THE HEALING HERB THAT GROWS RIGHT UNDER OUR NOSES

 

With his hands clasped behind his head, Necmi sat on a plush burgundy velvet armchair, blending seamlessly with it as if they were one. Positioned in the most secluded corner of the room, he had a clear view of the operating room door. As always, he kept his distance from the crowd, retreating into his thoughts, avoiding eye contact, quiet and calm. His posture was relaxed, somewhere between sitting and lying down, eyes half-open, or perhaps closed—it was hard to tell. It was a perfect camouflage.

Those who saw him couldn’t quite make sense of it. They’d think, What a laid-back man, exchange knowing glances, and chuckle softly. Strangers would wonder aloud, “Is he asleep?” They’d hesitate to approach, fearing they might disturb him. To his sister, Necla, this scene was just another example of his impeccable ability to blend in.

Necla knew Necmi inside out—or so she believed. They were three years apart, and she often joked that Necmi was practically born into her hands. From infancy to adulthood, his essence remained the same. Necla was a whirlwind of energy, constantly chatting, always dragging Necmi into her games.

Necmi, though reluctant, had learned to crawl, walk, and talk sooner than most, thanks to his sister’s relentless chatter. He had to. Escaping her had become a survival skill. In many ways, Necla was a catalyst in Necmi’s life. Her presence, though overwhelming, spurred him to accelerate. He learned to read early to escape her stories, went to school sooner to flee the noise at home, and even married young—another act of running away. For Necmi, Necla was both a challenge and a teacher, inadvertently pushing him toward growth. But was he truly running away, or was it just an illusion?

Suddenly, a piercing cry broke the silence—a baby’s high-pitched wail that tore through the air as the operating room door creaked open. Startling everyone, Necmi sprang to his feet with an agility no one expected. His gaze locked on the tiny girl being carried out, her cries echoing through the room. Simultaneously, he caught Necla’s eye, and for a moment, they were transported back in time.

It was as if they had stepped into one of their mother’s stories: “From the moment she was born, Necla couldn’t sit still or stay quiet. While the other babies slept soundly, she screamed and woke them all.”

Instinctively, Necmi’s lips moved. “Necla…” he murmured under his breath. His sister smiled and embraced him warmly, whispering, “Welcome the new Necla to your home—may she bring joy and blessings.” Necmi retreated into himself again, reflecting on how life had come full circle.

This moment made Necmi realize something profound. He understood who he was when faced with those unlike him. Life began with birth, and from that very first moment, it was clear who we were. Necmi and Necla were polar opposites, and yet, they complemented each other perfectly. Looking at the newborn Necla, Necmi smiled. “There’s no escaping ourselves,” he said. “It’s like the herb you dread growing in your own backyard.”

We all come into this world with unique traits—some we cherish, others we struggle with. When we become aware of this, growth and transformation begin. Life becomes a delightful playground, a stage where we learn to embrace our strengths, shed our flaws, and collect the beauty in others. It’s a game of realizing that what we lack is often hidden in someone else’s abundance.

The challenge is to appreciate qualities we find excessive or annoying in others, to tolerate and even admire them. Some of us are quiet; others can’t stop talking. Some are like steadfast rocks; others are soft as cotton. Some are monochrome; others burst with color.

The true game of life is recognizing that most people haven’t yet discovered who they are. When we do, life transforms into a joyous stage. The key is to learn the rules of this game and play them well. At this juncture, two paths emerge:

We can try to escape those who challenge us, only to find ourselves surrounded by similar personalities, learning through friction. Or we can choose a quicker, less painful route—accepting differences, learning from those who aren’t like us, and discovering that it’s a much more enjoyable and rewarding journey.

The real question we need to answer is simple:

Who is who?