An essay about the spiritual strength of kindness — and the quiet grace of choosing love even when it isn’t returned.
On Monday this week, October 27, 2025, it was the birthday of one of my dearest friends — someone I love like a younger brother. We’re twelve years apart, and we first met when he was just eighteen. It’s been almost eight years since we last saw each other, and during that time he became a public figure in his country — a true example of courage.
That heroism, however, almost cost him his life or physical integrity, and it nearly became my first experience of losing someone younger than me. Never in my life had I practiced faith with such fervor and purity of heart as in the moment I learned about the extreme situation he was in. The love and affection I feel for my little bro made me experience the supernatural and the spiritual in a practical way that no religion ever taught me (although I must admit that Elizabeth Clare Prophet gave very lucid examples in her lectures about Archangel Michael, quite similar to what I lived through).
As always, I sent him a birthday message filled with affection — wishing my favorite cook in the world a wonderful day, much success, and that his heart would stay pure with love. I also added that, when he least expects it, I’ll show up by surprise (he has no idea I’ve had the tickets bought since August).
But unlike previous years, this time I received nothing in return — only the silent confirmation that the message had been read on Instagram. No heart emoji, not even a simple thumbs-up. Just the pure and indigestible silence of a “Seen Monday.”
That hurt — not my ego, since there’s no ego between friends, much less between brothers — but my heart. Sending sincere affection and realizing it wasn’t properly received is painful… and from there, a reflection came back to me about the conscious decision to keep radiating love even when it seems trampled upon.
After two days of replaying that feeling of rejection and wondering what my little bro might be going through to ignore me like that, I suddenly had a mental flash one afternoon of a scene from the movie Fair Haven, in which one character pushes the other against a wall with violence. I didn’t even remember the film’s title, but in a moment of cosmic synchronicity, Prime Video’s algorithm suggested it to me again. (I even subscribed to an extra channel just to watch it — and only now, while writing this, did I find out it’s free on YouTube. Still, I hope the actors get some royalties, because they deserve it.)
What came to mind about that movie wasn’t the aggressor, nor the relationship between the two characters, but rather the attitude of the one who remained completely gentle and understanding in the face of rejection and hostility.
He didn’t retaliate, didn’t seek revenge, didn’t demand an apology. He simply stood still — confused by the suddenness of the act — yet with the clear awareness of someone who chooses to offer love to a person who no longer knows how to receive something so pure, even if they once did.
At first glance, he might seem like someone with no self-esteem, begging for attention. But as the story unfolds, it becomes clear that he’s actually the one who loves himself and others the most — while knowing how to set boundaries and pursue what he truly desires. Though physically fragile, he radiates a light capable of dispelling legions of darkness.
I also noticed that the character who reacted with aggression only realized the importance of the other — and the depth of his feelings — after seeing him badly hurt by an act of extreme violence.
Was it the fear of loss that made love finally speak louder? Or was it love itself, shouting louder, that cast out fear and denial and pushed him to acknowledge what he truly felt? Maybe that’s the core message of this film — and how I’d love to have that confirmed by the actors themselves.
And what do these two characters have to do with my little bro’s birthday, to the point that my unconscious brought them to mind so vividly that afternoon? Writing this, I realized it’s exactly about that same posture — choosing to love unconditionally while understanding where each person stands in their own time. Only God knows what might be happening in my friend’s heart right now. Who am I to judge or condemn him? Who was that character to know what the other had been feeling or going through in recent months? I don’t have the answer to either question.
But I do have the power to decide my own attitude: to remain faithful to myself, to the friendship we built, and to the synchronicity that made my little bro cross my path and stay in it.
And so, once again, I put into words what my heart already knows:
Happy Birthday, my little bro. May your heart always stay pure with love.
With kindness,
Marquis David
Leave a Reply