"Faces of Time: The Vanishing Innocence in a Selfish World"
وقت کے چہرے: خود غرض دنیا میں معصومیت کا زوال"
This book is an honest and raw personal reflection on my journey through life. It is a lens into my experiences, the people I've met, the pain and realizations I've gone through — and how they shaped my understanding of the world.
At its heart, this book is not just about storytelling, but about stirring thought, emotion, and conscience in the reader. It is a mirror to society and a voice for the silent truths we often ignore.
Afzal Ahamed Malik
Author
Preface
In the quiet moments of life, we often find ourselves looking back—searching for the faces that once smiled without agenda, hearts that gave without expecting, and a world that felt softer, kinder. This book, Faces of Time: The Vanishing Innocence in a Selfish World, was born from those reflections.
What began as a personal journey—observing people, relationships, and the evolution of society—soon became a mirror. In that mirror, I saw the shifting values, the rising tide of self-interest, and the quiet disappearance of innocence. I wrote not just to express, but to awaken—to stir conscience, to rekindle empathy, and to remind us all of what we are losing, piece by piece.
This work is not a judgment of the world, but a lamentation for what we once held dear. It is a call to remember the forgotten, to question what we’ve normalized, and to seek light in times darkened by materialism and indifference.
With a heart full of gratitude and sorrow, I dedicate this book to my parents, my siblings, and especially to my beloved sister, Iram Iqbal Malik, who left for her heavenly abode. Her absence deepens my understanding of loss, and her memory inspires every word written here. This is also for the silent souls like her—gentle, pure, and often unnoticed in a world that values noise over grace.
May this book serve not only as a reflection of our times but as a gentle nudge toward reclaiming what truly matters.
— Afzal Malik
Chapter 1: The Seeds of Innocence
Chapter 2 : The Changing Faces of People
Chapter 3 : Society in the Mirror
Chapter 4 : Innocence Lost
Chapter 5 : Reflections & Rebirth
Epilogue: Faces of Time
A personal reflection on my journey, observations, and a call to awaken conscience
Chapter one: The Seeds of Innocence
"In every adult there remains a seed of the child they once were. We lose it in the noise of life, but if we are quiet enough, we can still hear its whisper."
The moment a child is born, the world welcomes a soul untouched by ego, bias, or sin. That first cry is not just the beginning of life—it’s the sound of purity entering a complicated world. The newborn knows nothing of hatred, jealousy, or discrimination. In that moment, he is closer to the divine than at any other time in his life—a pure essence, free of judgment and untouched by the weight of expectations.
A child’s eyes are the mirror of unfiltered curiosity. Everything is a new discovery—light, color, sound, movement. They don’t see people through labels; they see expressions, warmth, and presence. The world is not a threat but a playground of possibility. They gaze at the stars and puddles alike, finding joy in the simplest of moments. Suspicion is a concept they do not understand; they trust because their hearts have not been taught to fear.
A child laughs not to impress, but because they feel joy. Their tears are honest, not strategic. There's no mask to wear, no performance to maintain. Joy, pain, and fear are expressed in their purest forms. They cry when hurt and smile when loved—without shame, without calculation. This raw emotional honesty is the hallmark of early life.
To a child, love is not earned—it is assumed. They reach out to strangers with open hands, hoping to be embraced, not rejected. They don’t calculate risks or rewards. They believe people are good because they haven't yet learned otherwise. This instinct to trust is not weakness but a strength—an emotional bravery we often lose with age.
Children are mirrors. If raised with affection, they reflect affection. If surrounded by anger, they learn fear. They don’t come into the world knowing hatred or violence; these are taught. But so is compassion. When a child sees kindness, they copy it with simple acts—offering a toy, a smile, or a hug.
In childhood, there are no boundaries drawn by religion, caste, or wealth. A friend is someone who shares a crayon, laughs together, or sits nearby. Children connect based on emotion, not identity. Their innocence is not naivety—it is the absence of constructed bias. It’s the purest form of human connection.
Children give not to get something in return but because giving feels natural. Whether it’s a flower plucked for a parent or a shared biscuit with a friend, they offer with a full heart. Their kindness is free of agenda, unmeasured by reward or recognition. This is the highest form of giving
We enter the world alone—fragile, innocent—and we leave it the same way. Between these two silent moments, we accumulate knowledge, roles, masks, and scars. But the soul, at its core, remains unchanged. The journey of life may dim our innocence, but it begins and ends with a purity that reminds us of who we really are.
