The Single Edition: A Boy, a Monk, and the Music Within

 The Single Edition: A Boy, a Monk, and the Music Within

A young boy, his shoulders slumped under an invisible weight, met a wise monk in a quiet garden. “I am always being compared to my friends,” he confessed, his voice barely a whisper. “They do better in school, and it… It hurts. It makes me feel like I am less.”

The monk listened calmly. “I cannot change what others do,” he replied, “but I can ask you a few questions. May I?”

The boy nodded.

“First,” asked the monk, “are you giving your best in what you are doing?”

“Not in all my subjects,” the boy admitted, looking at his feet.

The monk nodded gently. “And where do you shine? What makes your spirit feel light?”

A spark flickered in the boy’s eyes. “Music,” he said. “I play the flute, the saxophone, and the trumpet.”

“Do your parents know of this talent?
“They know,” the boy sighed. “But they say such skills won’t build a career.”
A knowing smile touched the monk’s lips. “But you are already building it. You are building discipline, creativity, and a language of the heart. These are the pillars of any great career.”

The boy stared, understanding dawning. “You are right… But how do I make them see it?”

“Have you ever sat with them,” the monk inquired, “not to argue, but to truly understand their hopes for you? Have they ever heard your music fill a hall?”

“No,” the boy said softly. “Not really.”

“Then that is your first step,” the monk said. “Bridge the silence. Help them see your world. And remember,” he leaned forward, his voice firm yet kind, “when they compare you, you have a choice. You can let the words bury you, or you can let them pass like a breeze. The people you are compared to have their own struggles, unseen by the world.”

The monk placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Your parents prioritise academics from a place of love and fear—a desire for your security. Their intention is not to wound, but to protect. Yet, the next time comparison strikes, say this to yourself: ‘Everyone is born unique. I am a single edition.’ The most important voice is not theirs, nor your friends’. It is the motivator within you. Listen to it.”

The boy stood a little taller. “Your words are soothing. I will focus on my strengths. I will let my future success speak for me.”

Months later, the vibrant notes of a saxophone solo soared through a concert hall, followed by the mellow flow of a flute and the bold cry of a trumpet—all played flawlessly by the same young performer. The audience erupted in applause.

As people streamed out, their conversations buzzed with praise. “Did you see that boy? Incredible talent!” one remarked.

Standing proudly in the lobby, the boy’s parents beamed. “That’s our son,” his father said, his chest swelling.

“You must be so proud! What wonderful upbringing,” someone acknowledged.

From a distance, the boy felt a warm ache in his heart. He walked over, and his parents turned to him, their eyes shining with pure, unadulterated pride.

“You should thank the monk,” the boy said quietly. “He is the one who showed me how to handle my life.”

“What monk?” his mother asked, puzzled.
But the boy was already leading them toward the parking lot, eager to share the story of the guidance that had changed his path. “It’s a long story,” he said with a smile.

Epilogue:
In a world where children are constantly measured against one another, their unique brilliance is too often buried. They succumb to the pressure, joining a relentless race not of their own making. But what if the mirror were turned? What if children began comparing parents—their jobs, their homes, their wealth? How many adult spirits could handle that with grace and use it as fuel for improvement?

The true lesson whispers: Comparison is a thief of joy. Uniqueness, when nurtured, becomes a gift to the world. We must listen—not just to the expectations around us, but to the music that plays within.

 

M.L. Narendra Kumar