemies of life — the beautiful art of inner energy transformation that, once you’ve experienced it, you’ll want to do again and again.

Just like this: Once you’ve weeded your garden, plant some flowers. And once you’ve planted flowers and watched them bloom, you won’t want to leave your garden overrun with weeds again. It’s true. But that’s only if you’re the one who’s angry — or the one trying to control your own anger. What if you’re simply the victim of someone else’s?

4.

I remember when I was a child — like in every other family — I witnessed my parents’ arguments many times. It was terrible. It was haunting. Sometimes they fought so fiercely that words no longer worked, and they had to use their hands and feet. The glass-top table had to be replaced countless times — then the television, then the door. Those horrifying scenes were etched into the minds of us children and became scars that never healed. Adults argued and fought just to release their anger, never caring or realizing that their words and actions not only hurt each other, but also hurt the children — deeply. Even more deeply than the hurt between adults, because children are so innocent, so pure. They believe everything they hear — even the threats adults throw at each other for fun, children take them as real. Their trust in their parents shatters — and in that moment, their trust in life, in all things good, also shatters. A child may forget in terms of memory, but their soul is never the same again.

Whenever my parents argued, I would run up to the wooden attic and sit there, trembling and sobbing. I didn’t want to hear or see them fighting, but children, even when they run, never dare to run too far. We all hid somewhere around the battlefield — out of a vague fear that if we hid too far, and something happened, we wouldn’t know how to respond or what to do. Even though we knew, deep down, that hiding or not hiding wouldn’t change a thing, wouldn’t solve anything. In the heat of anger, adults don’t care about anything except “destroying” each other, “burning” each other with the same fire that’s already burning inside them.

That act of running away stayed embedded in my subconscious for a long time afterward. Every time my boyfriend and I had an argument, I would run too — unconsciously, I kept looking for empty staircases to climb, climbing higher and higher, curling up in some hidden corner where no one could see me, and crying. I called that love spiritual love, not because I was always smiling, but because it elevated my awareness to the point where I could begin to see my unconscious behaviors more clearly. The day I recognized it, I was done with it. Now I never run away anymore. Sadly, it was his turn to “run” from me — because he, too, had witnessed his parents’ arguments. Worse, he had also been a victim of their beatings during those fights. Running far away became his way of protecting himself. He was also “running” from me — to protect himself, to keep his ego from being shattered.

The more awareness, the more the ego breaks. I’ve seen my ego shatter so many times, just like that glass-top table my father broke again and again. But this time, after the ego broke, I felt so light, so peaceful, so happy. Feeling that way, I naturally wanted him to feel it too — so I started to “break” his ego. I did it out of love. It wasn’t an attack. But he didn’t see it that way. He thought I was “attacking” him, so he left — to protect himself. At least, that’s what I think about me and him.

But forget that for now — let me return to my parents’ anger.

5.

My first lesson about anger came from observing my parents’ rage many years ago. I saw that during anger, both of them were… insane. Both were at fault, but neither saw their own fault. And yet, they blamed the final straw, not the weight they both had carried for so long. There is never a fight or burst of anger that comes from only one side. It always takes two. That’s what I learned as a child.

The second lesson I observed was that there is always an uncomfortable silence that follows every argument. They come together like shadow and form. The reason is simple: no one calms down immediately after a wild fight. The bigger the argument, the deeper and longer the silence that follows. As a child, I was afraid of that silence. I was afraid of the atmosphere where no one spoke to anyone, where the whole house was filled with a cold, heavy stillness. It was just as scary as the fight itself. As a child full of “responsibility,” I tried to be a bridge between my parents — talking to one, asking the other, even saying silly things — just to break that icy silence in the house. Of course, looking back now I see how naive I was, but back then I was just desperate. I don’t know if adults ever noticed the clumsy effort their child made to help them reconcile, but I clearly saw how useless I was. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make things better at all. So I began to learn how to stay silent along with them.

