Chapter 4
The New York Times rights Iran into its headlines, details of US and Israel’s intent to demolish their nuclear arsenal. in the same email update: small sections recommending options for meat thermometers, beautifully made violins, and a recipe for ceviche. This morning before locking my keys in the car and being late for work, I opened up a copy of “The Giver” by Lois Lowry. I read it when I was young, maybe 12 or so. It wasn’t until I was older that I understood in depth the close knit nature of some version reality to this dystopian storyline.
Last night two of my closest friends came for dinner. We laughed and shared our hearts and I noticed all the ways I still felt like a child in the presence of women I respect. They asked about mine and I had the audacity to say that the current war in Iran was a “bit triggering” because it made me wonder the whereabouts of my military ex…
I sit here in embarrassment. I know they don’t judge. I know they know where my heart lies and how much I care about the world but in my slim slice of reality he was truly the closest tangible association I had to war. What a blessing. A luxury actually.
And when the weight of wondering how my actions enable this atrocity, I turn to instagram, to my budget excel sheet, to my mother, and try to make sense of how I will free myself of the weight of the world by taking it on in bite sized bits.
How in my minimal efforts to make a living doing something good. Passively protesting, evading civil responsibility as an act of resistance. Finding little peace in knowing I am not giving tax dollars to fund war, because regardless of my participation it’s happening anyway. So I remove myself from the equation.
What now?
Still war, still globalization, still mass destruction in intent for mass construction, development and exploitation. Still pollution and propaganda. Still mothers being usurped by attention grabbing algorithms. Still me, here, in front of this screen typing rather than out in the field planting flowers…
HARD STOP