Humanity is spiraling downwards into an abyss deeper than our worst nightmares. Fast-forward the scene and the sight is scary.
I always took comfort in saying mine is a generation born too late.
I stand with my dream, clutching it close to my heart. They tell me I’m insane. I say we’ve just lost hope. We are simply bordering on the wrong side of cynicism, forgetting the sweet pleasures of hoping and dreaming.
They stare at me. Their faces are twisted at the right places, betraying perfection that comes from practice, to show intended disbelief. And they move on. But my dream survives on the hope their eyes betrayed. So I clutch my dream tighter.
I find it hard to forgive those who were born before me, for giving me my world in tatters. I will not do the same to those that will come after me. As long as I dream, there will be change. As long as I fight, my conscience will be my supporter. As long as I indulge in risk, my chances of winning are bright.
This is my battleground. And for a battle to be won, it must be started.