A Journey of Growth and Reflection

Spending ten years at the same company is a milestone that carries both weight and meaning. In a world where careers often change every few years, reaching a full decade with one organisation is a rare accomplishment. It speaks to loyalty, adaptability, and resilience, while also prompting reflection on the opportunities gained and the challenges faced along the way.

When people learn that someone has remained in the same company for ten years, their reactions are often mixed. Some are impressed, recognising the dedication and perseverance required to sustain such a commitment. Others, however, are sceptical, questioning whether genuine growth is possible when confined to a single environment for so long. The reality is more nuanced. There are clear advantages to long-term tenure, yet there are also difficulties that must be navigated with care.

One of the greatest advantages of remaining with a company for a decade is stability. In a professional landscape marked by uncertainty, redundancy, and constant competition, the ability to build a secure foundation is invaluable. This stability provides the freedom to plan ahead, to invest in personal and professional development, and to focus energy on mastering one’s craft rather than constantly searching for the next role.

Longevity also fosters expertise. After ten years, an employee develops a depth of understanding that cannot be replicated in a shorter period. They know not only their role but also the organisation’s culture, processes, and unwritten rules. This institutional knowledge is powerful. It enables them to anticipate challenges before they arise, to mentor new colleagues effectively, and to serve as a reliable source of continuity when change inevitably occurs.

Equally significant are the relationships formed over such a long period. A decade of working alongside the same colleagues creates bonds that go beyond the professional. Shared projects, collective victories, and even the occasional failure knit people together in ways that shorter tenures rarely allow. These relationships provide support during difficult times and add richness to daily work life.

Yet, remaining with the same organisation for ten years is not without its difficulties. One of the most common risks is complacency. Familiarity can easily turn into comfort, and comfort can lead to stagnation. Without deliberate effort, it becomes tempting to rely on routine rather than pursue new challenges. Long-term employees must therefore make a conscious choice to seek opportunities for growth, whether by volunteering for demanding projects, taking on leadership responsibilities, or learning new skills that stretch them beyond their comfort zone.

Another challenge is the perception of others. In today’s job market, frequent movement is often seen as a sign of ambition and adaptability. By contrast, a decade in one place can sometimes be misinterpreted as a lack of drive or unwillingness to change. This perception is not always fair, but it is real. To counteract it, long-serving employees must be able to demonstrate the ways in which they have grown, adapted, and reinvented themselves over time.

There is also the matter of self-reflection. After ten years, many professionals begin to ask themselves whether they are still on the right path. Questions such as “Am I still learning?” and “Have I allowed comfort to replace ambition?” naturally arise. These are not signs of dissatisfaction, but rather essential checkpoints in any long career. Remaining in one company for a decade demands honest reflection on whether the role continues to align with personal and professional goals.

From ten years with a single organisation, several important lessons can be drawn.

• The first is that growth is intentional, not automatic. Simply staying in a role for a long time does not guarantee improvement. Progress comes from seeking challenges, embracing change, and saying yes to opportunities even when they feel daunting. Those who thrive over ten years are those who continue to push themselves, rather than relying on time served as proof of value.
• The second lesson is the enduring importance of relationships. Skills and knowledge matter, but it is human connection that brings true meaning to work. Trust, collaboration, and mentorship transform the workplace into a community, and these bonds often endure long after specific roles or projects have ended.
• The third lesson is that loyalty and adaptability can coexist. Remaining with one company does not mean standing still. On the contrary, it often provides opportunities to evolve in tandem with the organisation. Companies change over time, and so do the people within them. Those who remain for ten years or more are rarely the same professionals they were when they started. They reinvent themselves, take on new challenges, and adapt to shifting demands, proving that long service does not preclude growth.

A ten-year milestone is both an ending and a beginning. It marks the conclusion of a significant chapter, while opening the door to new possibilities. For some, the journey will continue within the same company, with further opportunities to develop and contribute. For others, it may represent the right moment to explore a new horizon, carrying forward the lessons learnt over the past decade.

Regardless of what comes next, ten years at one company is never wasted. It represents resilience, dedication, and the ability to thrive within an evolving environment. It is a story not only of loyalty but also of transformation.

Ultimately, spending ten years at the same organisation is not about endurance alone. It is about adaptability, growth, and the impact made along the way. Success is not measured solely in promotions or job changes, but in the difference created, the people supported, and the lessons learnt.

The professional who reflects on a decade of service is no longer the same person who first stepped through the company’s doors. They are wiser, more skilled, and more resilient. They carry with them experiences that cannot be replaced, and relationships that continue to shape their journey. Whatever lies ahead, those ten years remain a powerful foundation, a testament to perseverance, growth, and the value of time well spent.

—HumanityECW

Beauty Is a State of Mind

I recently started listening to a Korean band called The Rose. Their music carries a kind of raw honesty that feels both comforting and challenging at the same time. One of their songs, You’re Beautiful, has a line that has been living in my head ever since I first heard it: beauty is just a state of mind.

At first, I brushed it off as something simple. It sounded like the kind of line you might skim over in a book or hear in a movie and forget later. But the more I thought about it, the more I realised how deeply true it was. The idea that beauty is a state of mind challenges almost everything we have been taught about what it means to be beautiful.

From the time we are children, we are shown images and standards that tell us beauty looks a certain way. We are told it is the shape of a body, the tone of a voice, the style of hair, the smoothness of skin. We are told that beauty is something measured and judged from the outside. And because of that, many of us spend our lives chasing after it as though it is something separate from us. We think we will finally be beautiful if we can just fix enough of ourselves, buy the right products, or match what the world is showing us.

