Before I begin, I just wanted to say that this post was inspired by Amal Kiswani’s to the dead palestinian fetus on my instagram feed.
There's a heaviness in my chest every time I see any type of suffering that I am powerless to fight against, knowing that my hands, no matter how willing, remain tied. It’s a painful reminder of the gaps between intention and action, especially when the faces of those in need haunt my thoughts.
It’s unfair, and just sitting here complaining won’t do anything, I’m aware. But no matter how many glances of sorrow or pleading prayers I send out, it often feels as if my silence contributes to their struggle.
What did they ever do to deserve this, and what did I do not to?—These thoughts tug at my heart, making me question why I’m safe while others suffer. I can ask ‘how come?’ a million times and nothing will change. I feel helpless. I feel that if I said this to someone in person, they would tell me to stop making it about myself, because I hold no power in this situation. I agree with the latter. But what will just ‘shutting up about it’ say about me? What will my silence say about me?
Yet, despite my uncertainty, I can’t shake the feeling that remaining quiet isn’t an option anymore. I’m not a hero, and I know I can’t save someone through my words. But the guilt of standing by and watching weighs heavier than the fear of saying the wrong thing.
I talk about what I see, not because I think it will change anything, but because ignoring it feels like walking past an open wound without a second glance. By mentioning their struggles, I hope to acknowledge the hurt, even if it’s just a small flicker of recognition in a world that often turns a blind eye.
"feels like walking past an open wound without a second glance." you're so good at metaphors !! loved this piece as well!