There are wars everywhere. But no one seems to have the time to really notice. Everyone says I should care, that I should be involved, present, engaged. But the truth is I don't even know how to exist in a world that doesn't know how to exist itself. I feel like an empty chair in a room where everyone’s shouting. And no one listens. Just the sound of their own ego. Some people post videos of kids under rubble and then a photo of their brunch right after. “Busy day,” they write. Is it, really? For who? Sometimes I think the most violent thing these days is still being sensitive. They call me cynical, but I call it survival. It's not that I don't care — it's that I care too much. Sometimes I think if pain had a sound it would be the silence after a siren. The moment when you're not sure whether to breathe again or stop breathing altogether. And if this pain will be useful someday, well, I'll put it on my resume. Under skills: "Staying polite while the world ends."