But the truth is that no matter how much you try to match a standard, if your mind cannot see yourself as beautiful, you will never feel it. You can spend hours dressing up, styling your hair, applying products, or sculpting yourself into an image, and still look in the mirror and feel empty. That is because beauty has never truly been about appearance. It has always been about the state of your mind when you look at yourself.

Think about it. There are days when you look in the mirror and you pick apart every single flaw you believe you have. Your skin is not clear enough, your hair will not sit right, your body does not match what you want. And even if others tell you that you look good, you cannot receive it, because in your mind, you do not believe it. Now compare that to the days when you feel alive, confident, and grateful. On those days, nothing much has changed about your appearance. Your body is the same, your face is the same, but your energy is different. You smile more easily. You carry yourself with more confidence. People around you respond differently. And that is because the beauty you feel inside radiates outward.

That is what The Rose meant when they sang that beauty is a state of mind. It begins with how you choose to see yourself.

Some of the most beautiful moments in my own life had nothing to do with looking polished or perfect. I remember laughing so hard with friends that tears streamed down my face. I remember finishing something I thought was impossible and feeling the quiet pride of knowing I had done it. I remember being vulnerable, showing my flaws to someone I trusted, and realising I was still accepted and loved. In those moments, I was not thinking about how I looked. But if someone had taken a picture of me then, I am sure they would have seen beauty. Not because I had styled myself to look a certain way, but because the light of self-acceptance was shining through.

We often forget that beauty is not just seen with the eyes. It is felt in the energy someone carries. When a person walks into a room with self-assurance and peace, you notice them. When someone smiles with genuine joy, it lights up everyone around them. When someone is kind, empathetic, and open-hearted, their presence leaves an impression that is far stronger than any physical feature.

This is not to say that caring for your appearance is wrong. There is nothing wrong with wanting to dress well, to take care of your body, or to enjoy expressing yourself through style. But these things should be an extension of the beauty you already believe in, not a desperate attempt to fill a void. If you do not see yourself as worthy inside, no amount of decoration outside will convince you otherwise.

The line from The Rose reminded me that we spend too much of our lives waiting for someone else to call us beautiful before we believe it. We wait for compliments, for validation, for approval, hoping that the right words from the right person will unlock something in us. But even when the words come, they fade quickly. The truth that lasts is the one you tell yourself.

If beauty is a state of mind, then it means you can choose it daily. You can choose to speak kindly to yourself instead of tearing yourself down. You can choose to see your body as strong, capable, and worthy of care. You can choose to value the things that make you unique instead of wishing you looked like someone else. You can choose to stop comparing yourself to people who are not living your life and who do not carry your burdens. You can choose to see yourself through the eyes of love, not through the lens of criticism.

Choosing beauty as a state of mind does not mean you will never have insecure days. We all do. It simply means you recognise that those insecurities do not define you. You can feel them, acknowledge them, and still remind yourself that you are more than enough.

The truth is that beauty has never been something the world was supposed to give us. It has always been something we are meant to discover within ourselves. When you see yourself as worthy and valuable, that truth radiates outward. People can feel it when they are around you. They might not even be able to explain it, but they will know there is something about you that draws them in. That something is not a hairstyle or a shade of lipstick. It is the quiet confidence of someone who has made peace with themselves.

The line from The Rose will stay with me, because it reminds me to shift my focus. Beauty is not about chasing approval. It is about cultivating a mindset of self-acceptance and gratitude. It is about realising that the things that make me different are the very things that make me beautiful.

So the next time you find yourself doubting how you look, remember this: beauty is not waiting for you in the mirror. Beauty is waiting for you in the way you choose to see yourself. It is waiting in your laughter, in your confidence, in your kindness, and in the peace that comes from knowing that you are enough.

Beauty is not a standard to be met. It is a state of mind to be embraced. And once you believe it, no one can take it away from you.

—HumanityECW 

Stop Waiting for Permission

 Live Your Life

How many times have you held yourself back because you thought you needed someone else to give you permission? Maybe it was your family, your friends, your boss, or even society itself. Maybe you waited for a nod, a sign, or a green light that somehow never came. It feels safe to wait. To hope someone else will say yes so you can finally feel ready. You tell yourself it is about being careful or responsible. But deep down, it is fear wearing a disguise. Fear of failure. Fear of judgment. Fear of stepping into the unknown.

But here is the truth no one tells you often enough: nobody is coming to give you permission to live your life. Nobody is waiting to hand you a map or open a door. Life does not wait for you to be ready. Time does not stop ticking until you get your courage in order. Every moment you hesitate, every day you spend waiting for others to approve your plans, you are stealing time from your own future. You are robbing yourself of the chance to grow, to learn, to fail, to succeed, and to feel alive. Your dreams are not paused until you say yes. They keep moving forward whether you do or not.

Think about all the opportunities you have let slip away because you wanted permission. The business idea you buried under what-ifs. The relationship you stayed in because you feared judgment. The change you avoided because you worried you were not ready. Those moments are lost forever. You cannot get them back. And the only thing that stood in your way was waiting. Waiting for approval that never came. Waiting for the perfect moment that never existed. Waiting for permission that was never going to be given.

It is time to stop shrinking yourself to fit inside other people’s comfort zones. Stop quieting your voice because you fear upsetting those around you. Your life belongs to you and only you. No one else has the right to decide how big your dreams should be or when you should start chasing them. You already have everything you need to begin. Not tomorrow. Not next month. Today. The courage, the strength, and the ability are inside you right now. What you lack is permission, and that permission must come from you.