As children grow, society begins to shape them—sometimes gently, sometimes harshly. The seed of innocence begins to be buried under layers of fear, disappointment, and conditioning. They learn to doubt, to judge, to protect themselves. But deep inside, that original seed still exists. It's never fully destroyed—just hidden. And with awareness, it can still bloom again.
A child does not know how to deceive unless taught. The instinct is to be truthful, to believe, to share. They don’t know how to manipulate or betray unless the world shows them how. Their natural state is peace, not conflict; love, not hatred. We are all born with the same inner compass—one that points to harmony.
Unseen Wounds
The Silent Shattering :Children are born with pure trust—they believe what they are told, rely on adults for safety, and assume the world is kind.
But what happens when this trust is broken too soon?These are not always loud or violent betrayals. Sometimes, a broken promise, a lie, favoritism, or neglect wounds deeper than any physical harm.
The First Betrayals Are Often the Quietest
A mother hugs one child more, praises one more, listens to one more. The other child watches silently.
No harsh words are spoken. But the child begins to wonder—“Am I not lovable enough?”
A child whispers a secret to a friend, believing in the bond of trust. But the next day, the whole class knows.
The child doesn’t fight. They just stop sharing. And learn—“Maybe silence is safer than trust.”
Sometimes, a teacher says, “You’ll never be as smart as your brother.”
Or a parent jokes, “You’re too sensitive.”
No physical harm is done. But the child begins to doubt their worth, their intelligence, their emotions.
Why These Betrayals Hurt So Much
Children trust completely. They don’t know how to doubt yet.
Their world is small—parents, teachers, friends are everything.So when someone they love or admire hurts them, even in small ways, it plants a seed of pain and confusion.
- “The first cracks in the heart are often invisible—but they change the way a child sees the world forever.”
In the beginning, a child believes the world is kind, fair, and full of love.
They believe that parents will always protect, teachers will always support, and friends will always stay loyal.
But reality, sooner or later, begins to speak a different truth.
When emotional betrayals happen once, a child feels hurt.
But when they happen again and again, a quiet transformation begins.
A parent says, “I’m too busy,” every time the child needs to talk.
A teacher ignores the child’s raised hand, always calling on others.A friend breaks a promise—not once, but often.
These may not seem like "big" things to an adult. But to a child, they are everything.
Slowly, the child realizes:
“Maybe I can’t tell my parents everything.”
“Maybe teachers don’t always care.”“Maybe friendships don’t always last.”
The safe world they once trusted starts to look uncertain.
The warmth becomes conditional.
And the smiles around them begin to feel less honest.
The child, once open and expressive, begins to build emotional walls:
They stop sharing how they feel.
They smile when they are hurting.They stop expecting comfort and begin to comfort themselves.
This is not strength. This is self-protection.
A silent armor built by a soul that’s been wounded quietly and too often.
“To survive in a world that doesn’t always care, a child begins to hide the parts of themselves that once shone the brightest.”
The playful child becomes quiet.
The trusting child becomes watchful.The expressive child becomes guarded.
They do not stop loving, but they stop showing love.
They do not stop hoping, but they hide their hopes.
Because now they’ve learned: not everyone means what they say.
The child has not lost innocence all at once.
But through many small wounds, the reality has entered.
And once it does, that innocence begins to fade—not completely, but enough to change the child forever.
Defense Mechanisms Begin
Children are not born with walls around their hearts.
They are open, loving, and trusting by nature.
They laugh loudly, cry freely, and speak honestly.
But when that honesty is met with rejection, or that trust is broken again and again, the child begins to change—not by choice, but for survival.
A child learns something quietly:
"If I show too much of my heart, I get hurt."
So, to protect themselves, they build invisible defenses.
These are not physical shields.
They are emotional habits that help the child feel safe—but they come at a cost.
The child who once shared every thought now keeps things inside.
They stop telling their dreams, their fears, their questions.
Why?
Because they fear being misunderstood, laughed at, or ignored.
They become quiet—not because they have nothing to say,
but because they don’t feel safe saying it anymore
Children are naturally curious.
They want to explore, ask questions, and try new things.
But if their curiosity is punished, judged, or ridiculed,
they stop asking.
They become cautious.
They start thinking:
"What if I do the wrong thing?"
"What if I get in trouble for asking?"
And just like that, the bright spark of curiosity begins to fade.
Children believe in the good in people—until they see too much of the bad.
If promises are broken,
If love is given only sometimes,If anger replaces affection,
Then the child starts to fear what’s next.
They no longer believe that things will be okay.
