Skip to main content

Make belonging great again!

There was a time when belonging was not something we questioned. It existed in the quiet fabric of daily life — in the rhythm of familiar streets, in the nods exchanged with neighbours, in the unspoken understanding that we were part of something beyond ourselves.

Then, without fanfare, something changed. We became preoccupied with independence, mistaking it for strength. We prized self-sufficiency but overlooked its cost. We withdrew, ever so slightly at first, until distance became the norm. Belonging was no longer assumed; it had to be curated, managed, explained. We speak now of connection, yet we skim the surface of relationships, hesitant to wade too deep.

And yet, belonging has not disappeared. It lingers in the spaces between our hurried lives, waiting to be recognised. It is there in the warmth of a hand steadying another, in the kindness that expects nothing in return. It exists in the simple, human acts we too often dismiss — preparing a meal for someone else, listening with patience, staying when it would be easier to leave.

To belong is to step beyond oneself, to surrender a little autonomy in favour of something shared. It is not an inconvenience, nor a limitation, but the quiet foundation upon which lives are built.

We do not need to reclaim belonging, for it was never truly lost. Instead, we must turn towards it. We must soften the edges of our separateness and lean into the certainty that we were never meant to walk alone.

Make belonging great again — not by seeking it in the past, but by forging it in the present. In small gestures. In shared burdens. In the quiet, unwavering truth that none of us can exist in isolation.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Accounting for the Invisible

It is once more that time of year — the season for gathering documents, for preparing the annual offering to the revenue gods. Tedious, draining, bureaucratic. Yes, all of that. But it is also a curious interval of observation, a quiet adjustment of memory’s lens. After all, the past year — or at least its more tangible husk — lies partially inscribed in these papers. I say partially, for what is captured on the page is a witness of uneven fidelity. Absent are the details, the reasons, the delicate chain of responsibility. The numbers are all there: the income, the transactions, the movement of capital. But backstage remains hidden — the weight of effort, the hush of a conscience at peace. What is left is a pale suggestion of something more vital — this elusive current we call money. Energy transmuted, but only faintly traceable. A flicker of something once vivid, now flattened by ink and deadlines. And so I sift through the papers. Not merely to comply, but to remember. To...

What Strength Truly Means: A Letter to Men

There exists, hidden in the quiet undercurrents of our culture, a grand illusion: that manhood is synonymous with silence, that strength demands the concealment of pain, and that the measure of a man is his ability to endure without faltering. Such ideas pass through generations like whispered codes, accepted without question, repeated without reflection. And yet, when held to the light of reason, they wither like old parchment, for they are not truths, but relics of fear. It must be said — and said without apology — that you are allowed to speak of what has wounded you. To give voice to pain is not to surrender to it, but to name it, to limit its dominion. Silence may seem noble in the moment, but over time it hardens into a cage. Words, carefully chosen and honestly spoken, are the first instruments of freedom. You are allowed to weep — not as an act of collapse, but as a testament to your humanity. Tears are not the language of the weak; they are the body's recogniti...

On Loyalty and the Quiet Companionship of Pippen

I have a cosmopolitan friend who, by the mercy of chance — that discreet and impartial arbiter of destinies — was born in Serbia. Industrious beyond measure, he treats work not merely as obligation but as a quiet philosophy, a means of aligning oneself with the silent order of things. And he is a companion of a rare kind: steadfast, discerning, and, above all, loyal. His name is Pippen. We first crossed paths in the now-vanished days of Google+ — that fleeting agora where, for a moment, the world’s geeks entertained the gentle delusion that they might, in time, inherit the Earth. It was an age of bright aspiration, tinged with naïveté, yet marked by a peculiar fellowship that transcended all borders and conventions. Among Pippen’s many virtues, loyalty stands pre-eminent. Not the clamorous, performative loyalty so fashionable in this restless age, but the quieter, unwavering kind — the loyalty of one who stays. It is revealed not in grand gestures but in small, consistent a...