Owning your life means accepting that you will stumble. You will make mistakes. You will fall short sometimes. But it also means giving yourself the freedom to try, to take risks, and to grow beyond what you thought was possible. Fear will always be there. Doubt will always creep in. But the choice to move forward despite those feelings is yours and yours alone. Waiting for permission only gives fear more power over you. Taking action takes that power away.

So ask yourself: what are you waiting for? What voices have you let silence your own? What dreams have you put on hold because you thought someone else needed to say yes first?

The answer is simple:

No one else will give you permission. No one else will decide for you. You are the only one who can say yes to your own life.

Start today. Take that first step even if it is small or uncertain. Own your choices. Own your path. Own your story. Fight for the life you want with everything you have. Because if you do not, someone else will decide it for you. And it will not be the life you dreamed of.

Your Indecisiveness Should Not Be an Inconvenience to Others

Some people treat other people’s time like it is refillable. They act as if you can throw away hours, effort, and mental energy and just ask for more later. They think their indecision is harmless. It is not. It is disruptive. It is selfish. And in some cases, it is downright disrespectful. Some of you need to hear this: your inability to make a decision is not a personality quirk. It’s not “being careful.” It’s not “just how you are.” It’s laziness, fear, and self-absorption wrapped into one, and the fact that you let it spill over into other people’s lives is disrespectful.

Picture This!

You ask me for help with something. I agree. I mentally lock it in, shift my priorities, and set aside time so it gets done.

Then, at the last minute, you change your mind. I ask if you are sure. You say yes. I take you at your word. I let it go.

The next day, you are suddenly back asking me to help with the exact same task you told me you no longer needed. This time, you want me to drop everything again to accommodate you.

And my answer is no.

Not because I am petty. Not because I am angry. But because this is not the first time you have done it. You made me rearrange my life for you, then you took it back. And now you expect me to do it again with the same likelihood you will cancel again.

I am not playing that game.

When you ask for someone’s help, you are asking for their time. Time is the one thing they cannot get back.
When you cancel at the last minute, you are not just changing your mind. You are throwing away the mental and logistical work they already put into showing up for you.

When you return asking for the same thing again, you are not just being indecisive. You are assuming they will endlessly rearrange their life to match your lack of planning.

That is entitlement.

If you cannot commit to a decision, then do not drag other people into your half-baked plans.
If you do commit, then follow through.
If you cancel, accept that you may have just closed the door on that help. No one is obligated to keep standing in line for you while you figure out what you want.

Your inability to make up your mind is your burden to carry. It is not a reason for others to constantly rework their schedules.

Respect people’s time. Respect their effort. Respect their willingness to help you. Once you have made a habit of canceling, rescheduling, and changing your mind, you are not just a little indecisive. You are unreliable.

And unreliable people do not get unlimited chances.

—HumanityECW 

The Rise of Generative AI

Creativity, Copyright, and the Future of Originality

Artificial intelligence is no longer just a tool for automation and data analysis. It has evolved into a creative partner that can write stories, compose music, design logos, and even generate entire videos. This new wave of AI, known as generative AI, is reshaping the creative landscape in ways we could hardly imagine a decade ago.

From ChatGPT and Midjourney to Sora and Suno, these tools are being used by artists, writers, designers, and filmmakers around the world. But with this exciting evolution come important questions. Can content created by machines truly be called "original"? What happens to copyright law in a world where anyone can generate professional-grade content in seconds? And most importantly, how does the rise of generative AI impact the future of human creativity?

Many creators are embracing AI as a helpful assistant. Writers use AI to brainstorm plot ideas or overcome writer's block. Designers experiment with AI-generated imagery for inspiration. Filmmakers are starting to use AI to storyboard or even generate scenes from text descriptions.

However, there's a growing concern that AI could also replace some human creators. If an AI can produce a painting, a song, or an article at a fraction of the time and cost, will companies still hire artists and writers? Some fear that AI will devalue human creativity, turning it into just another algorithm-driven product.

Copyright law was not built with generative AI in mind. Traditionally, for a work to be protected under copyright, it must be created by a human. But AI-generated content often has no direct human author. Instead, a user inputs a prompt, and the AI generates the result based on patterns learned from vast datasets of existing works.

This raises critical legal questions. Who owns the output of an AI tool—the user, the company that built the AI, or no one at all? And what about the training data? Many generative models are trained on publicly available content, including copyrighted works. Several lawsuits have already been filed, challenging the legality of this practice and demanding new regulations.

Another issue lies in defining originality. If an AI generates an image that looks like a Van Gogh painting, is it derivative or innovative? Can a song composed by AI in the style of The Beatles be considered a new creative work?

In some ways, AI forces us to rethink what originality means. Humans, after all, are also influenced by what they consume. The difference is that AI can process and replicate millions of examples instantly, while human inspiration happens more slowly and subconsciously.

Despite the challenges, many experts believe AI will not replace human creativity but will expand it. Artists can now do more with less. Small studios can produce high-quality content without massive budgets. Writers can use AI to translate ideas into multiple languages instantly, reaching global audiences.

At the same time, the legal and ethical frameworks surrounding AI must evolve. Clear guidelines are needed to define ownership, protect human creators, and ensure transparency in how AI models are trained and used.

