To suffer is to be aware. Pain is not an error in the system it is the system. Our bones grow because they break in secret. Our hearts learn only after they have bled.
A child does not ask why he cries. But a man cannot help it. He demands reason. "Why me?" he whispers into the ceiling at night. But suffering is not selective. It is not punishment. It simply is. It finds us in the mundane in missed calls, in empty chairs, in the long walks we take just to feel like we're going somewhere.
Nietzsche called suffering a necessity. Without it, there is no greatness. No art. No transformation. Yet, how tempting it is to curse the god when the weight grows too heavy. And yet, even that curse is a sign that we are alive. To scream is to believe that someone might be listening.
Suffering is the sculptor of the soul. It carves out the illusions, the softness, the comfort. And what remains, if we let it, is not a broken being but a deeper one. One who no longer asks for the storm to pass, but learns to dance beneath the thunder.
Let no man seek to escape suffering. Let him walk through it with open eyes, and find himself on the other side reborn, not unscarred, but unmistakably real.