The weight of living

I am lost today, adrift in a world that feels cold and relentless, where death has become ordinary and cruelty goes unnoticed. Every corner of life hums with suffering, and yet the world moves on as if nothing matters. I feel small, fragile, like a single candle in a storm, questioning why I am here at all. How do we find meaning when fear shadows every step, when greed and violence seem to guide the course of human lives? I do not ask out of despair, but out of a raw, aching need to understand — how can we keep our hearts alive in a world that so often forgets what it means to be human?

Long before the world knew the thunder of modern wars, life moved with a fragile rhythm. Villages thrived near rivers, markets buzzed with voices, and children ran through fields under the open sky. Yet even in these peaceful moments, shadows of human cruelty existed. The Mongols swept across Asia, leaving cities in ruins and generations trembling, yet the survivors returned to rebuild, to plant crops again, to tell stories of endurance. In medieval Europe, kingdoms waged war over land and faith, inquisitions hunted the innocent, and witch hunts emptied villages, yet people found ways to protect each other , to whisper courage in quiet corners. Small acts of bravery—hiding someone from a soldier, sharing a loaf of bread, carrying messages in secret—became the quiet pulse of humanity. And centuries later, the terror of Hitler spread across Europe, leaving millions dead and cities in ashes. Yet even then, ordinary people resisted in ways that history often forgets: sheltering strangers, preserving knowledge, defying fear. Can a single act of courage truly matter when the world seems so dark? History shows us that it can—quietly, stubbornly, and powerfully, like a spark refusing to die.

Courage often blooms quietly amid fear and hardship. In the streets of Dhaka in 1971, ordinary citizens risked everything—their homes, their families, their lives—for the hope of Bangladesh’s independence. Bullets tore through the air, hunger gnawed at their bellies, and fear clung to every step, yet they marched, protested, and protected one another, driven by something stronger than fear: the desire to be free. In Sri Lanka in 2022, peaceful crowds rose against economic collapse and corruption, proving that courage is not always wielded with weapons; sometimes it lives in the simple, steadfast act of standing firm, refusing to bow, refusing to be ignored. Nepal has seen governments rise and fall, promises broken, and voices silenced, yet its people continue to question, demand justice, and act. It is in these small, persistent acts of resistance—speaking out, daring to imagine a better life—that true change takes root, showing the world that power is never absolute, and that courage often begins in the hearts of those who refuse to be invisible.

On the world stage, ordinary lives are caught in extraordinary events. In Ukraine, families hide in basements while soldiers fight. Neighbors protect neighbors, and small acts of kindness ripple through communities in ways the news rarely captures. In Gaza and the West Bank, children grow up amidst checkpoints, rockets, and scarcity, yet they learn, play, and dream. Even in the shadows of oppression, they ask questions we often forget:how can life continue when hope is scarce? What does courage look like when fear surrounds you? Their lives remind us that humanity never fully disappears, even in the darkest times.

Even in the United States, where the hunger for power often plays out quietly behind closed doors, decisions ripple across the world, shaping wars, economies, and lives far beyond its borders. Yet amidst this unseen machinery of influence, ordinary people continue to write history in ways that cannot be measured by headlines. Writers like James Baldwin gave voice to the struggles and dreams of marginalized communities, shaping conversations on justice and identity far beyond America. Artists like Georgia O’Keeffe captured the subtle beauty of life, reminding the world to see, feel, and imagine differently. 

Even activists whose speeches and marches may seem small compared to global armies, altered the course of society through courage, hope, and persistence. Their actions, small yet profound, persist in shaping thought, culture, and humanity, bending the path of the world toward compassion, creativity, and courage, even when the powerful above seem consumed by ambition and dominance.

And then there are the deeply personal stories of Bipin Joshi from Nepal, who went to Israel to learn and earn, but was killed by forces caught in conflicts he never chose. . His life, cut short, reminds us of the human cost of larger conflicts. Yet even in tragedy, courage and hope endure—through the act of seeking knowledge, of dreaming, of stepping into the world despite danger.

History is messy and cruel, yet it hums with courage, curiosity, and renewal in its quiet corners. Every war, every fallen government, every act of oppression carries whispers of something yet to come. And I wonder—will we stay passive, swept along by fear, or will we rise, even in small, trembling ways? Will we follow the currents of power, or let our own curiosity and courage guide us, even if only a little?Yes, war, greed, and corruption seem to circle endlessly—but so does the fragile pulse of creation, the stubborn insistence of life refusing to break. Every generation feels the world ending, yet the world keeps turning, slipping quietly from one hand to another. And I ask myself, standing here in the middle of it all—do I stay lost, carried by the tides, or do I 

reach, however lightly, toward something different?