There are still many things I choose to believe in.
I believe that most people have goodness somewhere inside them.
I believe people deserve second chances.
I even believe that setbacks sometimes lead us exactly where we were meant to go.
But there is one idea I no longer believe in quite the way I once did.
Unity.
Not because I dislike the idea.
Quite the opposite.
I think it’s one of the most beautiful ideas humanity has ever created.
Perhaps that’s exactly why its absence feels so painful.
Growing up, we’re surrounded by the language of unity.
We hear it in graduation speeches.
At the Olympics.
At the Oscars.
At the United Nations.
In political campaigns.
In charity events.
In songs.
In films.
The message is always the same.
We are stronger together.
We should judge people by who they are, not where they come from.
We should reject hatred based on nationality, race, religion, gender, or identity.
It’s a beautiful message.
And for a long time, I believed that when the moment truly arrived—when people had the opportunity to prove those words meant something—they would.
But reality has a way of testing ideals.
And ideals often look very different once they’re no longer part of a speech.
Over the past few years, the world has witnessed moments that demanded empathy rather than slogans.
Moments when athletes, artists, public figures, and ordinary people alike had the opportunity to show that humanity could come before labels.
Sometimes they did.
But many times, they didn’t.
Athletes refused to acknowledge competitors because of the flag beside their names, despite speaking proudly about sportsmanship.
Artists who built careers on messages of love and inclusion chose to distance themselves from people solely because of where they came from.
Across social media, millions formed opinions within seconds, often without understanding the full story, asking difficult questions, or accepting that reality is rarely simple.
Watching this unfold forced me to confront an uncomfortable thought.
Perhaps, in our world, where you come from still matters more than who you are.
That realization wasn’t sudden.
It arrived slowly.
One disappointment at a time.
At first, it hurt.
Now, if I’m honest, it mostly feels familiar.
And perhaps that’s the saddest part.
Not disappointment itself.
But becoming accustomed to it.
I sometimes wonder why humanity talks about unity so often.
Why nearly every major event celebrates it.
Why films return to it over and over again.
Why politicians invoke it whenever they stand behind a podium.
Maybe the answer is surprisingly simple.
We speak endlessly about the things we struggle most to achieve.
Nobody gives speeches reminding people to breathe.
Nobody organizes campaigns encouraging the sun to rise tomorrow.
We celebrate unity because it remains painfully rare.
Not because we’ve achieved it.
But because we desperately wish we had.
I haven’t stopped believing in people.
I haven’t stopped believing that kindness exists.
Every day, ordinary people quietly prove that it does.
What I’ve stopped believing is that humanity has already learned how to stand together when it truly matters.
Perhaps one day we will.
I hope we do.
Because unity isn’t tested during peaceful moments, inspiring ceremonies, or carefully written speeches.
It’s tested when standing beside someone becomes difficult.
When supporting another person comes with a cost.
When labels become louder than names.
That’s when unity stops being a beautiful word.
And starts becoming a choice.
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