ALT TEXT:
Insignificant
We are insignificant. We are all so painfully insignificant. Human beings—we have been called the *dominant species" time and time again; yet under this tapestry of constellations; underneath this expansive and terrifying blue sky, within this infinite universe, we seem so small, so unimportant. But I would be lying if I said we are capable of nothing because we are capable of so much more. My two statements have contradicted each other so severely that it would be no surprise if I had not confounded you by now. But please, dear reader, allow me to explain.
It is true, that in this infinite universe, one human—more specifically, one writer—bears power infinitesimal compared to what lies in this deep and unknown universe. We hold a pen and scribble on paper—what could be the worth of that? However, let me tell you this: living in a world where lies run rampant, it is almost impossible to live without fear and distrust; in a world where you can no longer treat your fellow's words without uncertainty, consequently, it is impossible to live in peace. Our world is so tainted with lies—so mired by dishonesty—that we can no longer separate good from bad.
Yet here I am, sitting in a room full of other people like me—aspiring journalists—dreaming and hoping to bring some truth back into this world. It is true that no one here has not told a lie—I hold myself guilty of that as well—yet that cannot and will not stop us from writing the truth.
Author Victor Hugo once wrote: "To lie is the absolute of evil. To lie a little is not possible; whoever lies, lies a whole lie; lying is the very face of the Devil." This disproves what I said earlier: we hold a pen; we scribble on paper, yet we are not insignificant. We live by the accord of journalism, which is to write with honesty.
We are insignificant. We are all so insignificant. Under these infinite stars, underneath this expansive blue sky, within the unexplored corners that circumscribe the unknown universe, we seem so small—so unimportant. Yet a man who longs to uphold the truth—may he carry a pen or a sword—is not insignificant. In fact, he is quite the opposite: he is a bringer of light in this dark world; an honest man in an ocean of liars. And we—writers and journalists—are bound by the passion we share: to not only scribble haplessly on paper but to shine some light—some truth—on the depravities and inequities of this messed up world. We move people with our words and herald messages of comfort when needed. We are the heroes who bear pens mightier than the sword. And for that, our very existence is anything but insignificant.
