New York, April 2020. The city famously known as “The City That Never Sleeps” had now fallen into a deep and gloomy slumber. The daily lives of over eight million people were frozen by an invisible force, an enemy that could not be seen yet wielded destructive power like nothing else: COVID-19. The air was thick with tension, and fear became the only energy that still lingered, creeping into every corner, every apartment, every breath.
Manhattan’s streets, usually bustling with cars and crowds that flowed like an endless river, now stood eerily silent. The familiar cobblestone roads, which had witnessed countless everyday stories, were now nothing more than cold asphalt, reflecting the dim glow of the streetlights. Times Square, once alive with brilliant lights and giant billboards attracting millions of tourists, now sat as an empty space, with the massive screens continuing to display lifeless ads for a world that had come to a halt.
In the terrifying stillness, there was only one sound that pierced through the heavy air of fear: the wail of ambulance sirens. It was no longer a signal for a single incident, but a mournful symphony, playing on repeat, signaling loss and despair. The ambulance sirens had become the death knell, echoing through each neighborhood, leaving an indelible mark of terror in the hearts of New Yorkers. Each time the siren wailed, those trapped in their homes held their breath, sensing the close presence of death.
Isolation had become the new normal. People self-isolated in their cramped apartments, only connecting with the outside world through windows or phone screens. The human face, once a symbol of vitality and emotion, was now hidden behind medical masks. Smiles and eye contact—the most basic forms of communication—were replaced by suspicion and confusion. Distrust had replaced friendliness, and close contact had become a dangerous act.
In this context, people began to search for an explanation, a scapegoat for the disaster. Misinformation spreading on social media became another virus, attacking minds and creating divisions. Prejudices, long smoldering like a hidden flame, were now ignited by the pandemic. Fear and insecurity became fertile ground for the growth of extremist ideas. People started to eye each other with suspicion, and the divide between “us” and “them” deepened.
COVID-19 was not only a health crisis but also a humanitarian crisis, exposing deep cracks in society. It raised questions about the existence of compassion and solidarity in the toughest of times. New York, once proud of being a melting pot of cultures, was now facing a greater challenge than ever: healing social wounds that hurt more than the disease itself. In the silence of the streets, one could hear not only the sirens but also the broken heartbeats of a city struggling to survive, refusing to collapse under the weight of the fear and divisions created by its own people.
In the midst of this silent, fear-filled atmosphere, Hugh, a 25-year-old supermarket manager in Queens, was one of the few who faced the outside world every day. His job was no longer just about checking inventory or stocking shelves; it had become a fight for survival. Every morning, before opening the doors, Hugh followed an unwritten ritual: donning a tight mask, wearing medical gloves, and spraying hand sanitizer on his hands so much that his skin became dry and cracked. These were not just protective items; they were mental shields, helping him feel safer in a world where the enemy was invisible and unpredictable.
He stood at the supermarket entrance with his electronic thermometer in hand, but his eyes did more work than the device ever could. Hugh’s gaze swept over each customer, not only judging them by the temperature displayed on the screen but also by their every gesture, movement, and even the smallest facial expression. A slight cough, a hand touch to the face, or even a strange look could raise his suspicions. In his eyes, everyone was a “suspect.” He trusted no one, and this suspicion did not stop at symptoms of illness—it seeped into deeper prejudices, nurtured by the collective fear of the entire city.
Hugh had grown up in a predominantly white neighborhood. His life, from childhood to adulthood, had unfolded in a small, insulated circle, where differences in skin color and culture simply did not exist. He had few opportunities to interact with and understand other communities. All the information he had about the world outside came from casual neighbor chats and, especially, from social media. Social media, where fast and easily accessible news spread, had become his world. But what he absorbed was not credible information but misinformation, distorted articles, and hateful comments. On his Facebook timeline, he saw headlines like: “Black people have a higher rate of infection due to weaker immune systems,” or “They spread the virus faster due to a lack of awareness,” even posts blatantly claiming, “They are the primary source of the virus in New York.”
