01/08/2025
“The World Doesn’t Hear Me, But I’m Still Speaking”He sat alone on a broken tree trunk, barefoot, dusty, forgotten by time.His name was Obinna, but the world just called him “that old man who thinks too much.”
But if only they could enter his mind…If only they knew how much he had seen, how much he had survived, and how many nights he spent talking to God when no one else would listen.That day, the village passed him like always—children ran past him, the market women shouted prices, and life moved on like he didn’t matter.But inside him…
A storm was speaking. “I don’t hate this world,” he whispered,
“I just… don’t understand it anymore.”
“Why do good people suffer in silence, while liars get applause?”
“Why do the hungry pray harder than the full, but still sleep with empty stomachs?”
“Why do we bury the kind, and celebrate the powerful?”
“Why is love no longer enough to keep people together?”His lips trembled. Not from age—but from holding in too much pain for too long. “I gave this world my strength… my youth… my truth. And still, I watch others rise by doing the opposite of everything I was taught.”He looked at his hands—hands that once built houses, held babies, wiped tears.
Now they shook… not just from age, but from the weight of memory.
He remembered when he first became a man:
When he believed hard work would feed his family.When he believed truth always won.When he believed if you gave love, you’d get it back.But years taught him otherwise.Now he sat with nothing but questions.And the most painful part? No one cared to ask what was in his heart.
Everyone was too busy chasing likes, chasing status, chasing noise…“Is it me that changed… or the world?” he asked himself.But then…
A little girl walked up to him. Quiet, barefoot, curious.She looked him in the eyes—no fear, no shame, just innocence.“Grandpa, why are you crying?” she asked.He looked at her and smiled, with tears still falling. “Because I remembered a time when this world made sense.”
“When we sat together, not scrolled together.”
“When people said sorry and meant it. When love wasn’t a transaction. When your neighbor’s child was your child too.”
That day, Obinna didn’t just cry. He released.He didn’t need a crowd.He didn’t need validation.He needed one soul to hear him.And in that little girl’s question, he found peace.
Because maybe… just maybe…
even if the world doesn’t hear you, someone will feel you. 😔🥺