They live in “what ifs” and prepare for the worst—even when it hasn’t happened yet.
A child who should be thinking about toys, games, and stories,
starts thinking about feelings, reactions, and moods.
They begin to:
Read people’s faces to know when danger is coming.
Hide emotions to avoid being scolded or ignored.Fake smiles to keep peace.
They become emotionally mature before their time.
Not because they want to, but because the world around them leaves them no choice.
These defense mechanisms may keep the child from feeling pain,
but they also keep them from feeling joy.
They protect the heart—but they also isolate it.
The child may seem “well-behaved,” “strong,” or “mature” on the outside…
But inside, they are just trying to survive.
A Quiet Cry for Help
Every silent child, every fake smile, every guarded look—is a message:
“I’ve been hurt before. Please don’t hurt me again.”
When Childhood Pain Grows Up With Us
If we do not heal what hurt us in childhood, it quietly shapes every part of our future."
Time passes.
The child grows up.
They learn how to smile in public, how to behave in society, how to look strong.
But not everything is left behind in childhood.
Some wounds don’t fade with age—they echo.
They follow silently, shaping the way that person thinks, loves, and lives as an adult.
These are the long-term echoes of emotional wounds that were never seen, never treated, and never understood.
As adults, some people struggle to let others get too close.
Why?
Because they learned early on that love can be unreliable.
A parent who left.
A friend who betrayed them.A caregiver who loved them one day and ignored them the next.
So now, even when someone truly cares for them, they push them away.
They say, “I’m fine alone.”
But deep down, it’s not strength—it’s fear of being hurt again.
The child who grew up learning that promises are broken, secrets are not safe, and love is conditional…
becomes an adult who finds it hard to trust anyone.
They question people’s intentions.
They overanalyze words and actions.They hold back emotions, scared of betrayal.
It’s not because they don’t want to trust.
It’s because they’ve been taught, by experience, that trust comes with pain.
The child who walked on eggshells at home—always trying to please, always afraid of upsetting someone—
grows into an adult who:
Overthinks every word they say.
Worries constantly about how others see them.Tries too hard to keep everyone happy, even if it hurts them.
They smile and agree, even when their heart says no.
They say yes to avoid conflict.
They fear disappointing others because, deep down, they were once made to feel like they weren’t enough.
From the outside, this adult may seem strong, successful, calm.
But inside, there’s still a child—
A child who was never comforted,
Never heard,
Never healed.
That child still hides behind fake confidence, behind achievements, behind smiles.
The world sees a strong adult.
But deep inside, a wounded child still whispers:
“Am I safe now?”
These echoes don’t mean we are broken forever.
They mean we have survived.
But survival is not the same as healing.
To heal, we must go back—not to relive the pain, but to understand it.
To realize it wasn’t our fault.
To speak the words we were never allowed to say.To give love and safety to our inner child—the one still waiting
A Ray of Hope in the Darkness
After all the wounds, after all the silence, after the walls built around the heart—
the question arises:
Can innocence ever return?
Can a child—or even an adult—who has been hurt by life, learn to trust again?
The answer is: Yes.
Not completely. Not easily.
But slowly, with love, patience, and care—healing is possible.
Healing does not mean forgetting the pain.
It does not mean pretending the wounds never happened.
Healing means:
Feeling safe again.
Learning to speak without fear.Trusting someone, even if it feels scary.
Rebuilding a connection with your own emotions.
It is about giving the child inside you what they were once denied.
Children—and adults—heal in the presence of consistent love.
Not loud, dramatic love.
But gentle, quiet, everyday love that says:
“You matter.”
“I’m here.”“I see you.”
When someone finally listens without judging, hugs without asking, or stays without leaving—healing begins.
Many people carry pain because no one ever told them it was okay to feel it.
Validation means telling someone:
“What you felt was real.”
“You were right to feel hurt.”“It wasn’t your fault.”
This simple recognition—being seen and heard—can soften even the oldest scars
Healing takes time.
There are good days and bad days.
Sometimes the pain comes back when least expected.
But when others are patient with the process—and when we are patient with ourselves—we move forward.
Step by step.
Tear by tear.
Until the heart feels a little lighter.
Children and wounded adults need safe spaces to open up.
A place—person, home, or environment—where they don’t feel judged, punished, or ignored.
A safe space says:
“You can cry here.”
“You can be yourself here.”“You don’t have to be perfect here.”
And in that space, little by little, trust is rebuilt.
Not all scars are visible.
Some are hidden behind smiles, behind achievements, behind silence.
