Snails and life, by Yara Zalzal

When my brother and I were little, our maternal grandmother would take us on small adventures into the nearby forest, where we would spend our time looking for snails. We would bring them home, gently sprinkle some water around them, and watch in absolute wonder as they slowly emerged from their shells. There was something magical about those moments, about seeing the world through a child’s eyes, when even the smallest creature was worthy of our curiosity, tenderness, and amazement.

All these years later, I still struggle to understand how those same beautiful, delicate beings can be thrown into boiling water alive, only to end up on someone’s plate, often celebrated as an expensive delicacy. Somewhere along the way, when did we learn to see wonder as something to consume rather than something to protect?

I believe we are brought into this world, into this particular lifetime, for a reason. And perhaps one of the greatest tests of our humanity is not how much we achieve, how wealthy we become, or how far we climb, but how we choose to treat those who are entirely at our mercy. Those who cannot speak our language, defend themselves against us, or ask us to spare their lives.

To me, compassion is not measured by how kindly we treat those who can offer us something in return. It is revealed in how we treat the most vulnerable beings, especially when we have nothing to gain from being kind.

What you choose to do with the life you’ve been given is entirely yours to decide. But I have always believed that the way you treat those who are powerless before you says infinitely more about who you are, and where you stand on your journey through life, than any title, fortune, or achievement ever could.

Perhaps the real measure of a life well lived is not how much of the world we manage to claim for ourselves, but how gently we move through it, and how much suffering we choose not to leave behind.

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