Generative AI is not just a technological trend. It is a cultural shift that challenges our understanding of creativity, originality, and authorship. Whether we see it as a threat or an opportunity, one thing is clear: the creative world will never be the same.

—HumanityECW

Seriously?!

What Is More Important Than Your Child?

   I have a friend who is a single mother. She is strong, hardworking, and deeply devoted to her daughter. Since birth, she has raised her child on her own while the father has lived abroad. It has not always been easy, but she has built a bond with her daughter that is honest, nurturing, and unbreakable. Now eleven years old, the child still avoids sleepovers simply because she does not like being away from her mother. That is how close they are. That closeness did not happen by chance. It came from consistent love, daily care, and emotional presence.

    The child’s father migrated when she was three years old. He got married abroad when she was around four or five. From that point on, his role has been largely financial. He contributes money, and for that, my friend is grateful. But money alone does not raise a child. And what is painfully missing from his involvement is effort. Effort to connect. Effort to understand. Effort to build a relationship. When he visits the island, he often spends less than a day with his daughter. Sometimes his visit happens just before he leaves again. That has become a pattern. There are no extended outings. No real time spent bonding. No quiet conversations or shared moments to strengthen their relationship. Instead, the child is expected to simply accept him as her father and feel close to him, regardless of how absent he has been in her daily life.

    Naturally, the child has grown reluctant to go anywhere with him when he visits. She does not feel safe in the emotional sense. She does not know him well enough to feel comfortable. The few interactions they have are often delivered in the form of ultimatums. Either she wants to do something with him, or he will do it without her. Either she agrees, or the opportunity passes. There is little room for discussion or understanding. Just pressure. As a result, the child rarely calls him. She will send messages instead. And even then, she often hesitates. She simply does not know how to talk to him. The emotional gap between them is too wide. She does not feel like she can confide in him the way she does with her mother. At around eight or nine years old, she tried to maintain some form of contact, but even then, it was difficult. He once made a comment that shocked me. He said that the only time his daughter reaches out is when she wants something.

She was just a child.

    That kind of thinking reveals a fundamental misunderstanding of parenting. Children do not withhold affection out of malice. They withhold it when they do not feel safe. They go silent when they are unsure. They retreat when they feel pushed. If your child does not call you, the question should not be, “Why are they not reaching out?” The question should be, “What have I done to make them feel they cannot?”

    More recently, my friend had a conversation with him about whether he would consider filing for the child to live with him abroad. His response was deeply disappointing. He said he would not waste his money to do something the child clearly does not want. He said he would not negotiate with a child. He told her he had more important things to do with his money. And he added that if the child regrets her decision in the future, then so be it.

Let us pause here.

    The child is now just eleven years old. She is not being rebellious. She is scared, confused, and deeply attached to the one parent who has never left her side. Her reaction is not rejection. It is a cry for understanding. If she does not want to live with her father, it is not out of spite. It is because she does not know him. And she does not know him because he has never truly tried to know her.

    My friend said she did not argue with him. She could have. She had every reason to. But instead, she said, “Do not worry about it.” And in those words, she chose peace over conflict. Still, I know there was more she wanted to say. She wanted to say:

“If you wanted her with you, you would have filed for her when you were filing for yourself. If you cared about being her father in more than just name, you would have taken the time to talk with her, understand her fears, and explain her options gently. You would not have spoken about your money as if it is more important than her future. And you certainly would not have dismissed her feelings with frustration or threats. If you think parenting is just about sending money, then you have misunderstood the whole purpose of fatherhood.”

    From a practical point of view, I can also understand his reluctance. Immigration is expensive and emotionally taxing. No one wants to invest in something that may not work out. But that is the difference between a transaction and a relationship. This is not a contract. It is a child. An eleven-year-old who needs to feel seen, heard, and loved. This leads me to a very real question:

What options exist for green card holders who do not want to move to the United States right away?

There are several flexible choices:

1. Green Card with Re-Entry Permits
   If the child receives a green card but is not ready to move immediately, a re-entry permit can be requested. This allows the child to stay outside the United States for up to two years without losing her permanent resident status.

2. Short, Timed Visits
   Green card holders are expected to live in the United States, but short visits every six months or so can help maintain status. However, this option must be handled carefully and consistently.

3. Begin the Process, Delay the Move
   A parent can start the immigration process now, while allowing time for the child to grow emotionally ready. This ensures the opportunity is not lost, while avoiding sudden pressure on the child to leave everything familiar.

4. Use the Waiting Period to Build Connection
   The time it takes for an immigration application to process could be used to build the parent-child relationship. Video calls, shared activities, letters, and intentional conversations could bridge the emotional gap.

    Parenting is not just about what we provide. It is about how we show up. It is about whether our children feel safe in our presence. Whether they can speak without fear. Whether they feel loved for who they are, not what they do or what they ask for. Because in the end, children remember how we made them feel. Not the gifts. Not the cheques. Not the threats. They remember the tone of our voices. The patience we offered. The effort we made. They remember whether we saw them, or whether we treated their emotions as inconveniences.

And when the question arises, what is more important than your child?, the answer should always be, “Nothing.”

—HumanityECW

When the Company Sets You Up to Fail

Let me share something that has been on my mind lately. It’s about a friend of mine, and honestly, her situation made me think about how many people might be living the same quiet frustration.

Imagine being placed in a role at work that you have absolutely no formal training for. You have not studied for it. You have no background in it. You were simply told one day that this is your new role. Just like that. No training. No support. No guidance.

You might expect that at least some form of on-the-job training would be offered. Maybe a mentor. Maybe even a proper handover from someone who knew the ropes. But no. Nothing.

