This is going under a "Read More" because it's a lot.
Glitter in the Apocalypse
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The world is not okay. Not in the “rough patch” way. Not in the “things will bounce back” way. In the "something is deeply wrong and everyone can feel it in their bones way."
We live in a country where grief refreshes itself every morning. Where the news is a roulette wheel of violence, cruelty, disaster, and policy that somehow always lands on the most vulnerable people. Where people are priced out of safety, dignity, and sometimes even survival. Where the sky is either burning or flooding. Where empathy is treated like a liability and exhaustion is treated like a moral failure.
I’m not confused about the state of things.
I see it. I feel it. I’m angry about it.
So I refuse to surrender my joy.
Because the easiest thing in the world right now is to go numb. To shrink. To stop caring about small things. To become a person who only survives instead of lives. The system loves that version of us. Quiet people don’t organize. Hopeless people don’t resist. Empty people don’t imagine anything better.
So I’m choosing the opposite.
I am choosing to be visibly alive in a culture that profits from my despair.
I will take the pictures of my food and my coffee and my dumb little treats like they matter, because they do. They are proof I still notice pleasure. I will post the bad-angle selfies where I look like a cryptid caught mid-blink, because that’s what a real human looks like in a world obsessed with control and polish.
I will wear the silly outfit. The too-bright one. The too-much one. The one that says I’m not interested in blending into the emotional wallpaper of late-stage capitalism. If the world wants beige, I’m bringing neon.
I will be weird on purpose.
I will be sincere on purpose.
I will love things out loud on purpose.
Cringe is just what people call it when they see someone refuse to be ashamed of their own joy.
Let me be clear: this isn’t escapism. I am not pretending the world is fine. I am refusing to let it take everything from me. There’s a difference.
I still show up. I still vote. I still care. I still grieve. I still rage. I still try to do good where I can. But I also laugh. I also flirt with beauty. I also let myself feel delight without asking permission from the apocalypse.
Because if my joy isn’t built on someone else’s suffering, then it does not need to be justified. It does not need to be quiet. It does not need to be “appropriate for the times.”
These are the times.
In a country that keeps trying to harden me, I am staying soft out of spite.
In a system that wants me numb, I am staying feral out of resistance.
In a world that feels like it’s falling apart, I am choosing to fall in love with tiny things anyway.
My happiness is not ignorance.
My hope is not naïveté.
My whimsy is not weakness.
They are my armor.
So yes. The world is burning.
The future is uncertain.
The present is heavy.
And I am still here.
Still weird.
Still loud.
Still stubborn.
Still choosing joy with my whole chest.
Not because I think everything will be okay.
But because I refuse to let it take me with it.
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