Where Is This World Going?

A stranger asked me this question this morning.
“Where is this world going?”
And in that very moment, I could’ve burst into tears.

I told her, softly, trembling, that I couldn’t talk about it.
That it makes me feel depressed.
That I was proud I even managed to get myself outside today.
I think she was startled by my honesty.
She muttered something,
like she hadn’t meant it that heavily.
Poor woman
she had no idea I’d already spent my morning scrolling,
consumed by all the pain in this world,
numb and bare before the chaos.

Sometimes I wonder
how do people just live?
How do they sleep at night
while the world seems to fall apart?
While we hand our power to those
who never deserved it
and look away
from everything that should break our hearts?

There are days
when I truly feel
that a third world war could begin at any moment,
that our freedom to move, to be,
will simply vanish,
and the meaning of life
will feel like a fading memory.

I often ask myself:
Where can I make a difference?
I’m not the one who shouts on socials.
I don’t go to protests.
I’m not a member of any movement.
But that doesn’t mean I’m silent.
That doesn’t mean I don’t care.

I believe those who raise their voices
do it better than I ever could.
And I believe
my part lies elsewhere.

I refuse to see this world
only as doom and decay.
I still believe in tiny changes
that ripple outwards like circles in water
a single drop in the ocean,
that reaches further than we think.

I believe in never giving up on humanity.
In the power of showing up,
of listening,
of truly being there.
And so I try, in little encounters,
to make that difference.

To challenge what I think I know.
To soften my gaze.
To love more.
Because maybe,
just maybe,
this world needs a little more of that.

Yours, Tati