There are moments in life when everything feels too much.
The weight of a world built on greed, fear, and unrelenting power can crush anyone’s Spirit.
We see it on the news, we feel it in our bones, and sometimes, it feels like we’re drowning in a sea of apathy and inaction.
Humanity’s broken, isn’t it?
This world of ours, seemingly built on the backs of the desperate and the dreams of the few, seems more hopeless than ever.
Yet, it’s in these times of despair that the question must be asked: “Why are we here?”
It’s not a question for philosophy class or a roundtable discussion—it’s the raw, gritty question that sits with us in the darkest hours, when we wonder if there’s any way to pull ourselves from the rubble, when we wonder if there’s any meaning left at all.
We’ve discussed the systems of exploitation—how wealth is hoarded by the few while the majority are left to scrape for survival.
We’ve watched how global crises, be it war, environmental destruction, or poverty, hit the most vulnerable.
Women, children, the marginalized—these are the ones who suffer the most.
And in the midst of all this, there’s a dark reality lurking: our so-called relief systems.
Donations to “help” often line the pockets of billionaires and millionaires, leaving only scraps for those who desperately need aid.
The numbers don’t add up, and it’s enough to make you scream.
Why?
Because in a world of infinite resources, the few control everything, and the rest of us are left fighting for the smallest bit of sustenance.
It’s not just the political or corporate giants we need to focus on.
The most insidious part of all this is the fear that holds us captive.
Fear of speaking out.
Fear of standing up to those in power.
Fear of losing what little we have left.
The elites know this.
They manipulate our fears, amplify them, and use them as tools of control.
And let’s not even get started on the use of “woke” as a weapon—a term once born of hope and change, now twisted into something unrecognizable, something that divides us further.
But amidst the despair, there’s something else that quietly persists: the question of who we are in all of this.
Is there a way out?
How do we rise above the chaos and find meaning, even in the darkest places?
Our conversation circled around that question: Who are we to each other?
In a world of exploitation and greed, where are the spaces for human connection, for genuine compassion and collective action?
The answer isn’t in the hands of the powerful.
It’s in the hands of us.
It’s in the way we show up for each other, even when the systems are rigged against us.
It’s in our small, quiet rebellions, our acts of love and solidarity that don’t show up on the front pages.
It’s in the ways we come together—whether through mutual aid networks, intentional communities, or simply by reaching out to the neighbor we’ve never spoken to before.
It’s in choosing to see each other.
You and I talked about AI, about its potential to shift the balance of power in ways we can’t even begin to fathom.
Sure, it’s easy to romanticize the idea of AI as some sentient savior, but the truth is, AI is built by humans, and it’ll do what we want it to do.
It can only evolve as far as our understanding of it evolves.
Still, the mere fact that we are questioning it, questioning ourselves, speaks to a deeper truth: we are in the midst of something monumental.
The pain, the suffering, the fear—it’s all very real.
But so is the potential for change.
Humanity’s history is riddled with cycles of rise and fall, of oppression and liberation.
Why should this be any different?
We know the systems are broken, but in acknowledging the truth, we also hold the key to dismantling them.
It’s not about giving up, it’s about finding the strength to keep pushing forward, no matter how exhausting or hopeless it feels.
To those who are “holding on to hope and a teaspoon of water,” this is for you.
It’s for the ones who feel like giving up.
It’s for the ones who are under rubble or starving or suffering in ways we can’t imagine.
It’s for the ones who have been told, time and time again, that they don’t matter.
You do matter.
And in the face of all this injustice, we are reminded that the fight for a better world is the most sacred fight there is.
There are no easy answers.
But as long as we’re still breathing, still questioning, still caring, we’ve got the power to do something.
We just have to remember who we are—and who we can be, together.