Disclaimer: This post discusses violence, death, and the humanitarian crisis in Palestine. It’s a personal reflection, not a news report. It does not advocate or condone any acts of violence. Please seek reputable sources for verified information, and take care of yourself if the content feels overwhelming.
We live in such weird times. I’m sitting here typing on my laptop in a house with a roof over my head, a kitchen full of food, working utilities, and a job that is still intact.
I do not fear airplanes.
I do not fear going to bed hungry.
I do not fear that when I come home, my family won’t be there.
I do not fear the water running out.
I do not fear dying.
What a world we live in.
Because while I have all this, on the other side of the world, in Palestine, children, men, women, and families are living without their most basic needs — and many are being killed every hour on the hour. It’s jarring to see human beings lose their lives simply trying to get food aid.
I’ve felt “off” all year. I’ve mentioned it before — not enjoying my hobbies, not finding joy in the things I used to love. Only recently did I realize why: my mind can’t reconcile the atrocities I see with the comfort of my own life. It’s not normal, and it should never have been normalized.
Social media makes the disconnect worse. I barely open Instagram anymore. How do you scroll past a starving child and then see a video of someone cooking in their cozy kitchen? How do you hear those cries and then just leave a comment? I know engagement is meant to boost reach — but it feels strange. I’m not liking those posts because I support their annihilation, yet it feels like my “like” endorses exactly that.
I hate that we’ve been reduced to watching the genocide of Palestinians through our phones because mainstream media has failed. America has failed — again. We as a nation have created this genocide. We have created mass hunger. We have murdered people in the name of what?
It’s one thing to read about history. It’s another to watch it unfold in front of you and still see the world’s most powerful countries do nothing. That inaction is not neutral; it’s a choice.
We all have a choice — every day — and every day I wonder if I’ve done enough. I can’t think about the genocide every moment, yet my mind can’t walk away from it. Why should it? Because the only difference between me and the girl in Palestine is the privilege of birth, me being born in the so-called greatest country in the world.
Do you hear it?
The drip.
Drip.
Drip.
It’s all the blood that’s on our hands — on all of our hands. I hope you and I learn how to live with it, because I don’t know what’s worse: being dead, or being alive and having to live with the horrors of the crimes we’ve allowed the world to commit.