After getting used to the daily challenges of life, Hamid decided to create a small project he could rely on, one that would give him a sense of responsibility and achievement. He chose native chickens, small animals that required patience and constant attention. He bought an incubator and started with 140 eggs, placing them carefully inside. Each egg represented a new beginning, a promise to himself to care for it from the very first day until it grew into a strong, healthy chicken.
Hamid's daily routine became clear and structured:
Every morning, before the sun rose, he would wake up early and check the incubator. He touched the eggs, felt the warmth, and adjusted the humidity and temperature to ensure the perfect conditions for hatching.
He nurtured the baby chicks, watching them throughout the day, observing how they moved, how they learned to walk, and explored the world around them.
After several days, he began collecting the first eggs the chickens laid, selling some, and saving others to hatch new chicks.
This routine gave him a deep sense of accomplishment, filling the emptiness inside with purpose and meaningful work. Each day was a lesson in patience and waiting, and each successful hatching was a small reward, confirming that his effort produced results. The project gradually grew, and Hamid felt a sense of control over his life, realizing he could create something meaningful from almost nothing.
As the months passed, Hamid noticed changes in the chickens: their size, strength, and even their small personalities began to emerge. He gave names to some of them, forming a unique bond, treating them almost like a little family.
There was Zina, the smallest chick who always ran to Hamid the moment he entered the coop, chirping as if she wanted attention.
Rif, a strong rooster with a proud chest, would strut around, guarding the other chicks and pecking at him playfully whenever Hamid tried to touch him.
Sami, a shy, quiet hen, would hide under the nest whenever Hamid approached, yet always seemed relieved when he gently stroked her feathers.
Each hatched egg brought him joy, and every small success gave him the energy to continue. Hamid would sometimes sit for hours just watching them grow, memorizing their quirks, their habits, the little sounds they made. Each chick was a story, each chicken a companion, and their lives became intertwined with his own.
But life doesn't always follow patience and hard work. One day, after returning from the market, he noticed something strange: some chickens were falling ill for no apparent reason. At first, he tried to treat them using traditional remedies, herbs, and careful attention, but the illness spread rapidly. Within a few days, the chickens he had raised from eggs to full growth were victims of a sudden, devastating disease.
Hamid stood before 160 dead chickens, all of them representing dreams, effort, patience, and countless hours of work. He felt a gaping emptiness in his chest, as if the world had suddenly gone silent. His heart raced, but around him, there was no life—only death and stillness.
The smell of the coop, once sweet with the warmth of life, now hung heavy, mingled with the stench of death. Every step he took was careful, almost reverent, not wanting to disturb a single one. His eyes filled with sorrow, tears threatening to fall but trapped, refusing to come out, as if the grief was too big to release.
As he sat on the ground, his gaze traveled over the lifeless bodies, and memories of each one flashed in his mind:
Zina, who used to run to him, now lay still, her tiny wings folded unnaturally. He remembered how she had hopped onto his shoulder once, and he felt that small warmth vanish forever.
Rif, the proud rooster, reminded him of the morning he crowed to wake him up. Now his chest was motionless, and the pride seemed to leave with him.
Sami, the shy hen, who always hid under the nest, now stared blankly at the ceiling, a small life extinguished that once sought comfort in his hands.
Every movement, every chirp, every interaction he had with them replayed in his mind like a cruel reminder of what was lost. Each flashback brought a deeper ache, the weight of every moment invested, every day of care, evaporating into nothingness.
In that moment, Hamid felt a profound inner emptiness. He questioned the meaning of work and effort versus results. Was the patience he had cultivated, the strength that carried him through each day, enough to face life? He wondered why even things that seemed under control could be destroyed so suddenly.
Yet even amidst this immense pain, Hamid began to learn a crucial lesson: life does not guarantee results, and personal effort does not always ensure success. True strength lies in the ability to face failure, to endure loss, and to rebuild, even from the ashes.
He sat quietly, immersed in thought: How could he start a new project? Could he trust himself again? Did he have the capacity for patience once more? All these questions swirled in his mind like a relentless storm.
In that silence, Hamid felt a strange mixture of grief and clarity. Grief for everything lost, and clarity that he had to move forward, learn from the experience, and accept that life doesn't end with failure, but rather with the strength to stand again.
The day stretched long and quiet, with only Hamid, the dead chickens, and the vast emptiness inside him. Yet, within that emptiness, a small flicker of hope began to shine: life would continue, the future remained open, and even if everything was lost, the ability to learn and try again could never die.
Through it all, Hamid understood something profound: even tragic experiences strengthen him, teach him patience, build self-confidence, and prepare him to face reality with greater wisdom.