It’s getting harder to pretend. Harder to ignore the weight of it all—the economy gasping for breath, the quiet desperation in so many faces, the realization that the dream we were sold was always a carefully constructed illusion.
We were told that if we worked hard and played by the rules, we’d be safe. We’d be happy. But the rules were rigged, and happiness became a luxury—dangling just out of reach.
At the pharmacy the other day, I watched an elderly man quietly ask if he could pick up only half his prescription now, and come back for the rest next month. He didn’t argue. He didn’t ask for help. He just looked… tired. Like someone who had followed all the rules, only to end up here—shrinking into the margins of a system that promised him more.
People are suffering. More will suffer. The structures that were supposed to protect us are collapsing under the weight of their own greed. And still, we wake up, put on our costumes, and step onto the stage of a play none of us agreed to be in. Just to survive another day.
And yet—I still believe in the goodness of humanity. It’s harder now than ever, but I can’t let that belief die. You see it in children—their joy, their wonder, their instinct to comfort and connect. And then, piece by piece, society takes it from them. Replaces it with fear. With competition. With the command to conform.
But maybe, underneath the exhaustion, a new truth is forming. A quiet refusal to keep pretending. A longing for something more real, more human.
Maybe this is just the worst part of the nightmare.
And maybe, just maybe—we wake up from it. Together.
Did you ever believe in the American Dream?
Do you still?
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