Life moves crazy fast these days. Everything happens in a second. Phones, computers, notifications everywhere. You can order food in minutes. Message someone on the other side of the world. Scroll through endless news without even moving. And yet sometimes I catch myself wondering, do we ever stop and think about anyone but ourselves?
Humility isn’t about being weak or quiet. It isn’t about fading away or pretending you don’t exist. It is about not thinking you are the center of everything. It is noticing that other people’s lives matter too. Even in small ways. I notice it in myself. Some days I get so caught up with work or scrolling my phone that I forget to ask friends or family how they’re actually doing. And yeah, I hate that. It makes me feel small, even though I am busy living in my own bubble.
Not too long ago, life was slower. Phones were big, heavy things. Computers were rare. The internet wasn’t everywhere. I remember my first computer. Huge. Loud. Lights blinking like it had a heartbeat. Felt like I had a spaceship on my desk. Back then, people talked. Face to face. Not just through screens. You had to wait. Plan. Sometimes knock on a door. Life felt different. More human. A smile mattered. A wave mattered. A simple how are you today could change everything.
Humility comes in levels. Some people only want fame, attention, applause. Others wait quietly, working, believing their moment will come. Some just work for themselves, hoping good things arrive someday. And then there are the ones who put others first. Soldiers, firefighters, doctors, nurses, volunteers. People who wake up and make sacrifices we can’t even imagine. No one is watching. No one is clapping. They just do it.
I remember a day at a small shelter. It was messy. Loud. People frustrated, sad. And me, just there, handing out food, listening, helping wherever I could. It felt different. I wasn’t just living for myself anymore. That day hit me. Maybe this is humility. Not thinking only about your life. Not waiting for things to be clean, perfect, or easy. Just showing up. Even if it’s small. Even if it’s messy. Even if nobody notices.
Sometimes I catch myself staring out the window, watching people pass by. Strangers. Busy, lost in their own worlds. And I wonder about the stories they carry, the burdens we will never see. It hits me that humility isn’t just about what we do for the people we know. It’s about noticing the ones we don’t. A smile to someone who looks invisible. A small gesture that costs nothing but can mean everything. Those tiny moments ripple further than we can imagine.
There are days when I feel hopeless, thinking the world is too fast, too loud, too obsessed with itself. But then I see it. A nurse staying late, a stranger giving up a seat, someone quietly helping a friend through a bad day. Humility isn’t loud. It doesn’t need recognition. It exists in those small choices, repeated over and over. And maybe, that’s what keeps the world from breaking.
Technology, busy lives—they don’t have to take away our humanity. But we have to make room for it. Notice people. Listen. Help. See them, not as extras in our story, but as people with struggles, dreams, feelings. Humility doesn’t mean giving up on your goals. It means adding meaning to them. Connecting your life to someone else’s, even in a tiny way.
I’ve realized that practicing humility also changes how I see myself. I notice my impatience, my selfish streaks. I feel the pull to slow down, to listen more, to care more deeply. It doesn’t make life perfect, but it makes it real. More human. It reminds me that life isn’t just a series of tasks, achievements, or notifications. It’s about moments where we connect, even in tiny, imperfect ways.
I’m not perfect. Some days I scroll my phone for hours, ignoring the world around me. Some days I forget to check in with the people I love. But small things matter. Helping a neighbor. Texting a friend just to ask how they’re doing. Holding a door open. Smiling at someone who looks like they need it. These things count. They remind you that life isn’t just speed or efficiency. It’s presence. Attention. Care.
So, where do you see yourself? Living only for yourself, or making space for others too? Humility is something we can practice every day. It doesn’t have to be big or dramatic. A little kindness. A little attention. A little time. And maybe it makes life feel fuller, richer. Maybe it reminds us that even in a world that rushes, there’s still space for connection, for noticing, for being human.
About the Creator
Aarsh Malik
Poet, Storyteller, and Healer.
Sharing self-help insights, fiction, and verse on Vocal.
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Cinema has always been a powerful medium for telling stories that history books often reduce to numbers. When a film chooses to focus on a single child caught in the machinery of war, it forces audiences to confront reality not as statistics, but as human loss. The movie inspired by the tragic story of Hind Rajab, a young Palestinian girl, does exactly that. It is not merely a film; it is a testimony, a memorial, and a question posed to the conscience of the world. Hind Rajab’s name became known globally after reports emerged of her final hours during the Gaza conflict. She was a child trapped in circumstances no child should ever experience. The film based on her story does not sensationalize her death, nor does it turn her suffering into spectacle. Instead, it approaches her story with restraint, dignity, and an unwavering focus on innocence lost amid violence. The Story at the Heart of the Film The movie centers on a young Palestinian girl who becomes separated from safety during intense military escalation. Through her eyes, viewers witness fear, confusion, and the fragile hope that someone, somewhere, will come to help. The film follows her final journey—both physical and emotional—using minimal dialogue and powerful visual storytelling. Rather than relying on graphic imagery, the filmmakers choose silence, pauses, and close-up shots to convey terror and vulnerability. This artistic choice makes the film even more haunting. The audience is left to sit with the child’s fear, her calls for help, and the unbearable waiting that defines her final moments. By focusing on Hind as an individual rather than a symbol, the film restores her humanity. She is not portrayed as a political tool, but as a daughter, a child with dreams, and a life that mattered. A Child as the Center of a Global Tragedy What makes this movie particularly impactful is its refusal to shift focus away from the civilian cost of war. The story does not revolve around soldiers, strategies, or power struggles. It revolves around a child who should have been worried about school, friends, and play—not survival. This narrative choice challenges the audience to rethink how conflicts are discussed in media and politics. Wars are often framed in terms of borders, ideologies, and victory. This film asks a different question: What is the price paid by those who have no role in choosing the war? By centering the story on Hind, the film exposes the imbalance of power and the devastating consequences faced by the most vulnerable. Artistic Direction and Emotional Weight The film’s direction is deliberately restrained. There is no dramatic background score overpowering the scenes. Instead, ambient sounds—distant explosions, static-filled phone calls, the quiet breathing of a frightened child—carry the emotional weight. This realism makes the film deeply unsettling. The young actress portraying Hind delivers a performance that is heartbreakingly authentic. Her expressions alone communicate fear, confusion, and bravery far beyond her years. The filmmakers avoid overacting or melodrama, allowing the story’s truth to speak for itself. Cinematography plays a crucial role as well. Tight frames and limited perspectives reinforce the feeling of entrapment, while long, unbroken shots force viewers to experience time as Hind did—slow, uncertain, and terrifying. A Political Film Without Political Speeches One of the film’s greatest strengths is that it does not rely on speeches or overt political messaging. Its power lies in its simplicity. By telling one child’s story honestly, it exposes the broader reality of civilian suffering in conflict zones. 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Comments (1)
The kind acts that I see daily help me as well. Being a Millennial, I had to adapt to the changing technology and do tend to steer clear of electronics when I am not home