Is the world a good or bad place

Growing up, I often found it hard to have faith in humanity. Too many bad things were happening around me, and it made me question everything: How could the world possibly be a good place? How could anyone truly be happy in the midst of all this? Even now, I don’t fully know the answer to those questions, but maybe one day I will. In this series, I’ll be telling stories—some from my own experiences, some from friends, and others I’ve picked up over the years. My goal is to explore both the darkness and the light in each story, to show that no matter how bad things may seem, there are often glimmers of hope. In the end, it’s up to you, the reader, to decide whether you believe in the good that still exists or if you think the bad has already won. Maybe the balance of both is what makes life so complicated and fascinating.

A young Woman, called D, wandered through the bustling city streets on a bright Saturday morning, the clock nearing 11 a.m. Spring was in the air, with a gentle breeze carrying the fresh scent of blooming flowers. The sun warmed the pavement beneath her feet, while the trees lining the street swayed lightly in the wind. Dressed in a pair of classic blue jeans, their worn fabric hinting at years of comfort, and a sleek black jacket that zipped up just below her chin, she moved with ease through the crowd. Her hair, dark and thick, was left loose, flowing over her shoulders, catching the sunlight as she walked. She moved from store to store, her eyes scanning the window displays, but her mind seemed elsewhere, deep in thought. Her steps were unhurried, as if she had all the time in the world, yet there was a subtle determination in her pace, like she was searching for something, though even she might not know exactly what it was. After buying a present for her sister, D headed home, walking down the familiar streets she had traveled countless times before. It was the same route she took every day, a comforting routine that never changed. The shops and cafes passed by in a blur as her thoughts drifted to the surprise on her sister’s face when she’d unwrap the gift. The walk was short—just ten minutes from the store to her front door—but today, the minutes felt slower, the breeze cooler. She clutched the small, wrapped package tightly in her hand, lost in the moment, as her footsteps echoed softly along the quiet, well-trodden path home.

Halfway home, D felt a twinge of unease as she noticed a man walking behind her. At first, she brushed it off, thinking it was just a coincidence—they were probably heading in the same direction. But her anxiety grew as his footsteps seemed to match hers, pace for pace. To test her suspicion, she casually crossed the street, pretending to be uninterested. He followed. Her pulse quickened. She turned down a side street, one she rarely took, hoping to lose him, but when she glanced back, there he was, still trailing her. Panic began to rise in her chest. She reversed course, heading back to her usual route, hoping it was all a misunderstanding. Yet, as she retraced her steps, so did he. Now genuinely scared, D fumbled for her phone and called her mother, desperate for some comfort. Her voice trembled as she explained the situation. But instead of reassurance, her mother asked, “What are you wearing?” D’s stomach dropped. Was that really what mattered? It didn’t make sense. This wasn’t about her outfit. It was broad daylight, not the dark, deserted streets women are taught to avoid. It was noon, the sun was shining, and the world should have felt safe. But in that moment, D felt utterly alone, the weight of her mother’s question hanging over her. How could this be happening in the middle of the day? And why did other women say it too? Before this, D had only heard such “stupid” things from men—comments that somehow implied a woman’s clothing or actions could invite danger. It baffled her. She had always thought that women, who shared the same fears and experiences, would understand, especially her own mother. Yet now, even they seemed to question her choices, as if what she wore could change the fact that someone had decided to follow her. It made her feel more isolated, as if the very people she thought would support her were unknowingly reinforcing the same old, tired excuses.

D ended the phone call with her mother, her nerves frayed and her mind racing. The man was still trailing her, his presence unsettling and undeniable. She didn’t know what to do—going home seemed like a terrible idea. What if he followed her all the way there, right into her building? She felt trapped, unsure whether to run or stay the course. The familiar streets now felt foreign and threatening, every step heavier than the last. Without realizing it, her fear must have been plain on her face. A man she didn’t recognize approached her suddenly, his voice breaking through her panic. “Hey! Wow, it’s been ages! How’ve you been?” His tone was warm and casual, but D froze for a second, caught off guard. Then, it clicked—he was helping. She forced herself to relax, playing along, her heart still thudding in her chest. “Yeah, it’s been a while,” she replied, trying to sound natural. The two exchanged a few more words, and as they talked, the man subtly glanced over her shoulder. His eyes locked onto the creepy figure lingering a few meters behind them. D followed his gaze but tried not to give anything away. The strange man seemed to realize he was being noticed. He hesitated for a beat, then turned and quickly disappeared around the corner, vanishing from sight. D let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The stranger, the kind one, looked back at her with concern. “Are you okay?” he asked softly. She nodded, the tension in her body finally starting to release. “Thank you,” she whispered, the weight of her fear still heavy, but now mixed with gratitude. Before the man left, he gave her a sad smile and said, “There’s no need to thank me. I just wish it didn’t have to be like this—that there are men out there who make it necessary for strangers to step in like this.” His words struck her deeply, an acknowledgment of something she knew but had never heard spoken aloud. As he walked away, she felt both relieved and disheartened. D continued her journey home, now alone again but free from the shadow of fear that had clung to her minutes before. The streets were quiet, and though she no longer felt the weight of being followed, her thoughts were anything but settled. She reached her front door, turned the key in the lock, and stepped inside. The safety of her home surrounded her, but his words echoed in her mind—an uncomfortable reminder that this wasn’t just one encounter, but a larger reality. Once home, D shared the story with her roommates, her voice still shaky from the encounter. They listened intently, their expressions shifting from shock to anger. Both agreed wholeheartedly—something like that shouldn’t have happened, and she should never have been in that situation to begin with. After a brief silence, they each offered the same piece of advice: if something like that ever happened again, she should call one of them immediately. “We’ll come and walk you home, no questions asked,” one of them insisted, while the other nodded in agreement. The sense of solidarity brought D some comfort, knowing she wasn’t alone, but it also reminded them all of the uneasy reality they lived in.

Many girls and women have heard or experienced stories like this, and it’s what makes me question how good the world really is. How can something so terrifying happen nearly every minute, all around the globe? It’s unsettling that countless people face moments like these, not knowing whether they’ll be lucky enough to escape. And sadly, not everyone is fortunate to have a stranger or friend step in when they need help. That reality feels heartbreaking. Yet, the fact that there are people who will go out of their way to help someone they don’t even know—like that man who helped D—gives me a small but important belief in humanity. It makes me believe that not everyone turns a blind eye, and some will step up when it counts. But the harsh truth is that it shouldn’t have to be this way. No one should have to depend on the kindness of strangers just to make it home safely. There shouldn’t be a need for these moments of rescue, yet they happen every day.

To everyone who has lived through something like this, please don’t keep it to yourself. Talk to someone—whether it’s a friend, family member, or someone you trust or maybe even a stranger. You’re not alone in this, and you shouldn’t have to carry the weight of that fear by yourself. There are people who will listen, support you, and help you feel less isolated. Sharing your experience can be a step toward healing, and it might even encourage others to speak up too. No one should have to go through these things in silence—there’s strength in reaching out.