What would you do? My friend chose to push through. She took it upon herself to research, to read, to study late at night after work, just trying to get a handle on what she was expected to do during the day. She even went so far as to source short courses that could help her. She presented them to her employer, hoping they would invest in her development so she could actually meet their expectations. But what was the response?

The company said they could not take on the commitment at this time.

So she continued. Day after day. Trying. Failing. Trying again. But how long can a person continue like that? To be set up to fail, then blamed when they cannot deliver?

She told me recently that she will soon hand in her resignation.

And honestly, I do not blame her.

Is she wrong for walking away? I do not think so. She was placed in a role she was not prepared for, given no tools to succeed, and then expected to perform as if she had been trained from the start. That is not just unfair. It is negligent.

In my view, the fault lies squarely with her employer.

Employers often forget that people are not machines. You cannot simply plug someone into a role and expect instant results, especially without offering the proper training or support. When a company refuses to invest in its people, it should not be surprised when its people stop investing their energy back into the company.

As for possible outcomes? For her, resigning might be the best thing. She will finally be able to breathe again. She can hopefully move into a role where she is either properly trained or valued for the skills she brings. Maybe she will even find an employer that understands development is part of growth, not an optional expense.

For her employer, the outcome could go two ways. They might brush it off. Replace her with another person and repeat the cycle. But eventually, they will hit a wall. Turnover will rise. Morale will drop. Reputation will suffer. Or, if they are wise, they will learn. They will realise that failing to support employees costs more in the long run than investing in proper training from the start.

I suppose what strikes me the most is how normalised this situation has become. So many people are stuck in roles they were never trained for, fighting silent battles their employers will never acknowledge, just because they need the paycheck.

I do not think we talk about that enough. 

If you choose to walk away, like my friend plans to, then know that leaving is not giving up. Sometimes, it is the bravest thing you can do.

— HumanityECW 

Living in a Society Where Beauty Can Be Bought

We live in a society where beauty can be bought.

And no, I'm not talking about appearance. Not makeup, surgery, or anything you see in the mirror. I'm not talking about physical beauty like flawless skin, perfect curves, or filtered images.

I''m talking about the metaphorical kind of beauty. The kind that makes life feel soft, safe, and full of options. The kind where your struggles are handled before they even arrive. Where your bad days are met with support instead of judgment. Where hardship never knocks because it has already been paid off.

That kind of beauty.

In this world, the most beautiful parts of life often come with a price tag. Peace of mind. Time. Comfort. Safety. All sold to the highest bidder. When you have money, the world treats you differently. Doors open. Lines get shorter. Smiles are warmer. You are allowed to make mistakes. You are allowed to rest. You are allowed to exist without constantly proving that you deserve to be here. You can buy beauty in the form of silence, privacy, respect, and dignity.But when you do not have money, and especially if you come from struggle or are still living in it, even the basics feel out of reach. Rest becomes a luxury. Joy feels borrowed. You are expected to work twice as hard, be twice as grateful, and still get blamed for not being further along.

Some people are born into comfort. They do not know what it is like to choose between rent and groceries. They do not understand the weight of unpaid bills or the fear that comes with them. They have never had to carry an entire household on their back while quietly falling apart. Their version of hard is not yours.

And then there are those who did know. Once. They came from tight budgets and secondhand clothes. But now they have made it. And somewhere along the way, they forgot. They forgot what it feels like to sit on the edge of your bed, staring at numbers that will never stretch far enough. They forgot what it feels like to be invisible, to be judged before you are even given a chance. Success made them comfortable. Comfort made them forget.

In this world, beauty in the form of freedom, peace, and access is treated like a luxury. Like a reward. And everywhere we turn, we are being sold the illusion. The beautiful apartment. The beautiful relationship. The beautiful vacation. The beautiful, curated life. And the message is clear. If you do not have those things, maybe you are just not trying hard enough. Maybe you do not deserve them yet.

But I have learned something different.

Real beauty is not something anyone can sell you.

It lives in the quiet courage to keep going when everything around you is built to wear you down. It shows up in the laughter that survives heavy days. In the joy you create when the world gives you none. In the fact that you still have your softness, even after everything tried to harden you.

It lives in remembering. Remembering where you came from. Remembering who you were when you had nothing. Refusing to look down on those still climbing.

There is beauty in the strength it takes to show up when no one is clapping. In the quiet decision to choose integrity over shortcuts. In walking away from things not meant for you, even when it is hard. In surviving what was meant to break you.

Yes, the world is tilted in favor of those who can afford the prettier version of life. But I still believe there is beauty in the climb.

It may not be shiny. It may not come with applause. But it is yours.

And that is a kind of beauty no one can buy.

--HumanityECW

A Person Who Is Comfortable Being Alone Is Dangerous

I came across a video on TikTok a few nights ago. It was late, but like most nights, I could not sleep. I was just scrolling, letting the algorithm do its thing, when a man in his car popped up on my screen. He said something that stopped me right in the middle of my scrolling. “A person who is comfortable being alone is dangerous.” 

That was his first line. He had not even gotten into his point yet, but I sat there staring at the screen like someone had called me by name. It hit deep, because if I’m being honest, I have always kind of been that person. The one who is okay being alone. I was like that since I was a child. Sure, I played with the other kids in the yard or in the neighborhood when I got the chance, but there was always something in me that felt… separate. I had to grow up faster, at least mentally. There were parts of me that I learned to keep tucked away, because I believed that not everyone deserved to see them. Not even family. Not even friends.