That was one of the unconscious reasons why, in middle school, I insisted on studying far away from home. I didn’t want to witness any more arguments or outbursts from the adults, and I especially didn’t want to witness myself being helpless and useless when it happened. The fights still happened from time to time, but I… was less heartbroken. Out of sight, out of pain. I no longer had to witness my parents fighting, and that gave my heart a little more peace. Poor my little sister — she’s three years younger than me, and she had to witness many more fights without me by her side as an “ally.” Maybe that’s why she became so strong — incredibly strong, far stronger than I am.

I moved to live in the city, staying with my uncle — my father’s older brother — but the situation wasn’t much better. My uncle and aunt also fought, argued, and hit each other constantly — even more violently than my parents. But this time, I felt calmer. It didn’t hurt, simply because they weren’t my parents. Many times I had to step in when their fights got too intense, as my two little cousins were still too young. They cried, screamed, and were terrified — just like I used to be. Somehow, my uncle and aunt’s arguments helped me become quieter, much calmer, as I realized I was just an outsider. And maybe being an outsider was the best. It gave me a strange sense of peace, even though it was a very temporary peace. Just like the way I used to find peace as a child — by “running away” from my own family, because I was so afraid of adult anger.

6.

I have run away like that many times in my life — from family matters, from love, and even now. It’s one of the karmic cycles of life that I’ve come to see clearly. As long as you keep trying to run from it, it will keep finding you. As long as you haven’t passed life’s test, the lesson will keep repeating itself. Now, I no longer run from anything. I accept every mission, face every situation that comes to me. Whatever happens, I dive into it — trying to uncover the lesson life is trying to teach me.

Can you believe it? I discovered that there’s really only one lesson, but the scenarios created for that lesson are countless. As long as we haven’t received the message, life will continue to create thousands of different situations for us to learn the same thing. These different situations all share one essence — and that’s what I call samsara. Samsara is the repetition of events: the context may vary, the outer form may change, but the core is the same — always one and only one.

Samsara is the cycle of repeating situations created to help us recognize and elevate our awareness. That’s all. At the highest peak of this awareness, religions call it Enlightenment, or Awakening, or Nirvana, or Heaven — a place where there is no more suffering, no more unrest, only peace and bliss overflowing. The entire philosophy of the two largest religions — Buddhism and Christianity — circles around this one message: Humans must elevate their consciousness.

I too have been, and still am, raising my consciousness — slowly and patiently. That’s why I can write these words freely today without fear of being judged. I don’t have the desire to “teach” anyone anything. I’m simply recounting the process of awakening my own awareness — hoping it might be of use to someone else who feels trapped in the endless cycle of anger – greed – craving – fear…

I’ve loved many times, been angry many times, and been hurt many times — but this time, the pain is the deepest, the sharpest. I call it spiritual love, because it keeps throwing me back to the solitude within myself, to the silence of aloneness. For the first time in my life, I raised my awareness high enough that I wanted to stop everything. Not just the wheel of anger — but the wheel of love, of relationships. I didn’t just want to stop the disappointment — I wanted to stop the hope. Not just the moments of misunderstanding or pain — but also the moments of joy and happiness. This part may sound confusing to you — but it is what it is.
Sadness always comes after joy.
Suffering always comes after happiness.
Disappointment always comes with hope/expectation.
They are dualities — like shadow and light, like night and day. You can never have one without the other, just like you can’t buy only one shoe, or wear only one glove. They are a pair.

I suffered for many days not understanding this. And then I read some beautiful spiritual books and discovered — it is entirely possible.

There exists a transcendent state beyond duality. A state that cannot be named, because human language is built on duality. Let’s temporarily call it “the bliss of nothingness.” This is the Nothingness the Buddha spoke of. This is the God Jesus spoke of. It is a state where one remains calm, observing everything, accepting everything — with pure, transparent clarity. I won’t say much more about this Nothingness for two reasons. First, I am still only beginning to touch it. Second — what is there to say about the nothingness?

