I was reading a message from my cousin about whom I have mentioned many times. His messages are Literary, Eloquent, Flowery, Erudite and Poetic all rolled into one.
Today he was arguing that modern society has become more
tolerant of certain negative traits, and this tolerance is leading to a decline
in people's moral clarity and personal development. He came to his point after mentioning
about Resumes candidates make which if true can be a description of a superman.
He called these “eulogy resumes”.
He then touched upon the ritual Christianity has saying “Christianity
has a great ritual at the burial to make the dead, feel better about himself
than he has ever been made to feel throughout his life - the eulogy either read
or narrated. If anyone were half as good as those left behind are made to
believe, the world would be basking in the glory of goodness and faithfulness,
kindness and compassion."
I
understood this as a critique of a perceived superficiality or lack
of rigor in modern moral and personal development. I see a connection
between this societal superficiality and certain interpretations or
applications of psychological constructs, particularly the positive psychology,
strengths-based movement and the emphasis on positive reinforcement for
motivation.
While these movements have many merits, an imbalanced or
oversimplified application can indeed lead to a reluctance to confront
difficult truths, an avoidance of challenging growth, and ultimately, a
societal acceptance of mediocrity in areas that require sustained effort beyond
natural talent. The critical element is often the absence of a call for
rigorous, disciplined self-improvement across all facets of one's character
and capabilities, not just within identified "strengths."
This was the trigger for me to undertake self-appraisal and
develop my “Testament of Failure” as opposed to eulogy.
Testament of Failure
(A Reflection on Being, Becoming, and Falling Short)
There comes a time in life — not always at its end, but
often in its quieter middle — when one begins to take stock. Not of
achievements or accolades, but of absences: the silences we left unbroken, the
affection we left unspoken, the wisdom we mistook for correctness.
This is not a eulogy, nor an apology. It is a meditation on
failure — my own — as a mirror of the many ways in which the human being, even
while striving, can lose their way.
I have lived much of my early life behind a veil of reserve. As an
introvert, I mistook silence for strength and self-protection for humility.
Small talk wearied me; vulnerability unnerved me. In time, I became someone
difficult to approach — not out of arrogance, but out of awkwardness. Yet
intentions do not erase impact.
I studied engineering, a discipline of logic and structure.
But I remained on the surface of understanding — fluent enough to pass but
never rooted enough to truly know. I passed through its halls, but the theories
passed through me. And though I am a learner by nature, I often gathered
knowledge like dry leaves in the wind — plentiful, but unanchored.
Leadership, too, remained distant. I observed, I analyzed, I
reflected — but I seldom declared. The voice of thought in me was louder than
the voice of conviction. Public speaking made me nervous; I often wished to
share but seldom found the ground to stand upon.
As a father and as a guide, I now recognize that I offered
more structure than presence. I taught from a distance. I corrected more than I
connected. My children, and those I led, may remember me more for my silence
than my support. The love I carried was real, but restrained — felt deeply but
expressed poorly. I was shy with affection, as though love were something one
needed permission to show.
I gave much of myself to the care and duty of elders — a
noble effort perhaps — but in doing so, I diverted energy away from those who
looked to me daily. I honoured the past more than I nurtured the present.
Worse still, I have often been possessive — of time, of
space, of relationships. Not in grand displays, but in subtle ways: in
expectations, in silent judgment, in discomfort with spontaneity. I have been
choosy — not discerning, but selectively available; not principled, but at
times, prejudiced in who I gave my warmth to. I created inner hierarchies of
worthiness, and many were made to feel lesser by omission.
I have also been, at times, a figure children feared — when
what I sought was respect, but what I projected was rigidity. I forgot that
authority without kindness breeds distance, not reverence.
These reflections are not a self-flagellation, but a small
surrender — a bow to the truth that we are all flawed and incomplete. We fail
not always out of malice or neglect, but often out of our own unfinished
attempts at living rightly.
And yet, there is quiet dignity in seeing clearly. There is
grace in naming what one is not, and what one could have been. This is my
testament of failure — not carved in stone, not meant to condemn — but a
document of becoming. Of trying. Of missing the mark, again and again, and
still hoping the journey counts.
To those who may read this — my children, their children,
and anyone willing to listen:
Do not be afraid to look at yourself honestly. Your flaws
are not your enemy; your silence is.
Do not confuse competence with understanding, nor tradition with truth.
Know that love, unexpressed, can become invisible.
And that duty, without balance, can cast shadows where light was needed most.
Let my missteps serve not as a burden upon your shoulders,
but as a compass in your hand.
Learn to speak what you feel. Learn to listen to what is unsaid.
Let the people you love feel your affection in your words, your presence, your
eyes.
And above all, be kind — not just outwardly, but inwardly — to the person you
are becoming.
I am still learning. And if this note means anything at all,
let it be this:
That the journey of awareness begins not with perfection, but with the
courage to see.
