The name of my son, Shahid, means witness. There is something with names in my culture. Even I have a deep rooted belief that names should mean well. Although my son was named by husband, an Arabic name, I loved it the moment I heard it. It suits him well though.
My son has got great eyes. Eyes that shall see a lot of things, and embed them in his memory, forever. I try my best as I can that his eyes fall always on the right things, and differentiate from the wrong.
As by his name, I want my son to witness the awe of the nature around him, to witness the miracle of life, to drench himself in the truths of life and be staunch by his principles.
Vision. It is a great power indeed. But witnessing is what happens in the fraction of a moment. Sometimes as I lay beside him to put him to sleep, I often wonder what he dreams of. I wonder what those little eyes of his has seen today. I wonder what the things, and words around him meant to him. I close my eyes and pray, that he never gets to see things that would scar his soul, or shake his faith. I pray that he never gets to see torrential rain of inhuman-ness around him.
True to his name, I want him to be the witness to progress, happiness, success, but most important a meaningful life.