Emran Emon

“To be wise is to suffer.” These enduring words from Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex are not simply lines from an ancient Greek tragedy—they are the remorse reality I inhabit. The more I strive to know, the more I yearn to understand, the more I find myself ‘alienated’ from the world around me. The society I live in is built on inherited rituals, unquestioned norms, and a deep resistance to uncomfortable truths. I, on the other hand, was not born to simply accept—I was born to ask. This divergence has come at a cost.

My philosophy portrays: The more I know, the more I feel. The more I think, the more I see. And the more I see, the less I seem to belong. 

I live in a society where questioning is often mistaken for rebellion, where silence is equated with obedience, and where tradition is upheld not as a living dialogue but as an unchallengeable edict. I find myself dislocated—not geographically, but existentially. I am surrounded by people I cannot truly speak to, not because I lack language, but because I carry a different kind of burden: the burden of knowing more, feeling more, thinking more, and yearning for intellectual and emotional honesty.

I do not say this from a place of arrogance. My suffering is not born of superiority, but of isolation. I do not believe I am better than those around me—only that I am burdened with a kind of knowing that sets me apart. 

In a culture that prizes collective conformity over individual criticality, the one who seeks truth becomes the outsider. The rituals, customs, and fixed worldviews that define my surroundings feel like walls that narrow my breathing space. I do not reject tradition, but I question it. I do not mock belief, but I seek to understand its roots. In doing so, I find myself cornered, as if thinking differently is a betrayal, not a blessing.

This estrangement is not a romantic solitude. It is raw and difficult. My thoughts often have no home. The ideas that stir my soul remain locked within me, for there is rarely a receptive ear nearby. I cannot speak freely without being misunderstood, dismissed, or judged. And so, I carry on in silence—a silence not born out of choice, but necessity.

And yet, in this suffering, I am not entirely broken. For there is a strange dignity in the path of the thinker. Like Oedipus, I have seen too much to return to blindness. I cannot ‘un-know’ what I have learned. I cannot betray the truths I have uncovered. My suffering is not a curse, but a consequence—a natural consequence of choosing thought over comfort, awareness over ignorance.

Wisdom is often mistaken as power, but true wisdom is far more complex. It is the ability to see beneath the surface, to connect invisible dots, to feel the tension between what is and what could be. It is a relentless yearning to know—and with that knowledge, comes not ease, but often a deep and private sorrow. A sorrow that does not seek pity, but understanding.

But suffering should not be the final word. Even in loneliness, there is meaning. Even in rejection, there is growth. The world may not yet be ready for the questions I ask or the truths I seek, but I remain faithful to them nonetheless. I believe that thinking freely, even when it hurts, is an act of courage. To suffer for wisdom is to walk a path that few choose, but that many benefit from, eventually.

In a society where I live in, conformity is often rewarded more than courage. I find no space here to enjoy my intellectual freedom. Those who ask fewer questions are deemed easier to live with. Those who stay within the boundaries of accepted thinking are welcomed, while those who dare to step beyond are quietly pushed to the margins. This is the quiet tyranny of societal comfort—it cannot tolerate the discomfort of thought. 

It is fair to say that I am cornered as well as exiled in my society and surrounding just for knowing more and being different from others.

Maybe, just maybe, those of us who suffer in silence today are preparing the path for a more thoughtful tomorrow—I boldly believe.

So, if I must be cornered for my thoughts, I will remain in my corner—still thinking, still seeking, still suffering—but never silent, and never ashamed. And in doing so, I continue to live with integrity. For I believe that a life without reflection is not worth the comfort it may bring. Thus, in this society, I must embrace ‘To be wise is to suffer’ as an undeniable reality and continue my journey with unwavering faith in my beliefs and the courage to be different.

The writer is a journalist, columnist and global affairs analyst. He can be reached at emoncolumnist@gmail.com