I am Alvi Hosain, from Jessore, Bangladesh. When I was a child, my parents separated. Since then, my mother and I have lived quietly, but not without humiliation. Our relatives often treated us like burdens—belittling us for eating “their food” and acting as if our survival came at the cost of their generosity.
Despite everything, I kept fighting in my own way. I placed my trust in the Creator of this world. But sometimes I wonder—just as we humans ignore the struggles of ants underfoot, maybe the Creator too is busy with greater things, and my prayers were too small to be heard.
I am now 25. I run a small business and live alone with my mother. But even now, our dignity faces new threats. My maternal uncle spreads false stories about my mother. He forgets that I know the truth—how, even during separation, my mother found ways to feed us by herself.
At one point, my mother shared her struggles with someone online. She opened up about family pain—maybe too honestly. But that person turned out to be small-minded and vindictive. They saved her private messages and shared them with our relatives. Now those same relatives speak ill of her without knowing the full truth.
Worse, this person—wealthy and influential—has started spreading falsehoods on social media. They took a harmless photo of my mother and twisted its meaning, pairing it with lies and propaganda. Since they’re respected and rich, people believe them. And so, a lie becomes louder than truth.
I shared my story on World Pulse, but now I doubt if that was the right decision. Maybe it was a mistake—a desperate move from someone who’s tired of being misunderstood. But deep down, I still hope someone somewhere hears us—not as broken, not as wrong, but simply as human
