Silent hand of fate or destiny

 



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The Silent Hand of Fate: A Reflection on Life’s Journey


After walking the path of seventy-four long years, I now pause and look back—not with regret, but with quiet awe. Life, as I see it today, was never truly mine to steer. I once believed I was the master of my destiny, the architect of my fate. But now, with the wisdom that only age and experience can offer, I realize how much of my journey was silently shaped by an unseen force—call it fate, destiny, or God.


From the innocence of childhood to the responsibilities of youth, each stage unfolded like pages in a book already written. I studied with hope, not knowing where it would lead. I entered a profession, struggled, climbed, and stumbled—not always as per my plan, but always according to some silent design.


Promotions I longed for came late, or never. Postings pulled me far from comfort and familiarity. Office politics and pressure tested my patience. I tried, I endured, I hoped—but often I was just flowing with the tide, not sailing the ship.


Then came marriage—a bond not forged by choice alone, but one that fate brought to my door. She was kind, she stood by me through every storm, and we built a home filled with dreams. Our child arrived, a fresh flower in our fading spring. We nurtured, guided, and hoped again.


But children, too, are given to us—not owned. Their minds, their hearts, their paths—they take their own shape, beyond our reach. Sometimes they walk close, sometimes they drift far. We seek care from them as we age, but care is not always returned in the way we imagined. We find ourselves waiting—not for affection alone, but for presence, for time, for a word.


And now, at this final chapter, when the house grows silent and the nights feel longer, I wonder: Did I choose any of this? Or was I simply living a story already written by hands divine?


Even the order of departure seems prewritten. My wife—my companion of decades—might leave before I do, and I may be left to sit alone with memories that breathe louder than voices. This loneliness is not a punishment; it is perhaps part of the great design—to teach the soul detachment, to prepare it for the unknown journey ahead.


I do not question the fairness of it all. I have come to accept that life is not a sum of our efforts alone. It is a sacred play, directed by a force far greater than our understanding. We are but actors on this stage, given roles, lines, and exits we never chose.


Yet in this surrender lies peace. In accepting the mystery, I find comfort. My struggles, joys, losses, and blessings were all threads in a fabric woven by destiny. All I can do now is sit by the window, listen to the echoes of the past, and whisper a silent thanks—for the known, the unknown, and the unknowable.


For I have lived. And that, in itself, is grace.






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