To A Friend Who Lost Something

It's not certain what one could consider the greatest tragedy that can
happen to a human being. I do not think it is death because we are not
certain about the hereafter. But I do know that losing a means of
livelihood is not something most of us would wish to experience.

Permit me, friend, to say that it is not the end of the world. You
will surely rise again in such a manner that will shame Phoenix. But
before then, friend, I wish to tell you a few truths.

Rising from the ashes of failure is easier than staying up. Staying up
itself takes a lot of energy exerted in being tactful, less voluble
and determining who your real friends are. The last part is very
important because those you call friends are the ones you should not
inundate with a deluge of half truths and lies.

Yes, lies, friend! You told me so much of it that I started doubting,
for a moment, my own sanity. I gave you a few advice and some others
who have your interest at heart advised you wisely. But like Rehoboam,
conceited in his father's glory, you truncated every wise advice and
wrote a letter that you shouldn't have written. And to add salt to
injury you went ahead to tell me a white lie, that it was someone else
that set you up.

I forgive you, dear friend. I forgive you. I pray that your travail
ends in the shortest possible time. While you are at it, chew on these
words: true friends most often give advice that appear difficult to
follow but enemies in sheep's clothing always come with easy solutions
that could be fatal.