But just because they are unseen, doesn’t mean they are unreal.
"Acknowledging the wound is the first step to healing it."
When we name our pain, when we accept it as part of our story, it begins to lose its power.
We stop running from it, and we begin to release it.
We may never become the completely innocent child we once were.
But we can become someone who:
Loves again,
Trusts again,
Hopes again—
The Shattering of Innocence
Every person carries within them a set of ideals—innocent beliefs about fairness, love, truth, loyalty, and justice. These ideals are often shaped in childhood, a time when promises are believed, love is assumed to be unconditional, and the world feels safe. But there comes a moment—subtle or sudden—when these ideals collide with a harsher reality. This moment is the first fall from grace. It marks the beginning of emotional maturity, but it also marks the loss of something sacred.
The Ideal World We Once Believed In
As children, most of us are taught simple truths:
Good people are rewarded, bad people are punished.
Truth always wins.Love never hurts.
Adults know what's right.
We internalize these ideas deeply. They form our moral compass. But these beliefs are not tested in a protected environment—they are planted in a world that doesn’t always honor them.
The first time someone we trust lies to us…
The first time we witness unfairness despite doing everything "right"...
The first time love is withheld or used against us...
These moments burn into our memory. We begin to question:
“Why did this happen?”
“What did I do wrong?”
“Is the world really not what I thought it was?”
This is the first fall from grace. It may not be loud or dramatic. It might be a quiet heartbreak, a confusing silence, or a truth that shakes our foundation.
When the mind realizes that ideals do not always align with reality, the heart reacts.
Confusion sets in: “But I thought they cared.”
Anger follows: “Why would they do that to me?”Withdrawal often happens next: “Maybe it’s safer not to trust.”
This emotional pattern is part of psychological self-protection. The child within us tries to reconcile the world we imagined with the world we see.
After the fall, we stand at a crossroads:
Some become cynical, losing faith in people, love, or fairness altogether.
Others become resilient, learning to carry their ideals without expecting perfection from the world.
The path we choose often depends on whether we find validation, guidance, and safe spaces during this time. A child or teen who feels seen and heard can integrate the pain into wisdom. But one who feels alone may build walls instead of bridges.
Though painful, the first fall from grace is not the end—it is a beginning. It opens our eyes. It teaches us that:
People are complex, not purely good or bad.
Love is powerful, but not always safe.Truth can be uncomfortable, but still worth facing.
Through this experience, we begin to love with boundaries, trust with awareness, and hope with wisdom. Innocence may be cracked, but what emerges can be a more grounded, compassionate self.
From Idealism to Inner Strength
The first fall from grace is the moment we stop seeing the world as we wish it to be—and begin seeing it as it is. It's painful, but necessary. The world may never be perfect, but we can choose to respond with strength, empathy, and integrity.
This is the first true step into adulthood—not the loss of dreams, but the reshaping of them into something real and enduring.
Chapter 2 :
The Changing Faces of People
We don’t grow up in isolation—we grow up in a world full of noise. From the moment a child is born, the world begins to shape them. In the early years, a child is true, curious, and transparent. But soon, the pure self starts facing the pressure to become something—someone.
We are told what to do, how to behave, who to admire, and what success looks like. Society teaches us to compare, compete, and conform. The child who once smiled freely now smiles when appropriate. The one who asked questions now stays silent to avoid judgment.
Slowly but surely, we stop growing inwardly and begin adjusting outwardly.
Some people change because they were wounded—betrayal or trauma taught them to hide.
Others change because they learned that truth is not always rewarded—authenticity brings loneliness, while pretending brings applause.
Thus begins the slow fading of authenticity. We stop being ourselves and become versions that fit into expectations.
Masks We Wear
We don’t always lie to others—sometimes we lie to survive.
"We all wear masks, and the truth hides behind our smiles."
In a world that demands strength, perfection, and control, we often feel that being real is risky. So, instead of revealing our inner truths, we wear masks—not to deceive others, but to protect ourselves.
We don’t lie because we are dishonest.
We lie because we are afraid.
Afraid of being judged.
Afraid of being rejected.
Afraid that if people saw our wounds, they wouldn’t stay.
From a young age, we are taught that certain emotions are “weak.”
“Don’t cry, be strong.”
“Don’t speak up, it might cause trouble.”“Don’t show fear, or you’ll be taken advantage of.”
So we begin to hide.
We hide our sadness behind laughter.
We hide our fear behind bravado.
We hide our insecurity behind loud opinions.
And over time, these masks become habits.