Do you see what I mean? There are things that simply cannot be described in words. No language can express them. I’ve experienced many moments of this Nothingness — when you feel like you dissolve, you’re right here but somehow, not quite here. Anyone who’s ever loved someone from afar knows this feeling — when love exists, yet somehow also doesn’t. How could one explain that?

I know the feeling, but I can’t explain it to you. The only way for you to know it… is to go through it. So this piece — though titled about Anger — may also serve as a gentle preparation. A seed. So that perhaps, one day, you might touch that feeling of Nothingness. At the very least — that is my hope, if I do have a hope.

7.

I love my younger sister very much, though I’ve never said it out loud. We’ve lived together for quite a long time, and she’s helped me a lot — in both work and life. I only clearly remember three times when we truly got angry at each other.

The first time was when we were very young. She was bigger than me and always won in every fight — except for one single time when we fought and I… won. The moment I saw her hurt and burst into tears, I cried too. I didn’t feel victorious at all — only full of regret, feeling horrible about myself for causing her pain.

The second time was just a few months ago. We argued because I couldn’t accept the way she “disciplined” little Rio — full of shouting and aggression. I scolded her for scolding Rio too much every day. She shouted back at me. We fought with heavy, hurtful words. After that argument, I withdrew in silence to my cloud-room upstairs and immersed myself in work. It was one of the most productive periods I’ve had — because I no longer wasted my energy on scattered distractions. That silence helped me a lot. I didn’t need to talk to my boyfriend — he was mad at me anyway. I didn’t have to talk to my family — there was nothing much to say. I limited interaction with neighbors so I wouldn’t have to say anything. My sister was the only person I still talked to — and now I didn’t even have to do that. For the first time in my life, I discovered a wonderful world of stillness, peace, and awareness — when everyone just… shut their mouths, for whatever reason.

The third time we argued — again, over the same issue — I couldn’t bear the violence in my living space. The more I embraced silence and cherished peace, the more sensitive I became to noise — especially aggressive, violent noise. I couldn’t stand the way my sister “disciplined” Rio with what I saw as harsh, even unconsciously cruel words and tone. For example, she said:
“Who told you to throw food away? Now you have to finish every grain of rice. If you don’t, I’ll go to school, dig through the trash bin and make you eat back the food you threw out this morning.”
I’m sorry to bring up this painful memory. I’m sorry to my sister — I have no ill intent in recalling it. I’m sorry to Rio — for having had to hear those words. But I’m repeating them here as a heartfelt plea: that parents please be more mindful of what they say and how they say it to children. Children should not — must not — be the victims of our unconsciousness and inherited violence.

As a writer, a speaker, I’m extremely sensitive to language, to words. I feel words in a way most people don’t. That’s why those kinds of words hurt me so much — they’re unbearable to hear. I told my sister, “If you can’t teach calmly, then just shut up.” Of course, she told me back, “It’s not your business, you shut up too.” So I did. I shut up — willingly, peacefully.

The last time I was silent, there was still resistance in it. I stayed in the house and tried to channel all my energy into work. But this time, I didn’t just fall silent — I vanished from the house. From the space that no longer felt peaceful to me. I wandered. I became a wanderer for a whole month. And only recently — did I return.

8.

I began to see the cyclic nature of it all — that’s why I chose a new way of responding: Last time, I told her to “get out.” This time, I was the one who left. I don’t want to repeat any situation from the past. Enough.

The painful thing about becoming aware of your own unconscious behavior is that you start seeing the unconsciousness in everyone else’s actions too. You can choose to change yourself — but you’re powerless when it comes to changing others. I am powerless to change the way my sister thinks, or the way she raises her child — so I gave up. She was right: it’s not my business. If someone chooses to raise their child through violence, who am I to interfere?

Once again, I found myself just as powerless as I was as a child — trying to stop the grown-ups from fighting. I’ve always been that kind of powerless person. And ever since I accepted this truth, everything became lighter, more bearable. I feel no responsibility to fix anyone, to teach or protect anyone, to agree or oppose anything. I keep my mouth shut more often now — as much as I possibly can. And strangely enough, ever since I fell silent… God started talking to me.