I know that might sound cold, but it’s not. It’s what happens when you learn early that some people only listen so they can later use your words against you. It has happened to me more times than I care to count. So I learned to keep things to myself. I smiled, I showed up, but, I held back. That is how I learned to protect my peace.

I do not let many people in. I can count the number of friends I have on one hand. The rest? Acquaintances. Nice people, yes. People I might laugh or joke with, but not people I would bleed in front of; and I am okay with that, truly.

One thing about me that I fear people do not, and will never understand, is that, I do not hesitate to cut people off if they start messing with my peace. I have done it before, I will do it again, and I will continue doing it. I have lost “friends” that way, but I do not regret it.

Anyone who chips away at your spirit, who drains your energy, who leaves you feeling worse after every interaction, does not belong in your life. It is not about holding grudges or being bitter. In fact, I wish those people well. I hope they succeed. I hope they find healing. I just know I will be cheering for them from a distance.

Being comfortable with your own company is so powerful.

When you’re okay being alone, you don’t cling to people out of fear. You don’t beg for love. You don’t chase people who walk away. You stop entertaining things that break you just to avoid feeling lonely.

You understand that being alone and being lonely are two very different things. Loneliness is painful, yes, but solitude, solitude is peace. It is the space where you hear yourself clearly. Where you breathe deeper and where you remember who you are without all the outside noise.

So yes, the man in the car was right. A person who is comfortable being alone is dangerous. Not because they are cold or heartless, but because they no longer fear being left.

• They no longer shrink to fit into someone else’s life.
• They no longer sacrifice their mental well-being to keep others comfortable.
• They no longer settle.
• They choose themselves.
• They choose survival.

That is strength.

There’s wisdom in protecting what is sacred. There is nothing wrong with you for being selective. There is nothing weak about setting boundaries.

Your peace is precious. Guard it with everything you have.

Even if that means walking alone. 

-HumanityECW

The Sacrifices No One Sees

People think I’m doing well.

They see me handling my responsibilities; rent paid, bills on time, child cared for. I go to work, I smile when I’m expected to, I show up. From the outside, I look like someone who has her life together. Stable. Capable. Functioning.

But they don’t see what’s behind the curtain. They don’t see the nights I sit on the edge of my bed, eyes burning with silent tears, wondering how much longer I can keep holding it all together. They don’t see how close to the edge I feel some days, how the weight of it all presses so hard on my chest it hurts to breathe. They don’t see that I’ve become a master of hiding my pain. They only see the performance; the version of me that looks like I’m “making it.”

But I’m not. Not in the way they think.

I’m in a job that drains me. It doesn't challenge me or ignite any part of my soul. I go through the motions, day after day, because it’s safe. Because it's flexible. Because it gives me just enough space to be the kind of parent I want to be. And that’s the truth; that’s why I’ve stayed. Not out of fear. But out of love. I chose this job because I’m a single parent. Because I wanted to be there for my child in the ways I wasn’t always sure someone would be there for me. I chose presence over ambition. I chose accessibility over titles. I chose school pickups over promotions. And I have no regrets. None.

But that doesn’t mean it hasn’t cost me.

It’s cost me sleep. It’s cost me parts of myself I haven’t visited in years. It’s cost me creative energy, confidence, and dreams I shelved “for later.” It’s hard to admit how long I’ve been waiting for later to come. And now… I feel tired. So, so tired.

Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes. It’s the soul-deep exhaustion of being stretched too thin for too long; of always having to be strong, dependable, and composed; even when I’m breaking inside. Of having no one to fall apart in front of, so I just don’t, and the world keeps spinning. And I keep surviving. But I want more than survival. I want to wake up excited about my work. I want to rediscover the parts of me that I buried under duty. I want to chase the dreams I postponed. I want to believe that my life can still be mine; even after all the detours and delays.

So I made a promise to myself: this is the last year. Once my child graduates from primary school, I’ll give myself permission to let go of this job. I’ll step into the unknown and chase what I really want. I’ll stop making excuses and start honoring the fire in me that’s still flickering, even after all these years of neglect. It’s scary. But I have to believe that I’m still allowed to want something more.

You are allowed to choose you, too. You can be a good parent and still want more. You can be responsible and still crave joy. You can be strong and still feel exhausted. You can love your child with everything in you and still mourn the pieces of yourself you had to put away.

And it’s not too late. So when the time comes, I will step out of the shadows I’ve lived in for so long. I will chase the life I’ve quietly dreamed of. I will become the woman my younger self prayed I’d become; the one who didn’t just survive, but finally, finally started to live. Until then, I keep going. Quietly. Bravely.

Because that’s what we do.

-HumanityECW

People Don’t Know How Expensive It Is To Be Poor

Too Poor to Work, Too Tired to Explain

There’s a line in Straw that’s still echoing in my head days later:
“People don’t know how expensive it is to be poor.”

It was one of those lines that didn’t just land; it lodged itself in my chest. Not because it was new, but because it was true. Uncomfortably, painfully, undeniably true.

I remember this one day, just like any other day, I was scrolling through social media, aimlessly. I honestly can’t even remember which platform it was, but a video popped up. A man, clearly homeless, was being interviewed. You could tell people had already made their assumptions about him — that he must’ve chosen that life, or ruined his chances somehow.

He said something I’ll never forget: “I’m too poor to get a job.”

I’ll admit it, I scoffed. I thought, like so many others do, “That’s just another excuse.”