Understand with some examples:
The Confident Professional
- She walks into the office in high heels and a blazer, leading meetings with authority. Everyone sees her as successful.
- But inside, she’s unsure. She questions every decision. She fears losing her job. But the mask of confidence never slips—because weakness is not allowed in boardrooms.
- He’s the life of the party. Always smiling, always joking.
- But no one knows he cries at night. He wears the mask of cheerfulness so no one asks him what’s wrong—because he doesn't want to burden anyone.
The Successful Man
- He has money, cars, a good job.
- But he wears success like armor. Inside, he feels empty. He measures his worth by achievements—because he fears no one would love him if he failed.
Masks can protect—but they also suffocate.
You start forgetting who you really are.
You become what the world wants, not what your soul needs.You feel lonely, even in crowds—because no one knows the real you.
You fear that if you remove the mask, people will walk away.
Pretending becomes a habit, and the line between real and fake begins to blur.
Psychology Behind Pretending:
Self-protection: We pretend because showing pain makes us feel vulnerable.
Social survival: People praise strength, not softness. So we give what they expect.Emotional safety: Masks allow us to avoid uncomfortable conversations.
Fear of being unlovable: Many believe they must “perform” to be loved—so they never show flaws.
What the world lacks today are places where we can be real.
Spaces where:
-
We can cry without being told to “be strong.”
-
We can say “I don’t know” without shame.
-
We can be messy, confused, or broken—and still be held with love.
We don’t need more advice.
We need acceptance.
Not more “fixing.”
But more listening.
In a world full of performance, authenticity is rebellion.
When we remove our masks, we may feel naked—but we also feel free.
The journey to wholeness begins not with perfection, but with truth.
When Love Turns Transactional
“Transactional love counts the cost. True love counts the moments.”
Modern love: more about terms and less about trust.
- Marriages that survive only due to financial dependency.
- Breakups over financial struggles.
- Friends who disappear once you lose status or position.
There was a time when love was about presence, not possessions.
About giving, not gaining.
About understanding, not conditions.
Love meant sitting together in silence and still feeling heard. It meant holding someone’s hand through their pain—not just celebrating their success.
But today, love has started to look like a business deal.
What do you offer?
What can I gain from this?Will you fit my image?
We ask, “Do you match my lifestyle?”
Crimes of Convenience
"When morality becomes optional, convenience becomes a crime."
How self-interest blurs the lines between right and wrong
We live in a world where the lines between right and wrong are no longer defined by conscience, but by convenience. When people act out of self-interest under the guise of “family duty” or “future planning,” they often commit silent crimes—not in courtrooms, but in hearts, relationships, and generations.
Crimes of convenience are not always violent. They are slow, calculated, and hidden behind justifications like:
“I did it for my child.”
“They would have done the same.”“It’s just business.”
Such crimes occur not when people don’t know what’s right, but when they choose what’s easy.
A "crime of convenience" is when a person chooses to harm others—not because they must, but because it serves them. It’s not desperation that drives them—but comfort, greed, and the illusion of security.
Ethics are traded for benefits. Relationships become transactions. Family becomes a competition for inheritance and legacy. In this process, innocents suffer, and the guilty often feel no remorse—because they “had a reason.”
Example: The Greedy Woman
Let’s consider the story of shama, a woman from a middle-class family. She had a brother and a modest inheritance from their late father.
After her father passed, the family property was to be equally divided between shama and her brother, Farooq. But Shama had a different plan. She feared that her only son wouldn’t be "secure" in the future, and she believed she had the right to take more—for his good.
She emotionally blackmailed her widowed mother, and got the land transferred mostly in her name.
Farooq's children, two daughters and a son, were still in school. Their father, trusting his sister, didn’t question her. But slowly, the money ran out, and they had no support left.
The elder daughter dropped out of college.
-
The son took a job at 17.
-
The youngest fell into depression.
Meanwhile, Shama built a bigger house. She told herself, “I did nothing wrong. I did it for my child.”
But in reality, she stole a future from her brother’s children to build comfort for her own.This is the crime of convenience.
Self-Interest Dressed as Duty
Doing wrong while pretending it’s for love or protection does not make it right.
Many people lie to themselves: “If I don’t, someone else will.” But the truth is—you did.When Family Hurts Family
Some of the most painful betrayals come from inside the home.
Convenience often makes people forget that injustice at home is still injustice.The Cost of Comfort
For every inch of land she gained, she robbed her nieces of education and mental peace.
