i would have never done that to you
blessed are the pure in heart
Being a decent person in this day and age is exhausting. And yes, I know you’re not supposed to be good with the hope of getting something back. You’re supposed to be good just because. Out of the purity of your heart, right? But even the purest hearts bleed when they’re stepped on.
We like to say goodness is its own reward. But the truth is, this world doesn’t always work that way. Selfishness is rewarded. People who take without asking, who protect their own interests above all, are called bold, smart, and focused. Meanwhile, the quiet ones—the givers, the forgivers—are seen as soft. And softness, somehow, has become something to laugh at. Something to take advantage of.
Where I’m from, in Nigeria, being soft-spoken or calm doesn’t earn you respect. People call you mumu. They say you’re slow, dull, not sharp. And sharpness—the ability to talk fast, hustle hard, manipulate if needed—is seen as a kind of brilliance. A survival tactic. So when you lead with gentleness, people don’t think you’re kind. They think you’re weak. They think you don’t know what’s going on. They test you. They use you. And if you speak up about it, they say, “Na you dull.”
But I know better. Kindness isn’t dullness. Decency isn’t weakness. It’s restraint. It’s the strength to stay soft in a world that tries to make you hard. And maybe it’s even harder to be good when you know people will mock you for it.
Still, we try. We give. We hope. And even if we don’t say it out loud, we expect something back. Not grand gestures. Not applause. Just fairness. Just decency. A little consideration. Not betrayal. Not the sting of realizing someone didn’t think twice before hurting you. That someone didn’t even hesitate.
There’s a difference between pure-hearted goodness and performative goodness. Performative goodness wants to be seen. It’s curated and packaged, a kind of currency. A way to say, “Look at me. I’m kind.” But pure-hearted goodness isn’t loud. It doesn’t announce itself. It listens. It notices. It shows up when nobody’s watching, and it keeps showing up even when it gets nothing in return.
That kind of goodness is vulnerable. Because when you lead with it, people start to believe you’ll always be there. That you don’t need care, or rest, or boundaries. They think your kindness is just who you are, not something you choose again and again, even when it costs you.
And yet—I still believe in it.
Not because it guarantees anything. Not because it’s easy. But because we all live here together. We breathe the same air. We grieve, we love, we lose. Being good shouldn’t be about transaction, but about recognition. About remembering we share this world with other fragile, longing, beautiful souls. That what we do to others, we do to ourselves.
So no, I wouldn’t have done that to you. Not because I expected you to return the favor. But because someone has to choose kindness first. Someone has to carry the light a little farther.
My writer!