These falsehoods, like drops of poison, seeped into Hugh’s mind every day, gradually taking root in his thoughts. At first, he thought these news stories seemed plausible. Slowly, they became firm beliefs. He began to eye Black customers who came into the supermarket with distrust and discomfort. He noticed they often traveled in groups, and from that, he labeled them as “non-compliant with social distancing.” When a Black person casually coughed, Hugh did not see it as a natural bodily reaction but immediately thought it was a sign of illness. Every time he saw Black people standing close to one another, an overwhelming sense of unease would take over him, as if their presence was an unpredictable danger.
For Hugh, the pandemic was no longer just a health crisis. It had become proof, an excuse for long-standing prejudices he had harbored. He believed that racial differences were not simply superficial; they were differences in consciousness, in communal responsibility, in how each person faced a global crisis. Hugh began to believe that protecting his community from the virus meant keeping a distance from those he deemed “a threat,” those he had labeled as “potentially harmful.”
Hugh’s life gradually became a vicious cycle of fear and prejudice. He felt as if he were carrying a heavy burden, fighting alone against both the virus and those he believed to be its carriers. The world outside now appeared to him as an endless series of threats. What he failed to recognize was that what was truly tearing apart his soul and distorting his view of the world wasn’t the invisible virus, but the paranoia and prejudice that had rooted themselves too deeply in his thoughts. In this fear-ridden world, discrimination was no longer just a fleeting thought—it had become part of the daily survival ritual, as necessary as wearing a mask or using hand sanitizer. This bias wasn’t just dangerous to those he saw as “threats,” but it was also devastating him, from his mind to his everyday life.
It had become a vicious cycle. He was protecting himself from the virus, but he didn’t realize that it was the fear, ignorance, and prejudice that were isolating him from society. Each day, Hugh continued to live in a world filled only with imaginary walls and doubt. He failed to see that, while he was fighting against an invisible virus, he was also gradually losing himself in a battle he could never win.
Sigmund didn’t live in Hugh’s world. He lived in another one—where life and death were in a constant struggle, where every day was a fight for survival. As an ER nurse at Elmhurst Hospital, one of the hardest-hit areas during the COVID-19 pandemic in New York, Sigmund’s life was a never-ending race against death. The hospital halls were never empty, and every minute, every second, another patient needed urgent care. As the influx of patients grew, Sigmund and his colleagues had no time to think about themselves, their families, or personal worries. They could only live in the present moment, where life and death, hope and despair, constantly intertwined.
In April 2020, as the pandemic raged, Elmhurst Hospital nearly became a battlefield—without gunfire, but filled with the sounds of ventilators echoing, hurried footsteps of medical staff, and the desperate, labored breaths of patients. Each shift lasted until exhaustion, with no time to eat, rest, or take a breath, only moments of tension as they worked to save lives, quickly deciding who would live and who would face their fate. This became Sigmund’s reality, one where there was no room for retreat. He had no time to worry about the fake news circulating outside or the debates about race and politics. For him, the virus didn’t discriminate—it attacked everyone, regardless of skin color or social status.
Elmhurst Hospital was not just Sigmund’s workplace; it was a battlefield where doctors and nurses fought for every minute, every second to save lives. With his full protective gear and the deep marks left by his N95 mask, Sigmund moved between the hospital beds like a soldier. He had witnessed countless people pass away in pain, but he had also seen miraculous recoveries. He understood that in the final moments, all distinctions of race, gender, or religion no longer mattered. We could all die at any moment, and there, only a respect for life and compassion were truly valuable.
But Sigmund’s life wasn’t just dominated by his work. His wife, also a nurse, was six months pregnant, working at another hospital under unstable conditions. Each day, Sigmund and his wife faced a double fear: the fear of infecting themselves and their unborn child. They couldn’t be together every day, couldn’t share the little emotions like they used to. They couldn’t live in a peaceful world, but they couldn’t step back either. Instead of letting fear dominate, they turned it into motivation, continuing to work and give their all to their mission of saving lives. For them, each shift wasn’t just a job; it was a sacred mission that couldn’t be declined.
While Hugh lived in a world of paranoia and prejudice, Sigmund, with courage and compassion, lived in a world of truth. He had no time to hate, no time for division. Each patient he faced was a life to be saved, no matter who they were or where they came from. A frantic white patient, he would pat them on the back and reassure them. A black patient gasping for breath, he would listen gently. He never thought about their past, only focusing on the help they needed at that moment. In the hospital, where compassion was the only thing that never ran out, Sigmund was deeply ingrained in the value of unity and love for each patient.