Greed never ends—it only justifies itself with new fears.In the name of “doing what’s best,” many commit crimes they’ll never be punished for—except by their own soul. A society built on convenience will one day collapse under its own weight.
We must ask:
Is it truly success if it comes from someone else’s suffering?
Is it really love for your child if it destroys someone else's?The Forgotten Kindness
Acts of good that fade in a world rushing for gain
We live in a world that moves fast—too fast. People run not just to make a living but to outdo each other. Success is measured by titles, possessions, followers, and bank balances. In this race, something gentle and vital often gets left behind—kindness.
Once upon a time, people paused to help strangers, smiled without reason, or gave without expecting. These were not grand acts, but quiet ones—opening a door, offering water to a tired traveler, standing up for someone being mistreated. In the noise of progress, such acts now go unnoticed, unrecorded, and eventually—forgotten.
The tragedy isn’t just that kindness is fading. It’s that when it does happen, we no longer recognize it as something ordinary. It becomes a “story” only because it is rare.
Why is this happening?
Because today’s world rewards achievement, not empathy. It praises ambition, not altruism. The child who helps a classmate is overshadowed by the one who scores the highest marks. The employee who quietly supports a team member is forgotten behind the one who brings more revenue.
But kindness isn’t about reward. It’s about presence—seeing others as human beings, not hurdles or tools. It’s about leaving a touch of warmth in a cold world.
Example: The Tale of Zoya and Her Uncle
Zoya was a school teacher in a busy city. Every month, she visited her uncle—an old man who had no children, living in a quiet village. She brought him medicine, sat with him, made him laugh, and cleaned his home. No one really knew about these visits. There were no social media posts, no public acknowledgment. It was just love, in its purest form.
Years passed. Zoya’s career did not skyrocket. She lived modestly, while others around her became managers, CEOs, or influencers. One day, someone said to her, “You wasted your youth visiting an old man. What did you gain?”
Zoya smiled and said, “Not everything that matters can be measured.”
After her uncle passed, the villagers came together to honor her. They shared stories of how her visits brought light into a man’s lonely life. How her quiet kindness reminded them that care still existed.
Zoya’s act may never trend online. It may never appear in headlines. But to her uncle—and to those who witnessed it—her kindness was unforgettable.
In a world obsessed with gain, be the person who remembers to be kind.
Because while money builds empires, kindness builds humanity.
One small act—a kind word, a genuine smile, a helping hand—may not change the world,
but it could change someone’s world.
Let us not forget what makes us human.
Let us not let kindness disappear into silence.
Chapter 5 : Reflections & Rebirth
Time as a Mirror – Looking Back to Understand What We’ve Become
“Sometimes we must revisit the ashes of who we were to light the fire of who we can become.”
We do not truly know who we are until we turn around and see the path we’ve walked.
Time does not simply pass—it records. Every choice, every silence, every wound, and every act of love is etched into the mirror of time. And though we often rush forward, desperate to escape our past, it is only when we pause and look back that we truly begin to understand ourselves.
Looking into the mirror of time is not about regret. It is about revelation. The mistakes we try to forget? They taught us resilience. The people who left us broken? They revealed our capacity to heal. The chapters we wish to erase? They made us who we are.
Many live as though the past is a burden to be buried. But in truth, it is a compass. The person you are today is not born of your successes alone—it is shaped by your losses, your regrets, your forgotten dreams, and your silent cries. When you face them, you reclaim parts of yourself long abandoned.
The Moment of Rebirth
Rebirth doesn’t always arrive with grand events. Sometimes, it begins quietly—with a realization. You look at yourself not with shame, but with acceptance. You no longer run from the person you once were. Instead, you reach out with compassion and say, “You did your best with what you knew.”
And that is the beginning of healing. That is where rebirth begins—not in perfection, but in understanding.
Example: A Man Who Refused to Look Back
Rafiq was a man who spent his whole life trying to outrun his past. As a child, he was sensitive and curious, often scolded for being “too emotional.” In his teenage years, he hardened himself. Emotions became weakness. He chased success, money, and power, believing they would fill the silence inside him.
By his forties, he had everything—a business empire, expensive cars, and a luxurious home. But late at night, when the world grew quiet, a familiar ache would return. The feeling that something was missing.
One evening, after a long day, he stumbled upon an old diary he had kept as a teenager—hidden in a forgotten drawer. As he read the innocent dreams, the unfiltered feelings, and the poetry he had once written, tears welled up. He saw a version of himself he had buried long ago. Not weak. Not broken. Just human.
