Where heaving human rights and exhaling the world's wildflowers will still be feasible
I was clicking a document on my laptop few months ago inside a quiet hotel, besides the wide pool, around 275 kilometers far from home, and was quaintly figuring out what the content meant. Word by word, I was searching any reflective feeling inside. I wanted to feel. But can't sense anything. Instead, I was unfolding the layers of political dynamics I have endured in the last few years. I was instead weighing how much democratic space and freedom are required to maintain the rigor of a balance life-- where heaving human rights and exhaling the world's wild flowers will still be feasible. I thought it wasn't an awareness of numbness because I remember I was still very declarative and straightforward in relating about it with my two friends over dinner. Between sipping the hot soup and chopping grilled chicken, I was able to clearly map out my sentiment over a document; like it doesn't mean to me at all; like it was an object I can freely dismiss. It was a no