One of Sigmund’s most memorable moments came when he realized that in the emergency room, no one could avoid confronting death, and that was the moment when social prejudices had to stop. He had witnessed people from all walks of life, from all races, fighting for their lives. And in those moments, all distinctions, all prejudices, became meaningless. For Sigmund, the hospital was a place where everyone was equal. What mattered now was the effort to save lives, to keep hopes alive that hadn’t yet been fulfilled.
Sigmund’s life wasn’t just the story of one person. It was the story of thousands of doctors and nurses across New York who put their own lives and their families’ lives at risk to confront the pandemic. They were the unsung heroes who sacrificed their personal lives to fight one of the greatest crises in modern history. In the tensest moments, Sigmund always reminded himself that he wasn’t just fighting the virus; he was protecting something greater—the value of humanity, unity, and compassion. He and his colleagues were the nameless warriors in an invisible but incredibly hard-fought battle.
Elmhurst Hospital wasn’t just a place of healing; it had become a symbol of resilience and hope. Sigmund, a 28-year-old Black nurse, had become an integral part of that symbol. What he didn’t know was that in another part of New York, someone was living in an entirely different world—a world where fear had turned into prejudice. And one day, their fates would cross, completely changing the way Hugh viewed the world and himself. Sigmund wasn’t just saving lives; he was saving the faith, the hope, and the human values that society was gradually losing.
In Hugh’s supermarket, a quiet change had occurred that he hadn’t even noticed. The number of Black customers had steadily dwindled, and their absence seemed to go unnoticed by him. It was a sad reality, yet it reflected part of the injustice and racism they faced every day. In fact, not everyone was aware of this. Hugh, with his unwavering eyes, not only failed to see it, but, deep down in a corner of his mind, he oddly felt a strange sense of relief at their absence. Without them, everything became easier, more peaceful. He never voiced this thought, but it quietly took root within him: “Fewer Black people, less risk.”
That phrase never escaped Hugh’s lips, but it became a silent belief, deeply ingrained in his mind. It wasn’t a conscious realization, but a natural reaction formed from years of living in a society where stereotypes and prejudices could easily seep into a person without effort. To Hugh, the absence of Black people in the supermarket wasn’t a loss of revenue or diversity, but a small victory for his personal safety. It wasn’t a societal issue; it was a personal one, a deeply held belief that he was protecting people “like him” from threats he couldn’t understand or confront.
And then, one day, all those simmering tensions erupted into a real-world situation, a moment Hugh couldn’t undo or change. One overcast afternoon, when the atmosphere in the supermarket seemed quieter than usual, an elderly Black man walked into the store. He wore an old, worn-out coat, not shiny, but carrying the weary weight of life. But what caught Hugh’s attention wasn’t his appearance or his hunched back; it was the medical mask, pulled down beneath his chin, revealing his mouth and nose.
It was a clear violation of the store’s policy, but what made it particularly troubling for Hugh wasn’t the violation itself, but the way he looked at the man. According to the policy, all customers were required to wear masks properly, and as the manager, Hugh had the responsibility to remind customers of the rule. However, instead of approaching it with patience and kindness, Hugh responded defensively. His gaze was sharp, and the safe distance he maintained was deliberate. He called security, his voice dropping with exaggerated seriousness: “There’s a customer not wearing their mask properly. Please come handle it.”
When the security guard arrived, the elderly Black man tried to explain. He said the mask made it hard for him to breathe and that he only intended to buy a few items and leave. However, his explanation received no empathy or concern from Hugh. In his eyes, the man wasn’t a customer struggling with difficulty, but a “violator” breaking the rules. He had become a potential threat that Hugh needed to remove immediately. Roughly told to leave the store, the elderly man looked at Hugh not with the gaze of someone looking for trouble, but with the look of a person subjected to injustice. His eyes carried deep hurt and frustration, a silent accusation of everything he had to endure in life.
