I’ve come to believe that alternate universes exist. Not in some cosmic, sci-fi sense, but right here, on this same spinning planet we all share. I grew up in a humble background, where what to eat could easily become the day’s biggest challenge. Yet somewhere else, sometimes in the same neighborhood, exists a parallel world where money isn’t a problem. It’s almost as though some people were born into a universe where scarcity doesn’t exist. And while I’ve always known inequality was real, I didn’t quite feel the depth of it until much later in life.
It all clicked during my postgraduate days. I was broke, utterly and completely. The kind of broke that makes you question your life choices. Out of frustration, I complained to a friend, someone who came from money, a person whose life, until that day, I thought I understood. He looked at me, puzzled, and asked, “Why would you be broke? Just call your dad.” I laughed, a bit bitterly, and said, “Even my dad is broke.” His response? A look of disbelief. “How can your dad be broke? Doesn’t he work?” At that moment, I realized we weren’t just from different homes. We were from different universes. His was a world where financial difficulty didn’t exist, where being broke was as unfathomable as the sun forgetting to rise.
I didn’t bother explaining. How do you describe hunger to someone who has never missed a meal? I simply changed the topic. But that conversation stuck with me. Since then, I’ve noticed how these alternate realities appear everywhere. Some people genuinely believe the world operates the same for everyone, that opportunities and comfort are simply a matter of effort or smart choices. They can’t comprehend that for some of us, surviving requires creativity, faith, and a stubborn refusal to give up.
That illusion of a shared reality shattered again just today. I serve as the Head of Human Resources in a small private school, and I had just proposed a small increment in salaries. My proposal was something modest, just enough to help teachers and non-teaching staff cope with the harsh economic realities of the country. I wasn’t suggesting a luxury raise, just an adjustment to lightly cushion inflation, food prices, and the cost of transportation.
To my utter shock, the proprietor objected immediately. And this wasn’t a school struggling to stay afloat; I know the numbers. The school can comfortably afford it, and more. But as I watched him dismiss the idea, I realized he probably lives in a universe where the economy’s pain is theoretical, not personal. Maybe his fuel tank is always full, his pantry always stocked, his bills easily settled. He can’t see the silent suffering of teachers counting coins at the end of the month or skipping meals to make sure their children eat.
That’s when it hit me. Alternate universes don’t just exist between the rich and the poor; they exist in workplaces, friendships, and families. There are those who live insulated from hardship, who genuinely cannot perceive the weight others carry daily. To them, your struggles sound like fiction.
I’ve seen it too often online, people in Web 2.0 and Web 3.0 spaces who assume their country is the world, that anything outside their bubble is backward or irrelevant. They can’t imagine a different kind of reality, one where systems fail, power flickers, and people thrive not because life is easy but because they refuse to quit.
The truth is, our world is made up of invisible dimensions; Parallel lives running side by side, rarely intersecting. Some are powered by privilege; others, by resilience. Maybe, in a strange cosmic balance, we need both: one to remind the other of empathy, and the other to teach gratitude. Because until we learn to step beyond our bubbles, to look across the divide and truly see, we’ll keep mistaking our tiny universe for the only one that exists.