There are realities we all share, regardless of our nationality

Host: The afternoon sky hung low over the park, painted with muted grey and gold. The trees, stripped of most of their leaves, trembled in the breeze like quiet souls whispering to the wind. A bench, scarred with the names of long-forgotten lovers, stood by the pond, where the water mirrored the soft melancholy of the season.

Jack sat there, his coat turned up, his hands tucked deep into his pockets. He stared at the ripples, each one dissolving into the next, like thoughts he couldn’t quite hold. Jeeny approached from the path, her scarf catching a hint of light, her eyes carrying both tenderness and tiredness. She sat beside him without a word.

The silence between them was full—not empty—but full of the things that never needed to be said.

Jeeny: (softly) “J. Donald Walters once wrote: ‘There are realities we all share, regardless of our nationality, language, or individual tastes. As we need food, so do we need emotional nourishment: love, kindness, appreciation, and support from others.’”

Jack: (glancing at her) “That’s a nice sentiment. The kind they put on a greeting card.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. It’s more than that. It’s what holds the world together, even when everything else falls apart. We spend so much time building walls—borders, beliefs, systems—but underneath all of it, we still hunger for the same things.”

Host: The wind picked up, carrying the smell of wet earth and distant rain. Jack’s jaw tightened as he looked toward the city skyline, where the buildings stood like cold monuments to ambition.

Jack: “You make it sound simple. Like all people want is love and kindness. Tell that to the corporate boardrooms, to the armies, to the politicians. You think they’d trade power for a hug?”

Jeeny: “I think they’re starving, Jack. Just like everyone else. They just don’t know what for. Power, money, control—they’re substitutes for what we’ve forgotten how to ask for: connection.”

Jack: “Connection is a luxury. You can’t eat it. You can’t pay rent with it. You can’t feed your kids with appreciation.”

Jeeny: “And yet, when people lose it—when they feel unseen, unloved, unwanted—they stop living even when they’re alive. Isn’t that what loneliness is? The hunger for something no amount of food can fill?”

Host: A pause. The sound of a distant child laughing, then the faint splash of a duck diving beneath the water. The moment hung between them, fragile and real.

Jack: “You talk like the world can be healed with kindness. But look around. Wars still happen. People still cheat, steal, kill. Humanity runs on self-interest, not love. That’s the real shared reality.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. That’s the surface reality. The one that shouts loudest. But underneath it, there’s another—quieter, deeper. When a soldier writes a letter to his mother, when a doctor holds a patient’s hand in silence, when a stranger gives a coin to someone shivering in the rain—that’s the reality Walters meant. The kind we don’t measure, but feel. The one that makes life bearable.”

Jack: “Bearable doesn’t make it true. People act out of duty, habit, even guilt. You think it’s love, but it’s just social conditioning.”

Jeeny: “Then explain the people who risk everything for someone else. The ones who rush into burning buildings, who share their last meal with a stranger, who adopt a child they’ve never met. You think that’s conditioning?”

Host: The sky darkened slightly, clouds folding in on themselves like the slow turn of a thought. A leaf drifted onto Jack’s shoulder; he brushed it away absentmindedly.

Jack: “Maybe it’s instinct. Maybe we’re programmed for empathy the way wolves are programmed for the pack. It doesn’t make it noble—it just makes it natural.”

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) “Exactly. That’s what Walters meant by ‘realities we all share.’ It’s not philosophy—it’s biology. We are wired for kindness. But somewhere along the way, we stopped feeding that part of ourselves. We treat emotional nourishment like dessert—optional, indulgent—when it’s actually the main course.”

Host: A small gust of wind lifted her hair, carrying the words across the still pond. Jack’s eyes softened for a moment, as though he were remembering something—or someone—he’d long buried under the weight of reason.

Jack: “You really believe love is a necessity? Like food?”

Jeeny: “Yes. And when people go without it, they starve in ways no one can see. Look at the orphans in post-war Europe—the ones who were fed and clothed but stopped growing because no one held them. Doctors called it ‘failure to thrive.’ That’s what happens to all of us when we’re unloved. We stop thriving.”

Jack: (quietly) “I read about that once. Children who died even though their bodies were fine.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because their hearts weren’t.”

Host: The wind died down. The air stilled, heavy with the scent of coming rain. Jack leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, staring at the water as if it might offer an answer.

Jack: “You know, I used to think love was just a kind of weakness. A distraction. But maybe it’s the opposite—maybe it’s the only thing that keeps us from becoming… mechanical.”

Jeeny: “Love isn’t weakness, Jack. It’s the only strength that doesn’t destroy what it touches.”

Host: A few raindrops fell, darkening the bench between them. They didn’t move. The rain was light, almost delicate, as though the sky itself were being careful not to interrupt.

Jack: “So you think no matter who we are—what country, what language—we all need the same thing?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Just as we all need food, we all need to be seen, to be held, to be understood. You can change the flag, the faith, the face—but not the need. It’s the one thing that makes us human.”

Jack: “And when we forget that?”

Jeeny: “We start starving each other. We start building walls and calling them homes. We start mistaking comfort for connection.”

Host: The rain grew steadier, its rhythm like a soft drumbeat against the pond. The world around them blurred slightly, as though the universe itself were trying to listen in.

Jack: (after a long silence) “You’re right, Jeeny. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with the world. We’ve industrialized everything—even our hearts. We’ve turned love into a product, kindness into a slogan, appreciation into a post.”

Jeeny: “And yet, every once in a while, someone still sits beside someone else in the rain—and that’s enough. That’s how it begins again.”

Host: The rain softened. A thin ray of light broke through the clouds, spilling across the pond, turning every drop into a tiny mirror. Jack turned to Jeeny, his expression stripped of irony, his voice low, sincere.

Jack: “You know, maybe Walters was right after all. We may not share politics or gods, but we share hunger. And maybe love—just love—is the only meal that never runs out.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “And the only one that gets better the more you give it away.”

Host: The camera panned wide—the bench, two figures, one small umbrella, and the rain—all dissolving into a single quiet moment of shared humanity.

Above them, the sky cleared just enough for a glimpse of light, like a whispered promise that despite the noise of nations, languages, and wounds—there are still realities we all share, and one of them is love.