I call it God, but really, it’s a voice that comes from everywhere in life. You might call it the voice of the heart, or the voice of the soul. Sometimes that voice is clear — like the sound of the wind, or the soft rustling of birds. Sometimes, it’s just a vague, gentle sensation.

But sensation, too, is a language — did you know that? Feelings can tell you more than anyone else ever could. And if one day, you understand the language of your own sensations — you’ll understand exactly what I mean.

9.

The deeper I sink into silence, the more peace, clarity, and love for life I feel. That silence opens up all of my senses — including the sixth sense: intuition. It allows me to settle down, to become still — like a once-disturbed stream that gradually clears and becomes transparent again.

The clearer the mind becomes, the stronger awareness and clarity grow. It’s like those early, quiet mornings when you suddenly hear a bird singing from afar… or those clear nights when you look up and realize the moon is shining gently, brilliantly above you. All of it was always there — the birdsong, the moonlight, the breeze, the scent of flowers… but when you’re busy, you notice none of it.

The more your awareness rises, the more you are able to communicate with life’s gifts. And at some point, you may even start to dislike talking, dislike socializing, dislike small talk, even dislike answering questions.

Truly — this is what happened to me. The more I communicate silently with nature — through sensing, not speaking — the less I want to communicate with people. I’ve become a bit of a hermit, in the best sense — someone who enjoys solitude, not out of sadness, but from a place of deep bliss and peace. I no longer feel the need to talk much — even though there’s still a whole world of stories, emotions, and experiences overflowing inside me. Writing like this is such a perfect way to release all the harvests of the heart — without needing to open my mouth at all. And I love that. Thank you for reading this far.

Now let me share a few lighthearted little stories I’ve encountered recently — to offer you another perspective on anger: something like the art of positive anger, or the blessings of being mad.

And also, to explain why I’ve grown tired of talking to people… and why I’ve come to appreciate — even wish for — moments of anger, to the point that (for just a fleeting second) I wished everyone in the world could be mad at each other (Haha)

10.

The other day, on one of my rare visits home, a good friend of my mother’s saw me and asked,
“So, when are you getting married?”
I smiled and replied,
“When are you getting divorced?”
She blinked, “Why would I get divorced?”
“Well then… why should I get married?”
Since that day, she hasn’t asked me another thing.

I remember another time I came home — it was my father’s birthday party and he had invited all the relatives. I didn’t see her that day, but I saw her husband. People were chatting and I learned that the two of them had been fighting fiercely. They hadn’t spoken to each other in months. Everyone was trying to persuade him to forgive, to make peace — “You’re old now, how much longer will you live anyway?” But he refused. They called him “stubborn.”

As he was helping prepare the meal, I told him, “You’re right, uncle. Stay angry. When we’re young, we still have time to argue, to make up, to argue again, and make up again. But now that we’re old, there’s no time left to fight and then make peace anymore. So just stay mad until you’re not mad anymore. Don’t make peace just because people are telling you to. They’re not you. They don’t know what it feels like. They can’t just say ‘stop being mad’ and expect it to go away. You’re right not to listen. It’s best not to make peace while you’re still furious. That would be fake morality — and it helps no one. Even if you push the anger down, it’s still there, and eventually it will rise again. So just stay mad. Be mad until the end, if you must. If you die angry, well — that’s your business. But don’t make peace while you’re still burning up inside. You’re too old for that.”

It was the first time anyone had said that to him. He laughed out loud and said, “You talk sense, girl. I like you. You’re right. Why the hell should I make up if I know we’ll just end up mad again anyway? It’s always like that. This time, I’m not making peace.”

We burst out laughing.

You might think I’m crazy. No need — I am crazy.

Ever since I started to see the spiritual nature behind arguments and anger, I’ve grown to love them. Fights, arguments — they’re how we release all the bad energy we’ve stored up inside. And after releasing it, we feel a little more peaceful, a little more awake, a little softer, a little humbler, a little quieter. We feel more remorseful. Do you see that? It’s a precious silence — a golden chance to turn inward, to look at yourself.

