Tuesday, 14th August 2026

To get the tough bits out of the way, it’s like I’m waking up to the world ending every morning.

It doesn’t feel as dramatic as it sounds, though. A feeling of impending doom hangs heavily in the air, but it tastes like it’s been significantly diluted - so now the room feels bloated.

There are clouds in the sky, but there’s no rain. There hasn't been any rain in about four and a half weeks - except for this afternoon, when the heavens spat against the scorching pavement with hardly misplaced pity. I locked up and rushed out to catch it, sat outside for a while, letting the meagre drops pelt me. My gym shorts ended up all mucky from the bench I sat on.

Just over a decade ago, I didn’t believe I’d end up living a particularly fulfilling life. An existence within which I’d slot seamlessly, without heart-wrenching compromise. I didn’t foresee love, from the self or from others. I’d prepared for keeping secrets and embracing half-baked, lip service tolerance. It makes the safety of the present moment all the more unbelievable.

I was foolish to think my fire would settle once I’d gained the upper hand over my inner turmoils, and at last I’d seen that worse monsters had always been prowling out there. All it took was for my antidepressants to work to become that person at parties. That person at protests, that person on the bus. That person when I try to get some sleep, and i can’t let go when humanity is a mere finger slip away from oblivion.

I cannot ever wear it like a badge of honour, though - there is no honour in the blindness of privilege. There is some degree of bittersweet truth in that 2020s meme: ‘instead of going to kindergarten, I should’ve invested in stocks and shares’.

Instead of going to kindergarten, I should’ve healed the planet and the people on it.