Wi-Fi Strong, Humanity Weak

Me: Today morning, I open my eyes.
No stretch. No smile. No hope.
Just muscle memory hand reaches for the phone.

Facebook. Twitter. Instagram. The routine scroll begins.
But today… it feels heavier.
Heavier than yesterday. Heavier than ever.

Me: (blinks slowly) Why do I already know what I’ll see… and yet still, I look?

(Opens Facebook. First post loads. A toddler. Covered in dust. Eyes shut. Lifeless.)

Me: (gasps softly) Ya Allah… again?

(Silent tears roll down without warning. No permission asked. No resistance offered.)

Me: This baby… maybe two years old?
Those tiny hands, like my nephew’s. His cheeks… soft, dirty, still.
Too still.

(Scrolls. Another post: a woman clinging to two children, screaming into the void. Caption: “Pray for Gaza.”)

Me: (voice trembling) Why am I starting my day like this?
This isn’t news anymore.
It’s a routine. Death has become a morning update.

(Sits up in bed, blanket sliding off. Phone still glowing in hand.)

Me: I wake up. Look for light.
Instead, I scroll into blood.
Into rubble. Into another headline that screams… and gets ignored.

(Closes eyes. Holds breath. Swallows the lump forming.)

Me: Are Palestinian children not children?
Are their lives not warm enough, cute enough, worthy enough to mourn?

(Puts phone down. Stares blankly at the ceiling.)

Me: What is this world becoming?
They talk of democracy, of freedom, of peace.
But whose freedom? Whose peace?

Inner Voice: One hand sends vaccines and aid…
The other funds jets that shatter babies mid-dream.
They give with one hand and erase with the other.

Me: (heart heavy) They host peace talks.
They wear suits and speak of “human rights.”
But behind every handshake, there's a hidden trigger pulled.

(Opens Twitter. Sees #FreePalestine trending. Clicks.)

Me: (reads slowly) “Israel has the right to defend itself.”

Me: Defend… from what?
From sleeping babies? From praying mothers?
From kids playing football?

Inner Voice: They protested for dogs.
They painted murals for Ukraine.
But Gaza? They look away.

Me: (choking back sobs) Where are those human rights now?
Why do they apply so selectively?
Why does justice wear a blindfold only for Palestine?

(Stands up. Walks aimlessly around the room. Heart racing.)

Me: Why is it so hard to see Palestinians as people?
Why does their blood not outrage the world?

(Opens Instagram. Stories load: a wedding. A couple laughing.
Then: A food reel. A new coffee spot. A meme “Struggles of no Wi-Fi lol.”)

(Suddenly, a black slide: “200+ killed in Gaza hospital blast.”)

Me: (voice breaks) Boom.

(Holds chest, breath catches.)

Me: Ya Allah… while I complain about bad internet, they’re losing entire families.
Their children are being buried in plastic bags.

(Walks to the mirror. Looks at own reflection. Eyes red.)

Me: What kind of world is this?
Where a trending sound gets more attention than a child’s death?

(Sits back down. Grabs phone again. Thumb shaking.)

Me: I want to scream. I want to shout.
But what difference would it make?
My screams don’t echo across the silence of the privileged.

Inner Voice: They posted black squares once.
They wrote “We stand with...” once.
But when bombs fall on Gaza… they stay silent.

Me: (whispers) It’s performative. All of it.
Freedom. Justice. Equality.
All nice words for speeches… and lies in reality.

(Thumb hovers. App icons dancing under the screen glare.)

Me: Twitter delete. Instagram delete. Facebook deactivated.

(Places phone screen-down. A heavy silence floods the room.)

Me: I don’t hate people.
I hate their silence. Their fake concern.
Their ability to forget so quickly… while bodies are still warm.

(Closes eyes. Breathes deeply. Stands up.)

Me: Tonight, I won’t scroll.
I won’t repost another video that will be buried under dance reels in two hours.
I won’t pretend a hashtag is enough.

(Walks to the prayer mat. Kneels. Tears fall again this time into the carpet.)

Me: I will just pray.

Me: For Gaza.
For the children who died with candy in their hands.
For the fathers who buried half their hearts.
For the mothers who have forgotten what silence sounds like.
For justice that is more than a trending word.
For a world that remembers… and acts.