Whenever I encounter setbacks, I feel terrible and don't know what to do. If I can hold back my tears, I try to. But if I can't, I cry for a very long time—sometimes half a day. When I think back after some time, it's always like this.
For example, a few years ago, there was a period of "one-sided affection." Even now, thinking back on it feels absurd. But in that moment of "fantasy," I believed that no matter how much I gave, the other person would surely understand. Perhaps we've all done this—buying food we thought they'd like, memorizing their class schedule, waiting outside their building when class ends, thinking it was thoughtful, but for them it was actually a burden.
Or thinking that because someone messaged you every other day, replied quickly, and constantly joked around with you—"verbal care"—this must mean they had feelings for you. But when they never took things further and you finally spoke your heart, you got rejected with the absurd line: "I think you're great, but she's better." They didn't even realize they'd angered you.
Beyond romance, life is woven from many different emotions, creating moments of our existence. Just like in The Courage to Be Disliked, one concept is repeatedly emphasized: "All problems stem from human relationships." Over three years ago, I encountered this book, and even after pondering it, I found it profound. The phrase "every action has a purpose" means a person choosing to get angry isn't really angry—it might be wanting to display "authority," "superiority," so they can lash out at others, or to mask their own "embarrassment" or "shame," instead converting it into anger and resentment to blame others.
The person being blamed naturally feels devastated, because both parties understand a situation and what happened differently, and may be quite unfamiliar with each other's personalities and ways of doing things. Yet someone will always interpret the same event through their own lens.
Take my experience in media—we all encounter major news events requiring coverage from different angles. Years ago, while I was an editor, there was a post from the person involved that was exceptionally long—over five thousand words—covering perspectives on a daughter's passing, emergency treatment, healthcare, and bullying from different angles. Because I published the news relatively late and it was the first report, I thought it was kind to do a handoff with colleagues, organizing the angles I hadn't yet covered and sharing them as "reference" for everyone. But less than ten minutes later, I received guidance from a "senior" who said, "This will make people think they should write according to your direction." Though I explained I was just organizing the handoff for everyone, she still said it was "overstepping," and anyone wanting to write should read the full article themselves.
I panicked then and deleted the handoff document. But later, thinking about it, even if I outlined those angles, others could still read the full text and write according to their own thoughts. Yet some people deliberately twist the meaning, seeing such behavior as wanting to "overstep," clearly worried their power would be shaken.
During that period, I felt everything I did was wrong. I wanted to perform well, yet feared being misunderstood. I wanted to do more, yet worried people would gossip. I even developed a defeatist mentality: "You just want me to know I can never beat you anyway." So every day when I opened my eyes, I cried and cried, hid under my blanket without leaving my room, skipped lunch, lived in a daze, lying in bed scrolling through my phone until just before work, when I finally got up to prepare myself to face all those dreary matters.
"All problems stem from human relationships." I was young then, didn't know how to express myself, and mistakenly believed what some colleagues said—that it's best not to bring things out in the open. So no matter how much unfair treatment I endured, I never told my supervisors or friendlier colleagues, making everyone think my personality was becoming increasingly gloomy. Years later, after changing environments, I discovered that those past pains and hurts had become the fertilizer nourishing me.
A good senior told me: "Some pasts are like scars that have scabbed over—no matter how much you pick at them, they won't bleed." I'm no longer so bothered by this now, because while I'm continuously breaking through and surpassing myself, the other person remains stagnant, blindly following others. While I'm trying to change myself and force myself to grow, they're still chasing trivial gains. In comparison, those moments I once thought were injuries have become my own "recombination"—letting conflict and impact shatter me, then piecing me back together, creating space for me to grow and change.
Because one person's misunderstanding of you doesn't mean the whole world misunderstands you. I once heard this: "Others respect you because they themselves are excellent." When you hear sarcastic remarks or encounter people trying to attack you personally while pretending they didn't, or people who one-sidedly think you're selfish and unreasonable, choosing respect, giving way, and explaining rather than confronting directly in that moment is because we know how to give others grace—it doesn't mean they're right.