Hugh watched the entire exchange but felt no remorse. On the contrary, he felt a vague sense of satisfaction, as though he had done something right. He believed he had exercised authority, protected the community from violations, and that made him proud. In Hugh’s mind, he was the hero, the only one brave enough to maintain discipline, to protect the “good people” from the “dangers” he had unconsciously created. He didn’t realize that his actions weren’t about enforcing policy, but about revealing a deeply ingrained bias. He had used the pandemic as an excuse to legitimize the discrimination he was unaware of.
The truth was, in Hugh’s world, where supermarket shelves and distorted news shaped every view he held, he had become a man full of fear and suspicion. He didn’t see the elderly Black man as someone struggling with hardship but as a “threat.” He didn’t listen to his explanation; all he saw was a policy violation. And more importantly, Hugh didn’t realize that while he tried to protect the community from a virus, he had inadvertently spread a much more dangerous virus: the virus of division and hatred.
This incident marked a pivotal moment in Hugh’s life. It not only highlighted the inner conflict he faced but also placed him in an ironic situation: a supermarket manager, someone who was supposed to serve everyone, acting more like a guard, protecting only a specific group of people. This reflected not just a lack of understanding of societal diversity, but a loss of himself in the flow of deeply ingrained prejudices. What Hugh didn’t realize was that his actions that day, though just a small moment in his life, were setting the stage for a larger event. An event that would force him to confront the deepest prejudices within himself, a challenge he would not be able to run from.
One April afternoon, a light drizzle fell, gentle yet steady, like the tears of the sky. The rain didn’t howl or roar; it merely fell softly on the rooftops, creating a gentle sound, like the world’s sigh. The air was damp, cold, and the gray clouds that hung in the sky weighed down on everything, making the world feel heavier. It seemed the surrounding space had also been tinged with a dull gray hue, a somber atmosphere that made everything feel eerily quiet, almost uncomfortable.
Hugh stood in his grocery aisle, his hands carefully checking the inventory. Every day he did this as a routine, as a way to keep himself from being swept up in the whirl of anxious thoughts. This task, usually just a series of monotonous, boring minutes, became his way to momentarily forget the heavy burdens pressing on his life. The sound of the rain on the roof was a familiar song, yet it only seemed to deepen the silence and stillness of the space.
In that moment, the stillness of the space seemed absolute, but suddenly, a loud noise shattered the silence. A powerful crash, as though something heavy had fallen to the floor. Hugh looked up, his confused gaze drawn to the window, where the noise had come from. The sight before him froze him in place. An elderly Black man, probably in his 70s, a regular customer of the supermarket, someone Hugh had seen countless times, was standing, trembling, clutching his chest. His face was pale, sweat beaded on his forehead. His lips were pressed tight, unable to utter a word, but his eyes reflected panic, as if silently pleading for help.
Hugh stood frozen, his body stiff, his gaze locked onto the elderly man. All of his thoughts, all of his plans, seemed to suddenly halt. This wasn’t just a customer who forgot to wear a mask or a stranger causing a scene; this was a human being, struggling with pain right before his eyes. In that moment, all the prejudices about COVID-19, the warnings about the dangers of the virus, all of it vanished, leaving only one stark truth: a life was in danger.
But when the elderly man coughed violently, the dry, prolonged coughs each time threatening to suffocate him, an eerie sense of fear began to spread in Hugh’s heart. His face turned pale, his eyes squeezed shut, and his body weakened as if on the verge of collapsing. For a moment, he was unable to utter a word, lying there, curled up in the growing puddle of rainwater spreading across the cold concrete floor.
Hugh didn’t know what to do. His first reaction was to pull out his phone and call for an ambulance. This phone call would be the elderly man’s only hope, yet his voice trembled, stuttering as he read out the address. When his hand was on the phone, a crushing hesitation swept over him. A voice inside his head echoed, “Could it be COVID?” The images of the pandemic, the cases of infection, and the deaths he’d seen on social media flooded his mind, overwhelming his every thought. “If I get close, could I catch it?” That question spiraled in his mind, one he couldn’t escape.
At that moment, another co-worker, a young woman, saw the urgency of the situation and rushed to Hugh’s side. She looked at him with wide, panicked eyes, filled with worry. “Aren’t you going to help him?” she asked, her voice trembling. She couldn’t understand why he stood frozen.
