Alina Konoz, 17 years old

Winner of the 2025 essay competition, 1st place

Sumy General Secondary Education Institution I–III Levels No. 21 of the Sumy City Council

The teacher who inspired the essay – Nataliia Viktorivna Okhrimenko

"The event that changed everything. The power of help"

The loudest words I have ever heard were spoken without a voice. They reached me through the cold walls of the train station, the piercing sound of the siren, and the horns of the trains. These words completely changed my understanding of activism and life in general...

Until February 24, I lived in a world of loud statements and fiery speeches. I took part in rallies, signed petitions, could not walk past injustice in silence. Active discussions were an everyday thing, and social media – a platform for struggle. I sincerely believed: if you shout loudly enough, the world will definitely hear and change.

My energy burst like a powerful spring, and words poured out like a waterfall. I was convinced that this was what true help looked like – when you are seen and heard.

In the evening of February 23, I was preparing a presentation for organizing community clean-up events. Suddenly, my mother came into the room: through the mask of calm, worry and fear broke through in her eyes. In a quiet, anxious voice, she said: "The news is recommending that we pack an emergency bag… It seems danger is approaching." At that moment, I couldn’t believe it. I thought it was just someone’s bad joke, or a sad scene from a movie that would end quickly. But in the morning of the 24th, the world split in two…

The train station. Kyiv. Frightened faces. Fear in the eyes. People were rushing about with suitcases, children, pets – everyone was trying to get on the next train that would take them far away from the approaching sounds of explosions.

I was holding a backpack with the bare essentials and a phone, where I kept checking the news, thinking: “What will happen next?” The familiar urge to organize something, to calm someone down, to take control of the situation began to beat in my chest again, but in such a situation, my skills seemed meaningless. Still, I decided to look around… That’s when I saw her near Platform Four. A young woman, about twenty years old, was sitting on the floor, holding a baby tightly against her. Her eyes were wide open, her face frozen in an expression as if she wanted to say something, but I didn’t hear a single sound. Other people passed by her, but no one paid attention to this silent figure amid the general noise.

I came closer and understood: this woman wasn’t silent. She was screaming louder than anyone I had ever seen in my life, but her scream had no sound.

It was in every wrinkle on her face, in the trembling of her hands, in the way she rocked the baby. In her eyes, I could read hundreds of unspoken words: "Help," "I don’t know what to do," "I’m scared." For the first time in my life, I realized that words could be unnecessary. I sat down next to her without saying anything. I handed her a bottle of water from my backpack. The girl took it with trembling hands and nodded gratefully. Then I pulled out the food my mother had packed for the road and offered it to the woman. She nodded, trying to say something, but no sound came out. We sat like that for almost an hour. Various announcements were echoing, people were running with cries and tears, but between us there was a special kind of silence.

Looking at this woman, I saw a new kind of activism – one that doesn’t need words, posters, or hashtags.

When the train finally arrived at the platform, I called my dad. We helped the woman stand up and carry her belongings. On a small piece of paper from my backpack, I wrote my number with the note: “If you need quiet help.” As the train began to move, she managed to say just one word in a quiet, trembling voice: “Thank you.” But I heard much more – everything she wanted to say but couldn’t. In her eyes was an entire ocean of gratitude, hope, and human kindness.

When I returned home a few months later, I changed my approach to activism. Yes, I still join rallies and sign petitions, but now I know: true change often happens in silence.

Together with like-minded people, we created a group called “Silent Angels,” whose goal is to help those who cannot ask for help out loud. Lonely pensioners who are too ashamed to admit they have no money for medicine, displaced people who are afraid of being a burden, teenagers who don’t know how to talk to their parents about their problems. I realized that true strength often works in silence. Like a heart that beats ever so quietly, yet life is impossible without it. Like the roots of a tree – always invisible, but they hold up the massive trunk and branches. Now, when I’m asked about peace during a discussion, I don’t speak only about the absence of war.

Peace is when everyone can hear the silence around them and understand what it is screaming about; when your help doesn’t need applause, only a look of gratitude.

Goodness is a quiet thing,

Yet boundless in its offering.

In smallest acts it hides from sight,

Yet fills the heart with silent might.

It needs no praise, no loud acclaim,

No wish for glory, wealth, or fame.

It lives in truth, in kindness bare,

In simple acts, in silent care.

The one who knows life’s truest way

Will find it in a warm display:

A smile, compassion, thoughtful deed,

A quiet “please,” a friend in need.

This is true joy — not loud, but deep.

Listen to the silence around you! Perhaps someone is screaming without sound, and your silent care might become the loudest words in their life.