Blitz

I’m starting from a tiny, seemingly insignificant thing: someone I follow on Instagram seriously posted “This is the best year of my life.” I blocked them right away. Not out of spite, but because I had to. Some might say it was too much, but to me it showed something obvious: flashing your happiness is a way to hide genocide.

This isn’t just me feeling bad. It’s something deeper, almost existential. The world is tearing me apart. It’s like I have to keep scrolling and clapping while people are being erased in silence. I can’t handle this forced mix of some people’s joy and others’ destruction anymore.

It’s not just being too sensitive. It’s a critique of how feelings are controlled these days. It’s not that people don’t know what’s happening. They just make sure it doesn’t get to them. Numbing out has become normal, it’s how violence keeps going.

Joy isn’t innocent here. Saying “I’m very happy” is a choice. It’s putting yourself outside the collective mourning, pretending nothing’s wrong. It’s acting like everything’s fine when it’s not.

I can no longer say that I’m doing well. Saying “I’m doing well” today means saying “I consent.” And I don’t consent.