There’s a point where the “exotic charm” of helping comes to an end.
Where the enthusiasm of “we’ll help you, don’t worry” slowly turns into something else:
the smell of poverty.

The thing that tightens people’s gaze, changes their voice,
and suddenly makes everyone very, very busy.

When someone falls into trouble - real, deep, unavoidable trouble -
at first, many stand by them.
Honestly. Out of love. They give hope from the palm of their hand.
But as the months pass, and it becomes clear that the trouble is bigger
than anyone first thought, they quietly disappear.

I don’t blame them.
Most people help as long as helping is easy.
As long as it doesn’t take too much time, too much emotion,
too much confrontation.
As long as there’s still something exotic about it.

And then, one day, it evaporates.
And what remains is the “smell of poverty.”
The weight.
The fear of “what if it sticks to me?”
And that’s when most people step back.
Not out of malice - simply human weakness.

Because very few can carry long-term loyalty.
Hope takes strength.
Perseverance takes endurance.
And to watch someone struggle day after day toward the surface -
fighting the current - you need to be the kind of person who has been down there too.

Where the darkness isn’t exotic - just familiar.

That’s why the ones who stay… stay.
Because they’ve had that smell themselves.
Because they recognize their own past in someone else’s movements.
Because they know what they’re seeing now isn’t the end -
it’s swimming.

Upward.
Slow, messy, sometimes gasping - but upward.

And one day the moment comes when you break the surface.
First you just breathe.
Then you look around.

And you realize that those who turned away back then are not bad people.

They’re just not your people.

And that’s exactly how it should be.