That night, he didn’t sleep much. He sat with the boy he once was and forgave himself for abandoning him.
From that moment, Rafiq began a new journey—not of acquiring more, but of becoming more. He started mentoring young people, writing again, reconnecting with estranged family. The mirror of time had not judged him—it had guided him back home.
You may carry scars. You may carry shame. You may even wish you could erase parts of your story.
But the truth is, you don’t need to become someone new.
You need to remember who you were before the world told you to be someone else.
That is the power of reflection.
That is the beginning of your rebirth
Echoes of Innocence
Finding Traces of the Lost Within Ourselves
"In the quiet corners of our soul, the child we once were still whispers—not to take us back, but to remind us who we truly are beneath the noise of becoming."
There comes a time in every soul’s journey when we pause and ask ourselves—not “Who am I now?” but “Who was I before the world changed me?”
This chapter is about that soft, almost forgotten voice inside us—the child we once were. The one who believed without conditions. Who smiled without masks. Who cried freely without shame. Who loved, simply and openly.
The Echoes of Innocence are not just memories. They are pieces of our original self—echoes of who we were before pain, betrayal, ambition, or fear hardened us. And though life may try to bury them beneath years of disappointment or disillusionment, they never fully disappear. They whisper through our reactions, our dreams, our quiet moments.
But to hear them, we must listen.
We must go beyond the noise of what we’ve become, to find what we lost—not to rewind life, but to realign it. To remember that we were once tender. Once full of wonder. Once unafraid to be real.
Innocence is not ignorance. It is purity of intention. It is the ability to see goodness without suspicion. It is to give without calculation, to trust without armor, and to feel without filters. Most people lose this innocence not by choice, but by consequence—through heartbreaks, betrayals, and societal conditioning.
But here's the truth:
Innocence is never truly lost.
It only gets silenced.
It lives in your tears when you see someone hurting.
It returns when you laugh uncontrollably at something silly.
It breathes again when you create, when you play, when you sit in silence and feel awe for something bigger than yourself.
To reconnect with your innocence is not to become naive.
It is to remember your softness without letting the world misuse it.
It is to live with open eyes and still choose kindness.
It is to build wisdom without killing wonder.
Example: The Artist Who Forgot Her Colors
A woman, once a child who painted butterflies and stars on every wall she saw, grew up to become a corporate designer—logical, structured, profitable. One day, while cleaning her attic, she found a box of her childhood drawings. In that dusty box, she didn’t just find art—she found herself. That night, she cried—not from regret, but from recognition. She had forgotten the girl who painted with joy, not for a paycheck. That evening, she began to draw again—not for clients, but for her soul. And for the first time in years, she felt whole.
Example : The Man Who Couldn’t Cry
As a boy, he cried when his dog died. He cried when he saw his mother in pain. But by the time he became a man, society had taught him, "Real men don’t cry." Years passed, and his heart turned into a fortress. Until one day, while watching his child sleep peacefully, he felt tears roll down again. Not from sadness, but from softness. From the part of him that had survived under all the strength and silence. It was the echo of his innocence—returning, not as weakness, but as truth.
Echoes of Innocence are the soul’s way of reminding us that we were once whole—and we still can be. That beneath the armor we wear and the roles we play, something real and tender still lives.
To find it, we don’t need to run backward in time.
We only need to pause. Reflect. Breathe.
And listen closely.
Because in the quiet,
That child is still calling.
And they’ve been waiting… for you to return.
A New Dawn or Deeper Darkness?
We stand at the edge of two possibilities—one glowing with promise, the other sinking into shadows.
Humanity has never had so much knowledge, connection, and power. We’ve mapped the stars, decoded the human genome, and built machines that think. And yet, we struggle to recognize our neighbor’s pain, to feel empathy for the suffering stranger, or to choose compassion over convenience.
So the question arises—Is there still hope for change, or is innocence lost forever?
The Fragile Thread of Innocence
Innocence is not merely a phase of childhood. It is a mindset—a state of being uncorrupted by greed, hate, and self-interest. It’s that rare space where curiosity lives without judgment, where love is offered without a ledger, and where a helping hand expects nothing in return.
But in a world built on survival, where worth is measured in wealth and speed is mistaken for progress, innocence feels like a weakness—something to outgrow rather than protect.
We see children grow up faster now, not because they are wiser, but because they are exposed. Exposed to violence, betrayal, exploitation, and a world that rewards cunning more than kindness. Their laughter fades into screens. Their eyes harden with awareness. They learn to wear masks before they even understand who they truly are.
