Posted on 26/10/2025
I was just scrolling YouTube when I stumbled upon this short. I usually consume his funny content, so I thought this one would be as hilarious.
But… no. That short made me cry instantly.
He does videos that portray him as a wealthy man living a luxurious life. But in that particular short, even though he was already super rich, he was still complaining about his life.
Not as successful as his friends.
Fancy food tastes meh.
Doesn’t have a big shower.
Feeling depressed.
And with each complaint, he inserted a completely different condition.
Genocide in Gaza.
Starvation on the other side of the world.
Then came a clip that instantly broke me: a young boy, clearly starving. As soon as he realised someone had given him two loaves of bread, he grabbed and ate them immediately.
Like… what?
How could I be so ungrateful?
I can eat every day—delicious food, easily available. I have clean water whenever I need it.
And yet, I still complain. About how unfair life feels. About how God “crushed” my dreams after years of trying. About how He seems to favour others more.
How can I still complain while the African boy in the video looks so, so skinny? That because of starvation, his face looks extremely sad? His face was so thin, his eyes so hollow. I could almost feel his sadness through the screen.
I’ve been so cruel towards myself
And then it hit me—gratefulness isn’t the only thing I can learn from that short. It’s also about how, all this time, I’ve been so cruel towards myself.
Think about those Gaza women.
Do we mock them for losing their children?
For losing hope of having kids because the only fertility clinic had been destroyed by Israhell?
No.
Do we judge those African kids for thinking only about food instead of school for their future?
No.
Because in that state, all they think about is how to survive. How to not die.
Their situations are destined by Allah. And we, though more fortunate, are not instantly more noble than them. No. It’s only because Allah put each of us in a different condition.
We are not great. Allah is.
It’s by Allah’s mercy that I’ve never been hospitalised in my life. Not even once. It’s not because I’m super healthy or that I could choose to have good genes.
It’s because Allah willed it that way.
And yet, I’ve been so cruel toward myself.
It’s because I’ve spent a lot of money, energy, and time for years chasing my dream. Then, because the dream had crashed, I judged myself harshly.
Like, which woman would postpone marriage for her dream job, only to fail in the end?
Which person is insane enough to spend all that money, energy, and time for YEARS, just to end up empty-handed?
Or even, who am I to even dream? I’m an orphan, from an ordinary, invisible family. What right do I have to dream of travelling the world FOR FREE—and getting paid for it? Ridiculous.
I’m calling myself out.
Stupid.
Useless.
Unwanted, even by my own God.
Taking up space in this world only by breathing without any achievements.
But then I thought: I never judge those people in Africa, Palestine, or anywhere else. I never call them lazy or unambitious or say they are space-takers in this world. No.
So, why on earth, I dare to call myself names?
Why do I give myself less kindness than I give strangers suffering across the world?
It’s not my fault that I failed.
It’s not my fault that my parents are gone.
It’s not my fault that life didn’t turn out the way I hoped.
It’s Allah’s will.
Beyond my control.
And that’s okay.
I’ve done what I thought I had to do. I’ve tried. I’ve fallen. I’ve cried.
But I am not at fault.
I just forgot to treat myself with the same compassion I have for others.
And maybe it’ll take time before I can fully do that. But at least now, I know where to begin. Not by forcing gratitude, but by learning to stop the cruelty I aim at myself.
It’s strange how easy it is to forgive everyone else but not yourself. But maybe, for once, I can try. Not to erase the pain, not to pretend I’m okay—but just to stop being the first person who hurts me.
