(From Horton Hears a Who)

Mayor: They don’t believe we’re here! We’ve got to make some noise. We are here! We are here! We are here!

Whoville: We are here! We are here! We are here!

The movie goes on to show the people of Whoville as they try to convince the animals in Horton’s world that, although they are too small to see, they exist and, therefore, are worth saving.

Yet their cries fall on deaf ears. No one but Horton can hear them.

About to be destroyed, one small Who, who has been previously misunderstood because he is different from his 97 other siblings, yells into the sky, “Yopp!” (Don’t ask me, I didn’t write it. Maybe the sub titles are wrong?)

Anyway, his voice is the one to break the barrier, allowing all the other Who voices to be heard and their world to be saved.

Happy ending.

It should’ve been over.

But days later I still cannot get the chanting out of my head.

“We are here! We are here! We are here!”

I thought of Miss A, who has threatened to take her life on multiple occasions. Others poke fun and say stupid things like, “She just wants attention,” and I think, “Yes! She does!” And it’s not a want, idiots, it’s a need. This is her plea to be seen. Her way of shouting “I am here!”

I thought of Mr. B, who gobbles up your personal space and whose flirting, while harmless, can be a bit uncomfortable. He’s just a kid and I know he doesn’t mean to come across that way, but some choose to judge instead of validate. He is lonely and needs to be reminded that he matters. His overt flirting is his way of shouting, “I am here!”

I thought of Miss C, a teenage girl, who puts her pain into poetry. When others read her work they complement her use of imagery and language. In focusing on the beauty, no one seems to notice stanzas laced with pain. Her written shout, “I am here!”

And I thought of the less desperate circumstance of Ms. D, an older woman who continues to give all of her time and resources to her grown children. She’s the first to bring meals when they are sick, watch grandchildren when the parents want to go out, and give money whenever they are in need. All her love poured into children who often don’t want her around. Her service a shout, “I am here!”

There are more. So many strangers, family and friends crying out, “We are here!”

Thousands–perhaps millions–of people shouting to the sky, in our own unique ways, that we are here, and hoping that someone will hear us. Save us. Or, in the very least, that they will stop trying to destroy us.

We want to be noticed. We want to be validated. We want to be understood and accepted for who we are, regardless of how small or how different our world might seem to others.

“We are here! We are here! We are here!”

Are we listening? Can we hear them?

She Had Such Sad Eyes.

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