The Possibility of a New Dawn
Yet, hope survives.
In acts of quiet resistance.
A boy who feeds a stray dog even when his own lunch is scarce.
A woman who forgives those who wronged her, choosing peace over revenge.
A man who stands up for truth, even when it costs him comfort.
These moments are small rebellions against the darkness. They remind us that innocence may be buried—but it is not dead.
Change begins not in systems or policies, but in individual awakenings. When we stop normalizing selfishness, when we teach our children to feel before they win, when we prioritize being kind over being right—a new dawn becomes possible.
Example: The Prison of Bitterness or the Bridge of Change
Take the story of Ikhlaq, a young man from a poor neighborhood. His father died in a riot fueled by hatred and misinformation. As he grew, the world told him to hate back. “They” were the enemy. “They” caused his suffering.
But one day, Ikhlaq met an old man from the “other side,” a man who had also lost his son in that same riot. They talked. They cried. They listened—not as enemies, but as fathers and sons of grief.
In that moment, Ikhlaq made a choice. He refused to carry forward the hatred that killed his father. He started a community space where people from both groups could come and share their stories, build gardens, tutor children. The place where light and dark meet.
It wasn’t grand. It didn’t make headlines. But it was a new dawn, however fragile.
The Easier Path
Of course, it’s easier to sink. To believe nothing will change. To numb ourselves. To justify our indifference. Many do.
We scroll past suffering. We laugh at cruelty disguised as content. We mock sensitivity and praise sarcasm. In doing so, we may not notice how far we’ve drifted from who we once were.
This is the deeper darkness—not tragedy, but apathy.
The Choice Before Us
So, is innocence gone forever?
No.
But it’s endangered.
Each one of us is a torchbearer. In every choice—to forgive or to condemn, to help or to harm, to speak or to stay silent—we decide the direction of the world.
The future is not written in stars. It is etched in actions, attitudes, and the stories we choose to pass on.
Will we be the generation that buried innocence, or the one that fought to revive it?
The dawn is waiting.
So is the darkness.
The choice is ours.
“You wake with two hands—one to heal, one to hurt. The day remembers which one you chose.”
— Afzal Malik
Epilogue
Time has many faces—some kind, some cruel. As I walked through its ever-changing corridors, I saw innocence bloom… and then slowly fade. I saw love turn into transaction, relationships into bargains, and values into hashtags. I saw people smile not with joy, but with duty. I saw the light in many eyes replaced by calculation, fear, or emptiness.
This book is not just a reflection. It is a mirror held up to all of us—me, you, society. Every chapter was born from lived moments, observed truths, and quiet heartbreaks. It is not meant to preach, but to provoke thought. It is not meant to accuse, but to awaken. Somewhere along the line, we stopped asking: What kind of world are we becoming? This book is a small attempt to ask that question again—honestly, urgently.
In our race for success, comfort, and validation, we’ve often lost what made us human: kindness without agenda, connection without condition, truth without reward. The faces of time I have witnessed carry both scars and stories. Some are stories of resilience. Others are warnings. All of them, however, share one thing in common—a quiet hope that something better is still possible.
This journey has changed me. It has made me question my own choices, my own silences, my own participation in the systems I now challenge. And it leaves me with this simple plea:
Let us not grow so modern that we forget to be moral. Let us not become so connected that we forget to care. Let us not let time steal the soul of who we once were.
If even one reader, somewhere, chooses empathy over ego, chooses truth over convenience, or kindness over profit because of these pages, then this book has fulfilled its purpose.
The world may not change overnight. But if we change—even a little—the world will begin to follow.
Thank you for walking with me through the faces of time. Let us not just remember what we were—
Let us become what we were meant to be.
— Afzal Malik
About the Author
Afzal Ahamed Malik is a Mechanical Engineer by qualification and the founder of Ed-Tech Home Academy, an educational platform dedicated to accessible and meaningful learning. Beyond the technical world, he is a keen observer of human behavior, society, and the emotional undercurrents that shape our lives.
With a thoughtful mind and a compassionate heart, Afzal writes not just to inform, but to awaken. His journey through life, filled with personal reflections and poignant observations, has led him to explore the vanishing values in an increasingly self-centered world. Faces of Time: The Vanishing Innocence in a Selfish World is his heartfelt attempt to capture these shifts—and to inspire readers to pause, reflect, and reconnect with the essence of humanity.
This book is a mirror of his thoughts, a tribute to the lost innocence we all carry, and a reminder that change begins with awareness.
Reach me out : afzalmalik808@gmail.com