Hugh merely shook his head, unable to speak. He took a small step back, as if trying to distance himself from the situation. His words got stuck in his throat: “No… it could be COVID…” Just that one sentence, Hugh had pushed himself out of reality, turning himself into a bystander, watching a life slip away right before his eyes. He had chosen to protect himself from fear, leaving the elderly man to lie there, curled up on the cold ground. Though he had called for help, his actions couldn’t hide the truth: Hugh had chosen his own safety over helping another. He had let fear conquer his compassion, allowing selfishness to override any sense of humanity.
The rain continued to fall, heavy and relentless, soaking the old man. In that moment, Hugh stood still, phone in hand, the other tightly clenched, as if trying to hold on to the emotions that were shattering inside him. He felt trapped in a cage of fear, a cage that stopped him from doing the simplest thing a human being could do: help another.
He couldn’t recognize that, at that moment, he was the one who needed saving, not just the old man. Thoughts about racism, about the differences between Hugh and the elderly black man, were not a simple story, but they quietly lingered in that moment. The cold stares, the unfriendly words, the invisible distance between two people sharing the same space—all appeared in Hugh’s mind. Was it this discrimination that made him more fearful, that made him hesitate to help? These unspoken questions spun in his mind, preventing him from taking action.
Hugh stood there, phone in hand, his eyes blurry from confusion. He could feel the defeat within himself. At this moment, loneliness, fear, and helplessness engulfed him. He wondered if there was any way he could break free from that invisible cage, where he could only stand and watch but could not act, where compassion was obscured by fear and prejudice.
That night, New York remained enveloped in a terrifying silence, but Hugh’s soul was in turmoil. The city, known for its fast pace, the honking horns, the ceaseless foot traffic, now felt like a machine that had been shut off. Hugh returned to his apartment after a long day, his legs tired, his mind in chaos. He sank into the chair, his eyes blankly staring out the window. The twinkling city lights no longer held any sense of vibrancy but now resembled lonely stars, lost in an endless void. The feeling of isolation rose within him, as if an invisible gap was stretching between him and everything around him. He felt like an outsider, observing the world through an invisible glass.
The image of the elderly man lying in the cold puddle, his wrinkled face still resilient, suddenly appeared in Hugh’s mind. The scene refused to leave him, not for a second. The guilt gnawed at him, like a shadow he couldn’t shake off. He had abandoned the old man, failed to help him in a critical moment. He could have done more, but fear had held him back. That fear, nurtured by silent prejudices against people who were different from him, had paralyzed him from acting. Deep down, Hugh knew he had betrayed the very values he once prided himself on.
And then, the image of Sigmund, whom he had once regarded as a stranger, someone who couldn’t understand him, haunted him in his thoughts. The tired yet determined face of Sigmund as he rushed to help the old man, facing danger without hesitation, made Hugh feel the weakness and cowardice within himself. At this moment, Hugh finally realized that it was Sigmund who was truly in control, while he was just an outsider, watching what he couldn’t change. What made Hugh feel even more regretful was that he had judged Sigmund solely by his appearance—just because of his skin color.
The torment within Hugh became unbearable. He couldn’t continue sinking in these thoughts forever. Just then, the phone on the table vibrated, breaking his train of thought. He looked at the screen: an unknown number. Hugh hesitated for a few seconds, unsure if this was a call from the hospital or the police reporting the incident. He picked up the phone, his fingers trembling, took a deep breath, and answered the call.
“Hello?” Hugh’s voice was hoarse, unfamiliar, as if he had just woken up from a long dream.
“The old man is okay. Thanks for calling the ambulance.”
That voice! Deep, calm, and strangely familiar. It was Sigmund. A strange sensation ran down Hugh’s spine, not from relief that the elderly man was safe, but because of the calmness in that voice. He could feel something from Sigmund—not anger, not resentment, nor indifference, but a strange sense of tranquility and understanding.
Hugh remained silent for a moment, then could only murmur:
“Um… I’m sorry for… back then I…” His voice faltered, unable to say all that he wanted to. His mind was spinning, not only because of the guilt from abandoning someone, but also because of the clear awareness that he had held prejudiced thoughts.
But Sigmund, the man Hugh had not fully understood before, didn’t let him fall into silence for long. “It’s okay,” he said, his voice calm, as if used to clumsy apologies. “You did what you thought was best in that situation.”
