By Laura Htet (UDE)

WE often measure the richness of our lives by the number of peo­ple who surround us. The more friends, the more companions, the better – or so we’re told. A crowd­ed room buzzing with laughter, a phone buzzing with messages, a social circle that stretches wide like a net cast across the sea – it feels like success, doesn’t it? We’ve been taught to see quantity as a badge of honour, a sign that we’re likeable, valuable, and wor­thy. But what if the real treasure lies not in the many, but in the few? What if the quiet, unassum­ing strength of a handful of true allies outweighs the clamour of a hundred shallow voices?

Among all the friends and companions we have, how many do we think would protect us when someone speaks ill of us be­hind our backs? Only if we have a lot of friends and companions like that can we say we’re successful in relationships. But if we have many friends and companions, yet they’re all just people who would speak ill of us together, wouldn’t it be better to have just a few friends instead? It’s a ques­tion that lingers, cutting through the noise of our busy lives like a whisper we can’t ignore. We might not want to face it, but the truth has a way of settling in, doesn’t it? It’s not about how many people know our name – it’s about how many would stand by it when the room empties out.

We live in a world that loves the spotlight. Crowds cheer for the loudest voices, the biggest gatherings, and the most dazzling displays of connection. We see it everywhere – online, in gath­erings, even in the way we talk about our lives. A packed party feels like a triumph; a long list of contacts feels like a victory. But there’s a paradox here, one we don’t always notice until it’s too late. The louder the crowd, the harder it is to hear the quiet ones – the ones who matter. We get swept up in the swell of numbers, mistaking motion for meaning, and all the while, the few who truly see us might be standing just out of sight, waiting for us to turn around.

Think about it. We’ve all felt the sting of betrayal, that cold re­alization that someone we trusted didn’t have our back. Maybe it was a casual comment overheard, a confidence broken, or a silence when we needed someone to speak up. It doesn’t take much – just a moment – and suddenly, we’re left wondering who’s really with us. The crowd thins out fast when the stakes get high, doesn’t it? And that’s when we start to see the difference between the many and the few. The many might clap for us when the sun’s shining, but the few are the ones who’ll stand in the rain.

It’s not that we don’t need people. We’re human, after all – wired to connect, to seek out others, to feel the warmth of be­longing. But there’s a distinction we often miss: not every connec­tion is a bond. We can fill our days with chatter and our nights with company, but that doesn’t mean we’re building something real. A room full of people can still leave us lonely if none of them truly know us – or care to. We’ve all been there, haven’t we? Smiling through a conversation, nodding along, while somewhere deep down we’re wondering if anyone in the circle would notice if we slipped away.

The quiet power of the few isn’t loud or flashy. It doesn’t de­mand attention or parade itself around. It’s subtle, and steady, like the roots of a tree that hold it firm through a storm. We might not see it every day, but we feel it when it counts. It’s in the friend who defends us when we’re not there to defend ourselves. It’s in the companion who listens when we’ve got nothing left to say. It’s in the handful of people who don’t just show up for the good times but stay through the mess, the doubt, the silence. We don’t need a hundred of them – just a few will do.

And yet, we chase the many. Why is that? Maybe it’s because the few are harder to find. They don’t announce themselves with fanfare or flood our lives with noise. They’re not always the ones we notice first. We’re drawn to the bright lights, the big per­sonalities, the ones who make us feel important in the moment. But importance fades fast when it’s built on sand. The few who stick around – they’re the ones who build something solid, something we can lean on when the winds pick up. We might not see their value right away, but over time, it becomes impossible to miss.

There’s a strange comfort in numbers, isn’t there? We tell ourselves that if we have enough people around us, we’ll never be alone. It’s a kind of insurance policy – a buffer against the qui­et moments we’re afraid to face. But numbers can trick us. We’ve all seen it: a circle of friends that looks tight from the outside but crumbles under pressure. Gos­sip spreads like wildfire, loyal­ties shift, and suddenly, we’re left counting the ones who didn’t turn away. It’s a humbling thing, realiz­ing that the crowd we thought we had wasn’t ours. And it’s at that moment that we start to appreci­ate the few who never wavered.

We don’t talk about this enough – the way quality sneaks up on us, outshining quantity when we least expect it. We’re so busy collecting people, adding to our tally, that we forget to ask what it’s all for. Are we gathering friends like trophies, or are we nurturing bonds that can weath­er the storms? It’s easy to get caught up in the game of it all, isn’t it? We see someone with a wide circle and think they’ve got it figured out. But what we don’t see is what happens when the lights go off—when the party ends and the real tests begin. That’s when the few step forward, and the many fade back.

There’s something astonish­ing about this if we stop to think about it. In a world that’s louder than ever – where every voice competes to be heard, where the connection is just a click away – we’re still drawn to the quiet strength of the few. It’s almost counterintuitive. We have more ways to reach people than ever before, yet the ones who truly matter remain rare. Maybe it’s because true loyalty and true un­derstanding can’t be mass-pro­duced. We can’t force it, fake it, or scale it up. It’s a slow, deliberate thing, built over time, tested by life, and proven in the shadows.

We’ve all had moments where a few have surprised us. A kind word when we didn’t expect it. A hand reaching out when we thought we were alone. A defence we didn’t have to ask for. These are the things that stick with us, aren’t they? Not the applause of a crowd, but the steady presence of someone who chooses us when it’s not easy.

It’s not that the many are worthless. We need them too – the casual acquaintances, the friendly faces, the ones who fill our days with light conversation and small joys. They have their place. But they’re not the foundation. We can’t build a life on them alone. The few are the ones who hold us up when everything else falls away. They’re the ones who see us – not the version we show the world, but the one we hide when the curtains close. And that’s a power we can’t overestimate.

So why do we keep chasing the crowd? Maybe it’s a habit. Maybe it’s fear. Maybe it’s just easier to count heads than to weigh hearts. But deep down, we know the truth. We feel it in the moments that matter – the ones that strip away the excess and leave us with what’s real. The quiet power of the few isn’t just a nice idea; it’s a fact of life. We don’t need everyone to love us, to know us, to stand by us. We just need the right ones. And when we find them, we’ve got something stronger than any crowd could ever offer.

Let’s be honest with our­selves. We’ve all wondered how many of our friends would have our backs if push came to shove. It’s not a comfortable question, but it’s a necessary one. Because at the end of the day, success in re­lationships isn’t about how many people we can gather – it’s about how many would stay. And if we’re surrounded by a sea of voices that would turn on us in a heartbeat, wouldn’t we rather trade it all for a few who wouldn’t? The answer’s obvious when we strip it down. We don’t need a chorus – we need a harmony. And that comes from the few, not the many.

There’s a beauty in this simplicity, a quiet astonishment that sneaks up on us when we least expect it. We spend so much time chasing more – more friends, more likes, more valida­tion – when the real power’s been there all along, tucked away in the handful of people who choose us every day. They don’t shout it from the rooftops. They don’t need to. Their strength is in their stillness, their constancy, and their choice to stay when others walk away. And when we realize that, we see it for what it is: a gift we didn’t earn but one we can’t live without.

So here we are, standing in a world that loves the loud and the large, and yet we’re pulled back to the quiet power of the few. It’s not about having less – it’s about hav­ing what matters. We don’t need a thousand hands to lift us up; we just need the right ones. And when we find them, we’ve found something extraordinary – not in the noise, but in the silence that says more than words ever could.