Evil harbors the foolishness of overestimating its own cleverness. Kindness, however, possesses a quiet dignity; it understands but chooses silence over boasting.
In evil resides arrogance—a superficial belief that one can commit faults without being noticed, even when done right before your eyes.. Isn’t this the core motivation of malice—to see oneself as superior to others? And at some point, it evolves into the belief that one can commit wrongdoing without ever revealing their own malice. Evil harbors the foolishness of overestimating its own cleverness. Kindness, however, possesses a quiet dignity; it understands but chooses silence over boasting. And when it understands but chooses not to confront malice, this is where the true exam of kindness begins. This is why having a kind heart is a superpower. Because if you’re intelligent, being malicious can often seem like the more practical choice. But kindness is, above all, a deliberate choice. And so, all beautiful things gravitate toward kindness, while malice, trapped in its cavern of darkness, futilely consumes more of its own shadow in an attempt to escape. It flails in vain.
Kindness stands as a noble endeavor, for it demands the courage of choice and the freedom of will. Evil, in its simplicity, thrives on shortcuts. It whispers, “If A unfolds, then B must follow; if B arises, then C will suffice.” Yet kindness, above all else, is an offering to oneself—a quiet act of setting one’s own measure and steadfastly preserving dignity. Evil, by contrast, flows liquidlike, conforming effortlessly to the shape of its vessel, persuading itself that it has the control of the situation, yet still stuck with the narrowity of it’s own heart.. It reveals itself in fleeting gestures: averted eyes, curt replies tinged with hauteur, or the quiet staining of a heart with bitterness. It asks for nothing but surrender, for ruin requires but a moment’s breath.
Kindness, however, is borne of faith and nurtured by hope. Because people who believe that everything will turn out well are inherently kind; as it’s embedded in our default setting, even encoded in newborn babies. As Sabahattin Ali so eloquently expressed, “I wish for everyone a life as beautiful as the kindness they carry within their hearts.” I once came across a sentence in KAFA magazine that said, ‘Our humanity exists to the extent that we attempt to manifest the pain of others within our own minds.’ I have been unable to escape the profound impact of these words ever since.
Staying kind can be so excruciating at times, I get that—it feels as though you’re driving thorns into your own heart. Yet, the heart, even after all that pain, eventually opens. At least, I hold on to the hope that it will. It will open, and we will find peace. It will open, and we will feel relief. It will open, and only light will pass through, unobstructed. The pain will fade, becoming something we can no longer even conjure in our minds, lingering instead like a distant, unspoken memory of a moment that never truly existed.
When you choose kindness, your preference to not to react leaves you with no other option but to move through it. You are forced to be fully present, to honor the pain, and to pass through it—there is simply no alternative. They say that pain only ends once it is fully consumed. Even if you feel like saying, ‘It never ends no matter how much I endure,’ they insist that this is the only way it truly dissipates.
Malice, however, operates on the impulse to react rather than to feel. Every ignoring act of relief it seeks doesn’t diminish the pain but merely defers it. And with every delay, the postponed pain returns with amplified force, fueled by the anger of being ignored.
As Sabahattin Ali said, “Kalbinizdeki iyilik kadar güzel bir hayat dilerim.”