But then he explained: “No one wants to hire a homeless person. And even if they do, I won’t get paid until the first pay cycle. But to make it that far, I’d need bus fare, clean clothes, and something decent to wear. How do I get those things with nothing?”

And in that moment, everything shifted for me.

Because that is the trap, isn’t it? That’s the brutal, hidden cost of poverty. People assume it’s just about not having money. But being poor means paying more. It could be, with time, energy, dignity, and survival itself.

And when I heard that old lady say “people don’t know how expensive it is to be poor” in Straw, it struck that same nerve. That same ache. That same quiet truth I’ve lived, and one I’ve seen so many people ignore.

In the film, we watch Janiyah try, and I mean she truly tried to keep going. She’s chasing jobs, appointments, prescriptions, housing. But when you’re poor, one setback can cost you everything. One missed bus, one closed office, one wrong reaction from someone in power, and suddenly the whole fragile thing comes crashing down.

I’ve lived some of that. Not to the same extreme, no. But I know what it’s like to juggle bills and have to decide which utility you can afford to lose. I know what it’s like to smile through depression because you’re afraid of burdening others. To look "fine" because falling apart feels like a luxury you can't afford.

Straw hit hard because it doesn’t romanticise the struggle. It exposes it. It says: Look. This is what it costs just to survive when the world’s not built for you.

And I think more people need to see that.

Because until we stop blaming the poor for their poverty… until we stop asking “Why don’t they just...” and start asking “How can we make it easier?” … until then, we’ll keep punishing people who are already doing the impossible with nothing.

So if you’ve never had to wonder how you’ll get to work, feed your child, and hold your smile together in the same breath — be grateful.

And if you have… then you know.
You know how expensive it is to be poor.
You know how heavy it feels to carry that weight quietly.
And you know that what we need isn’t judgement, it’s compassion, dignity, and real change.

—HumanityECW 

We Never Really Know

The Weight Behind Someone’s Smile

You know the new movie by Tyler Perry. It''s called STRAW. Well, I watched it the other night, and I haven’t been the same since.

It wasn’t just a movie; for me, it felt like looking in a mirror. A haunting, beautiful, gut-wrenching reminder of what it means to walk through the world quietly breaking while no one notices. Or worse — they notice, but they don’t ask.

Taraji P. Henson’s character, Janiyah, is so familiar it hurts. She’s holding it together for her child. Smiling when she has to. Getting through the day, one task at a time, while inside, her world is already crumbling. And then everything spirals. One misstep, one misunderstood moment, and the whole truth unravels.

I sat there watching, breath caught in my throat, because I knew that woman. I was that woman once; and to be honest, maybe I still am.

There was a time when I, too, carried more than I ever let on.

I smiled. I laughed. I went to work. I showed up for people. BUT inside, I was barely surviving. I didn’t want to be a burden. I didn’t want to worry anyone. So I made it look easy — because I thought if I broke down, everyone else would too.

But the truth is, struggling in silence is exhausting. And hiding pain doesn’t make it disappear. It just festers in the dark.

Watching Straw forced me to sit with the weight of that truth again. It reminded me that being overwhelmed doesn’t always look dramatic. Sometimes, it looks like holding it together too well. It looks like strength, when it’s actually desperation. And the scariest part? No one sees it until it’s too late. That’s why I believe; now more than ever; that we have to start checking in on each other differently. Not just when someone looks sad. Not just when they “seem off.” But even, especially when they look like they’re fine. Because so many of us are experts at pretending. And if you’re the one struggling; asking for help doesn’t make you weak, it makes you human. We weren’t meant to carry everything alone. You don’t have to be strong all the time. You don’t have to earn rest, or permission to fall apart. You deserve support just because you’re breathing.

Watching Straw was a painful reminder that people are unraveling right next to us, and we don’t see them because we don’t look. Because we’re too busy. Because we assume. Because we’ve grown desensitized. But we can do better. We can start asking the real questions. Offering real space. Giving people the freedom to not be okay without judgment. And maybe most importantly, we can be honest with ourselves. Drop the mask. Let someone in. Because healing starts when we stop hiding.

 We never really know what someone is carrying. But we can choose to care enough to find out.

—HumanityECW 

Empathy for Content

When Helping Becomes Content and Compassion Becomes Hashtags 

There was a time when people helped each other just… because. Not for recognition, not for a camera, not for likes or follows — but because it was the human thing to do. If you saw someone fall, you ran to lift them up. If someone was hungry, you gave what you could, even if it was just a piece of your lunch. There was a kind of sacredness to that quiet, selfless care — and it’s something I’ve noticed fading as social media continues to tighten its grip on our daily lives.

We used to show up for each other. Now, we show up for the algorithm.

I find myself scrolling through social media and seeing things that honestly break my heart — not just the tragedies themselves, but the way they’re treated. Someone gets hit by a car, and instead of running to help, people whip out their phones. A fight breaks out in a school hallway and rather than stepping in, we see a dozen angles of it on TikTok before the school even finds out it happened. There’s no moment of “Is this okay to share?”; it’s just instant: film it, post it, monetize it.

This is where I think about Childish Gambino’s 

"This Is America."

When that video dropped, it hit like a punch to the gut. It was layered, chaotic, intentional. That track is a masterclass in contrast — flashing images of celebration and horror, dancing and death, going viral and going numb. The message? We’re distracted.  It captured not just the violence and distraction in America, but the desensitization — the way we consume pain like it’s just another clip to scroll past. But what we don’t always say out loud is that it’s not just America anymore. It’s everywhere. That same frantic energy, that need to perform rather than feel, has gone global.

