Humans Oh Humans

By Fahima Nahid

How are human lives so blithely escaping notice? How is there no time to grieve, to process death? Sunken in privilege builds a glass between the ones in grief and the onlookers.

I’m scared of my algorithm now, for it makes me less of a human, it does almost every day. In a moment, it feels like the world is an echo chamber of dystopia, and in the next, you find everything around you is lesser known. You want to get rid of the familiarity, and at the same time, wait for someone to mention a part of your childhood. 

You scroll past grief and walk past truth and quote metaphors and Dostoevsky and complain about all the fairness that ends at you.

If you ever see me being hard on myself, know that I've believed that life's way too fair to me, and that's how you scrape out privileges, maybe? No?

By Fahima Nahid