Sigmund’ words didn’t make Hugh feel any relief. On the contrary, they made him feel even more ashamed. He had let fear and prejudice dictate his actions, but Sigmund didn’t hold it against him. Hugh realized there was a stark injustice in how he viewed the world, and Sigmund’ kindness made him feel small. He hadn’t just abandoned the old man; he had missed an opportunity to change himself, to do the right thing.
“You have to understand…” Sigmund continued, his voice firm and clear. “The virus doesn’t have a skin color. But fear does. And sometimes, it’s even more dangerous than the virus itself.”
Those words hit Hugh’s mind like a punch. He suddenly realized that racism wasn’t just something happening far away, but something inside of him—where fear and discomfort toward people of other races had taken root. He had been living in a world where skin color differences made him discriminate, made him cold and fearful of people he didn’t understand.
Sigmund’ words weren’t just advice; they were an indictment. It was the awakening Hugh needed. The virus he had been carrying inside him couldn’t be cured with medicine or a vaccine—it was a virus of division, hatred, and discrimination. And like any disease, if left untreated, it would slowly corrode him from within.
That night, Hugh couldn’t sleep. The image of the old man, the image of Sigmund, and the understanding words from him kept swirling in his mind. He began to realize that there was another world, a world where kindness had no skin color, where compassion could transcend any barrier. The shame he felt now wasn’t the only thing he had to face. Instead, it was an awakening, a desire to change, a dream of a future where fear and prejudice would no longer control him.
Hugh couldn’t change the past, but he knew he could change his perspective and how he acted in the future. He would no longer let racism, fear, or cowardice rule his life. He would start over, step by step, to become the person Sigmund—and everyone around him—deserved.
The next morning, Hugh went to the hospital. Having not slept all night, he had thought a lot, and his first decision was to face the truth. He made his way to the old man’s room. His heart was heavy, not with fear, but with shame. He entered and saw the old man sitting on the bed, still weak but with a better spirit. Beside him was a bouquet of fresh flowers.
Hugh approached, bowing his head sincerely. He couldn’t find the words to speak, only silently standing there, looking into the old man’s kind eyes. The old man recognized Hugh and smiled faintly. He didn’t scold him, didn’t complain, only took Hugh’s hand and said, still weakly, “Boy, thank God for Sigmund. If everyone were like him—the world would hurt less.”
The old man’s words, soft as a breeze, carried the weight of a boulder. It wasn’t just a thank you to Sigmund, but a profound reminder for Hugh. He didn’t say anything, just lowered his head. For the first time, there was no defensiveness in his eyes, no baseless fear. Instead, there was infinite admiration for Sigmund and a deep regret for allowing himself to be swept away by wrong prejudices.
Weeks later, Hugh’s life at the supermarket changed. The fear of the pandemic still lingered, but the atmosphere was less tense. Hugh began to act. He knew that regret wasn’t just about thinking—it had to be shown through action. He sought out courses on anti-discrimination, on cultural diversity. He attended online workshops, listening to stories from people of color who had endured discrimination their whole lives.
He had seen the suffering, the injustice, and above all, he realized that what he had believed all these years was nothing but harmful lies. Hugh had gone through a powerful awakening. He learned how to listen, instead of just judging.
One day, Hugh made a bold decision. He invited Sigmund to the supermarket to speak with the employees. The meeting took place in a small conference room, with an atmosphere of respect. Sigmund didn’t talk about the hardships of work but shared human stories. He spoke of the old man, of the special bond between them. He spoke of patients he had saved, regardless of their skin color or ethnicity.
For the first time in their lives, Hugh and his employees listened to a Black man share his experiences—not through a phone screen or a tabloid, but directly from the heart of someone who had lived and given. Sigmund’ talk wasn’t just a lecture on diversity. It was a lesson on kindness, on compassion, and on the value of every human being.
Hugh’s story is the story of many of us. In moments of panic, we easily let fear overpower reason, believe in misinformation, and act on prejudice. However, Sigmund’ kindness and courage proved that compassion knows no skin color.
Ask yourself: are you ready to be a “Sigmund” in your life, or are you still stuck in Hugh’s “world”? Every small action, every kind word has the power to change an entire community. Start today.