We’re all becoming actors in our own highlight reels, and sometimes even our kindness is scripted.

Take those videos where someone surprises a homeless person with food or a wad of cash. On the surface, they seem touching. But watch closely. You’ll see the overly dramatic background music, the exaggerated reactions, the forced narration: 

“Watch what happens when I give this man a sandwich.”

It’s a performance. And while yes, that person might genuinely be helped in the moment, you can’t ignore the power imbalance. The person receiving help becomes part of a storyline designed to pull heartstrings and push views. These “random” acts of kindness doesn’t feel real. You can tell it’s not real —you can feel it. You can see it in the eyes of the person filming. You can hear it in the voiceover. It's less “look what I’m doing to help,” and more “look at me helping.” It’s subtle, but powerful; that difference between helping and showing you helped.
 

❤️

And after watching every video, I wonder: would you have still helped that person if there was no camera? If no one would ever know?

We’re losing something sacred — the beauty of anonymous goodness. The kind that isn’t curated, filtered, or tracked by engagement stats. I’m not saying everyone is faking it. There are real people out there doing real good. But the rise of "charity content" makes it harder to tell the difference. And it makes me worry that even good intentions are being shaped by the wrong incentives.

What we reward is what we grow. And right now, we’re rewarding spectacle over sincerity.

This isn’t a call to delete your apps or never film anything again. Social media can be powerful — it can bring awareness, build community, and drive real change. But it should never replace actual connection. It should never be more important to film a moment than to be fully present in it.

It’s not that people have lost their ability to care; I don’t believe that. I believe people do care. But we’ve let the digital world warp our instincts. We reach for our phones before we reach for someone’s hand. We need to stop performing our empathy, and go back to living it. 

—HumanityECW 

The Fear of Regret

 Why I Hesitated to Take Risks, and How Failure Helped Me Grow

I’ve always been a careful person.
Not afraid of challenges, not even afraid of failure, really. But regret? That haunted me.

It wasn’t the fall that scared me. It was the moment after — when you’re lying there, staring up at everything you hoped for, and realizing it didn’t go the way you dreamed. It was the thoughts that crept in after:
"Did I make a mistake?"
"What if I had chosen differently?"
"Was this even worth it?"

For the longest time, I let that fear hold the steering wheel. I played it safe. I made the choices that felt smart, practical, low-risk. And for a while, it worked. I avoided disappointment — but I also avoided growth. I avoided pain — but I also avoided depth.

Until life pushed me anyway.

When Playing It Safe Starts to Hurt

I remember one opportunity in particular. A chance to start something new. Something bold. Something mine.

I had the vision, the drive, and the support. But I also had that voice in the back of my head:
"What if you regret this? What if it doesn’t work?"

So I hesitated. I stalled. I watched that window slowly close while I tried to decide if it was worth the risk. And when it was gone, the regret I had tried so hard to avoid found me anyway. Only now, it came with a heavy side of what could’ve been.

Turns out, inaction hurts too.

This realization changed something in me. Because for the first time, I saw that the cost of never trying was just as steep — maybe steeper — than the cost of failing.

The Psychology Behind Regret and Risk

It wasn’t just me — there's actual science behind this. Psychologists Thomas Gilovich and Victoria Medvec studied regret and found that while short-term regrets tend to revolve around actions that didn’t work out, our long-term regrets are mostly about the things we didn’t do (Gilovich & Medvec, 1995). The dreams we didn’t chase. The chances we didn’t take. The words we didn’t say.

That hit me hard. Because when I looked at my own story, I could see it was true. My deepest regrets weren’t about the risks that didn’t work out — they were about the ones I never gave myself a chance to try.

And when I did start taking risks, yes — some of them didn’t go as planned. But every one of those “failures” gave me something that staying still never could: growth, resilience, a deeper understanding of myself. 

How Failure Became My Teacher

There’s one moment I come back to often.

I took a leap — a real, terrifying, heart-racing one — on something that mattered deeply to me. It didn’t go the way I hoped. There were tears. Doubts. Sleepless nights where I questioned everything. But a few months later, I looked back and realized that even though I didn’t “succeed” in the traditional sense, I had changed.

I had more courage. I had clearer boundaries. I had a better sense of what I wanted — and what I didn’t. And maybe most importantly, I realized I survived. The world didn’t end. The regret didn’t crush me.

In fact, it lifted me. It clarified me. It gave me direction.

Psychologist Angela Duckworth calls this grit — the power of passion and perseverance in the face of difficulty. And it’s true. I wouldn’t have developed grit if I’d kept hiding from failure. I had to face it, feel it, and get back up anyway.

What I Know Now: The Risk Is Worth It

I still get scared. I still overthink. But I’ve stopped letting regret be the villain in my story.

Now, when I stand at a crossroads, I ask myself:
“Will I be proud that I tried?”
Not “Will this work?” Not “Will I regret it?” — just, “Will I be proud of who I became for trying?”

And that simple shift changes everything.

I’ve learned that becoming who we’re meant to be doesn’t happen in our comfort zones. It happens in the uncertainty. In the bold choices. In the risks we take, even when we’re afraid.

To Anyone Else Who’s Hesitating – the pain of failure is temporary. The growth is not.

And regret? It will show up either way. So why not earn it trying to become everything you’re capable of?

You won’t always get it right. But you will become.
And that’s more valuable than any guarantee.

–HumanityECW