I’ve started this post too many times to count.
Every time, the words stall. How can I share the trivial contents of my mind—a random fact about soap-making, a theory on extraterrestrials, a debate about ghosts—while the world is on fire?
It feels helpless, watching so many things go so terribly wrong, knowing that most of us are powerless to stop it. I feel it as a constant, gnawing weight: the families going hungry, the bombs funded by my own tax dollars landing oceans away. I feel complicit. I am complicit. My silence, my inaction, my forced participation in a system that trades lives for political points—it all carries a cost.
This hypocrisy isn’t just abstract. We claim to cherish innocent life, yet we turn away from the cries and the desperation. I know this firsthand. I was a single mother with a crying baby, desperately seeking help, and I was met with judgment, not grace, from the very institutions that preach it.
So, what is the meaning of my thoughts when children are being starved, traumatized, and killed?
Right now, it feels like none.
It feels meaningless when we stand by leaders who fund and applaud genocide. The truth is in the budget; the United States is actively funding atrocities. We are not on the right side of history, and the world sees it, even if we choose to look away.
ns216.73.216.10da2
and then Add to home screen.