The Unopened Gift

When his younger sister won the prestigious literary award, Raphael was the first to embrace her.

"I knew you'd make it," he said with a smile.

But on his way home, he felt something tighten in his chest.

He, too, had been writing for years. He, too, dreamed of publishing a book. In his desk drawer lay three manuscripts that no publisher had wanted.

That night, he couldn't sleep.

He loved his sister. He truly did.

So why did her success hurt so much?

The next morning, he went for a long walk. Near a public garden, he noticed an old man feeding birds.

"May I ask you something strange?" Raphael said.

The old man nodded.

"Can you love someone and still envy them?"

"Of course," the old man replied. "Sometimes we envy the people we love most."

"How do we stop?"

The old man scattered a few more crumbs.

"Do you see those birds?"

Raphael looked.

"When one finds a crumb, do the others become any less hungry?"

"No."

"Exactly. Yet people do something curious. When someone else receives something wonderful, we feel as though something has been taken from us."

Raphael smiled awkwardly.

"So what do we do with that feeling?"

"We don't fight it. We simply ask it one question: Do I want this person to be happy?"

"Of course."

"Then allow yourself to rejoice in their happiness. You can tend to your own pain afterward. It doesn't have to disappear before you can be happy for them."

That evening, Raphael called his sister.

"I want to hear everything," he said. "What did you feel when they called your name?"

She laughed, told him the story, and cried a little with excitement.

Raphael listened.

At first, he still felt the familiar sting. But the longer he listened to the joy in her voice, the more he found himself smiling.

"I'm so proud of you," he finally said.

"You know," she replied, "you were the first person to read my stories when I was little. If you hadn't encouraged me, I might never have started writing."

Raphael fell silent.

All these years, he had imagined they were running the same race.

Suddenly, he understood that his sister had never been running against him.

She had simply been running toward her own dream.

After the call, he opened his desk drawer, took out one of his manuscripts, and began to read.

He still wanted to become a writer.

But now there was one more writer in the world whom he loved.