Is Humanity Still Available?

I just want to know if people care anymore

“Hi, is this still available?”

I heave an exasperated sigh. This is the millionth time I’ve received this message on my Facebook Marketplace.

But as always, I’m cautiously optimistic. With a generic message from a profile that has one or two photos, it could either lead to a potential buyer or a time waster.

Unfortunately, it’s mostly the latter. Every conversation feels the same, like some individual has the ability to hop into different bodies just to haunt me with the same, exhausting questions.

“Where are you located?”

“What are the measurements?”

“Is this your final price?”

Then, radio silence.

I once had someone simply write a price as their message, as if it’s either their way or the highway. Safe travels.

I can’t complain though. Most of the time, they are interested, only to tell me that they can’t make it because they’re really busy at work but they’ll send DPD to come and give me the money as they collect the item (are DPD that generous?).

Or sometimes, they’ll say they’ll send their brother over or that they can’t pay by cash, so they can use PayPal or do a bank transfer.

Cue a bigger, heavier sigh.

In case you didn’t know, these are scammers. They think they’re slick, but even they use the same script over and over again.

As I stare at the ghost town of my marketplace inbox, filled with incomplete or pointless conversations, I feel my faith in humanity slipping further and further away.

There was a time when people were genuinely interested in second-hand furniture and items. We once sold our beautiful, curved patchwork sofa for a wad of cash.

God knows how long ago that was.

Is the buzz around second-hand items dying?

Was it pure luck that two kind individuals bought our stuff without hassle?

I wish our survival wasn’t so dependent on selling these items.

When you’re at your lowest, good people always come out of the woodwork, but not this time.

What’s frustrating is that we have a great selection of items. Something brand new. Something loved but taken care of.

We’re scrapping by day after day, and people still want to scam us, or get the item dirt cheap.

Is everyone struggling or are we on the wrong side of town?

Do people care anymore? Is it every man for themselves now?

I miss good people. I miss knowing that no matter what hardships we experience, there are people out there to help. I miss knowing that for a fact.

I still remember the time when an agitated woman tried to pick a fight with my family in a store. The number of people who shielded us still surprises me to this day.

I don’t know if I can say the same in this day and age. Will people help or will they film us and tell their friends they just witnessed some drama while shopping?

I get it. Life has become the survival of the fittest. Everyone is sacrificing small luxuries so they can survive another tomorrow.

But does humanity have to be sacrificed? Can we still make space for it, even if it’s reduced down to simply a word in the dictionary?

I’d like to think so.

Empathy and the power of goodness. Those are the best qualities we have as a human race. But some beg to differ.

Goodness is becoming extinct, or so I thought.

The day of hell that restored my faith

At exactly 12:30am on a Friday, I woke up to the sound of crying.

I don’t know how I woke, but the cry of pain pierced right through my sleep.

My mother was crouched over in pain. She had been experiencing pulsing rib pains every now and again, but we assumed it was indigestion and resorted to medicine.

But this pain was worse, right in her abdomen.

She was pale and experiencing cold sweats. This doesn’t feel right, she said.

Her words were enough of a diagnosis to ring the ambulance.

A few minutes later, the paramedics took my mother. And I cried while my older brother comforted me on the phone.

My younger brother stayed with my mother for the night. We stayed up till early morning before we got an update.

The doctor said she had umbilical hernia and would require surgery.

My brother and I tried to get some sleep, so we could visit our mother later.

But I couldn’t sleep a wink, the potential complications of the surgery spinning in my mind.

The lump of panic lodged in my chest was unbearable, as was the cold, empty room I shared with my mother.

With barely two hours of sleep, I was alert.

My mother was thankfully not in pain when we arrived at the hospital, having received medicine after a troublingly long wait.

Then we followed like soldiers marching, as they wheeled our mother’s bed into the operation theatre.

We watched painfully as the doors closed in our faces.

The whole day was spent in the hospital, mindlessly exploring the corridors and finding spots to sit. We went out for lunch and resumed our duty.

We stayed until late into the night.

Having seen us lingering outside the theatre, the surgeon and nurse told us that the condition wasn’t as serious as they thought.

The surgery was a success. Our mother’s organs were healthy.

The relief I felt could have flooded the entire hospital.

They told us to wait near the bridge as they’d be taking our mother to her new ward.

There was more anxious waiting, more silence.

And then she arrived. Our mother was barely conscious, but we were there. That’s all that mattered.

I can only imagine how we must have looked to the staff. Like three lost cubs reuniting with their mother.

We walked by her side all the way to the ward. The nurses were kind enough to let us stay briefly before we left.

The next morning, they checked our mother’s vitals and discharged her. Our mother was already dressed and ready to leave when we came.

As we booked our Uber and slipped inside, the male driver suddenly asked if one of us was in hospital.

Our mother replied, explaining briefly that she had come out. The driver then prayed for her health and hoped she recovered fully.

The prayer took us all by surprise.

As he drove us home, the sun streaming down on the car, I couldn’t help but feel extremely grateful. To the paramedics, surgeons and nurses who took care of our mother when she panicked.

To all the prayers we received from people who we didn’t know personally, including the driver.

When you are surrounded by positive vibes, you are protected from the misfortunes of the world. And I felt that protection that day.

My faith in humanity was restored.

As of today, my mother is fully recovering.

I’ve yet to see any sign of a miracle in my inbox.

But I am confident about one thing.

There are good people out there. Thank God for that.

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