Why do people suddenly feel sorry/regret after the anger passes? Because that’s when awareness comes back online. Silence calms the mind, makes it clear enough to finally see your own faults — instead of just blaming the other person like you did when your rage was erupting like a volcano.

To me, any moment when someone becomes more aware — of themselves, their ego, their karmic patterns — that’s a sacred moment, whether it comes through anger or through love.

If love makes you lose awareness, then it’s not as helpful as anger — provided the anger helps you raise your awareness and sustain that state for a little while. (If your awareness only flickers and then disappears again, well… you’ll suffer again and again.)

The moment negative silence turns into conscious silence — that’s when transformation happens. Anger, when held in silence, can turn into compassion, if you know how to recognize and honor it. So arguments aren’t always bad. They’re bad when you use them to feed the ego. They’re good when you use them to feed awareness. The more awareness you have, the less ego you carry.

Another time, I ran into my neighbor — someone who used to be close to us but stopped speaking after a misunderstanding with my sister. That day, she explained to me why she was angry.

I said, “Yes, please stay mad. Be as mad as you want. I won’t argue — in fact, I support you. Actually, it would be great if this whole neighborhood stayed mad at each other and no one talked to anyone ever again.”

Of course, she looked shocked and said, “What? Why would you say that?”

I said, “If everyone stayed mad at each other, this neighborhood would be wonderful. So quiet. So peaceful. I could hear music more clearly, hear the wind blowing more often — and most importantly, I could hear the birds singing from morning till night. Instead of hearing endless greetings, gossip, shouting from house to house all day long. The neighborhood is so small, one person talks and everyone hears. I’ve already gone quiet myself so I can hear more of nature — and yet I still have to hear people talking about everything under the sun, all day long. It’s exhausting.

So yes, truly — if people could be mad at each other to the point where no one speaks to anyone anymore, and all that’s left is quiet and stillness — I’d be deeply grateful.”

11.

To end this piece, let me share a true story that — to me — is absolutely adorable.
Whether you find it adorable or not, well… that’s entirely up to you.

Across from my house lives a neighboring family with three generations under one roof — and so many kids that I neither remember nor wish to count. Among them is the oldest child, who is about the same age as Rio (about 6-7). The two of them play together all the time, very happily — and also argue just as often. Pretty much every day they play… and every day they fight.

One day, while playing, they said to each other, “Let’s be best friends forever! Let’s always play together for life!” and then burst into joyful laughter. Not five minutes later, they were mad at each other, faces puffed up with anger, declaring they would never play together again — and that they were going to stay mad… for life.

Here’s the best part. When I heard them shouting at each other, I said, “If you’re not friends anymore, why are you still talking? Why keep yelling? Why not just stay quiet and get it over with?”

Then I went back to work.

A long while later, I peeked out — and found them still “arguing,” but not with insults anymore. Now they were saying:

“You be quiet first.”
“No, you be quiet first.”
“You go be quiet first.”
“No, why me? You go be quiet first.”
“You can do it first.”
“No, why don’t you be the first…”

And on and on for ten whole minutes — unable to decide who should be quiet first. Oh my goodness. Kids! They’re just so absurdly adorable. And you know kids — they can go head-to-head like that all day long. Neither one ever backs down.

In that moment, for some reason, I got annoyed and told them both to be quiet — and they did. But now that I think back on it, I feel kind of bad. I shouldn’t have told them to stop. And then I thought… wouldn’t it be wonderful if grown-ups argued like that?

Something like:

“You be quiet.”
“No, you be quiet.”
“You be quiet first, then I’ll be quiet.”
“No, you be quiet first, then I’ll be quiet.”
“You go first.”
“No, you go first.”
“You know what? I’ll shut you up with a burning kiss.”
“Oh yeah? I dare you.”

And then… they rush into each other’s arms and kiss.
And just like that, both of them fall silent.

Alright then. I’ll be quiet too now.

Phi Tuyet, 25/01/2020
Namaste!