Judging Me

If I want to make somebody’s life complicated, without caring to make his/her life better, I can. All I need to do is to read the work lightly, not paying attention to the content and details, and deliver my verdict. If it’s good, great, the verdict will be good. If it’s bad, the verdict will be bad. No need to give suggestions. No need to ask for revisions. If a verdict is what one wants, I will be brutally honest and tell him/her what my evaluation of his/her work. 

However, I do care about the quality. I do care about making his/her work better. I read the work. I suggested improvements (and not accusations). I showed the person how to do the improvements, even to the tiny details of the hows. All because I care. Care. 

How painful it is when such care is misinterpreted as malice, and then told to others. In turn, the others do not check with me and they tell me that it’s my mistake, my problem, of making somebody’s life complicated. It is my problem of not understanding their pain in doing their work. It is my problem of being too critical, too demanding, too wicked to understand other’s shortcomings. 

Did they ask me what was the whole situation? Did they ask me what was my perspective on the situation? Did they ask me what were my intentions in giving such suggestions? Did they? 

No. And that’s sad. 

 

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