The Burden of Knowing

I've been thinking a lot these past few days.

I've been writing a lot too. Enough that I'm actually planning to buy a laptop just so I could write more. Practice more. Maybe get better at it.

The funny thing is... I think I might actually be good at copywriting.

Which is ironic.

Because copywriting is probably one of the most capitalist things you could be good at. You get paid to convince people to buy things. Hahaha. It pays well too.

Maybe that's where my cognitive dissonance comes from.

Because every time I research for something I want to write about, I end up learning things I honestly wish I never knew.

Ignorance really is bliss.

Because once you know... you can't unknow it anymore.

I think that's why I've been feeling depressed lately.

Sometimes I wish I never learned about where our phones come from. Or why some countries stay poor. Or why forests disappear. Or how companies can sell "progress" while leaving communities to deal with the consequences years later.

Life was easier before all that.

Then I started reading.

And the more I read, the more everything started connecting.

I think this is what empathy feels like when you don't know what to do with it.

You care.

You get angry.

You lose sleep over people you've never met.

But then what?

Sometimes I think maybe I should take this a step further.

Maybe I should stop hiding behind long Facebook posts and Threads.

Maybe I should make video explainers instead.

Maybe I should actually show my face.

Then I remember...

I'm from the Philippines.

And I don't know if this sounds dramatic, but there are days when I genuinely think, what if talking about certain things gets me into trouble?

Hahaha.

It's funny that my brain even goes there.

But then I think...

Maybe that's what we've been reduced to.

Whenever someone tries to bring attention to stories that were buried, people don't always respond with curiosity.

Some respond with mockery.

Some with threats.

Some try to discredit the person instead of answering the issue.

It's as if the person speaking is the problem.

As if they're disturbing everyone's peace.

Maybe they are.

Because once someone points at something you've ignored your whole life, you can't unsee it anymore.

And that's uncomfortable.

We live in systems we've become so used to that anyone who tries to tip the gears becomes the enemy.

Sometimes I wonder...

if you already know what's happening but choose not to say anything...

aren't you just another cog in the machine?

I ask myself that all the time.

Because the truth is...

I don't have the guts.

I don't march.

I don't shout.

I don't stand beside farmers fighting for their land.

I don't stand with communities trying to save their forests.

I don't stand in front of bulldozers.

I just...

watch.

I watch until another story disappears from the news.

I watch until another community is forgotten.

I watch until another person dies while the rest of us move on to the next headline.

And every time that happens I think...

Maybe I should've done something.

But I don't.

Because I'm a coward.

And I hate admitting that.

That's why I have so much respect for activists.

Real activists.

The people who don't stop at posting online.

The people willing to risk their comfort, their careers, sometimes even their safety because they believe someone has to stand up.

I can't do that.

Not because I don't care.

But because I still have responsibilities.

I still need to provide.

I can't afford to be reckless.

At least...

not yet.

You know what my dream actually is?

It's not to become famous.

It's not to become rich.

I just want to build a roving library.

I want to travel around the Philippines bringing books to kids. Stay in one place for a while. Read with them. Leave books behind. Then move on to the next town.

Because books changed my life.

Books taught me how to think.

They taught me empathy.

They taught me to question things I used to accept without even realizing it.

Maybe that's my way of helping.

Maybe if one kid reads the right book at the right time, they'll grow up a little kinder.

A little harder to fool.

A little more willing to ask questions than I was.

And maybe that's enough.

Or maybe it isn't.

I honestly don't know.

Sometimes I feel like I'm still one of the prisoners in Plato's Cave.

Not the ones staring at the shadows.

The one who already understands what the people outside are trying to say...

but is still too afraid to walk out.

Maybe one day I will.

Just...

not yet.

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