Insignificant me

A connection through words.

There are many reasons why I write. I have written before about how I felt compelled to express my horror, and my fears and also to inject some reason and common sense into a world that felt topsy turvy.

And the sad truth is, my own social media accounts were starting to feel unsafe. I had started to feel ostracised from my own my own social network, yet I felt a desperate need to do something. To connect with others that felt the same, that could see clearly through the fog of lies and misinformation.

And that’s when I came across Substack. To be honest I never imagined a single person would actually read what I wrote. It was enough to identify with the writings of others. To feel a connection through words from the heart, but also from reasoned thought. Words that held truth, that gave hope, words that helped me sort out the intense emotions that were weighing down my heart.

To my surprise people started reading my writing, restacking, and commenting. I had beautiful souls tell me that my words meant something to them, comforted them, helped them to see some good in the world. It didn’t matter to me the number, what mattered was that I was not alone—that they were not alone, that we were not alone.

At times it feels like the force of the world is pushing against me. From legacy media to social media, entire countries and entire generations, a narrative built on lies and hate seems to have insidiously spread like a virus, infiltrating the very institutions that were built to withstand these very things.

And then there is me— a nobody, of no importance, with nothing particularly special to offer, with no special talents, a mere speck in a far off island country living an entirely ordinary life with my two children, my dog and my MacBook.

Insignificant me, trying to fight with mere words against armies, against governments, against ideologies and against our biggest threat—lies.

I am a realist and a pragmatist. I know that I can’t change the world. I have no power over how other people think. I have no power over what people do. I can only remain true to myself, and speak with clarity and integrity. I can bear witness with my words to what has taken place.

“In war, truth is the first casualty.” —Aeschylus

We are currently in a time of chaos, of misinformation and skewed views, but things have a way of self-correcting. It may not be in my lifetime, but I have no doubt that in time generations will look back on this period with perplexity—how could so many people get it so wrong? And so I think it’s important that there are recorded voices, no matter how small, little specks of light in the dark, that show that not all of us went mad.

Recently I had someone tell me on Substack that I should feel ashamed.

Let me be clear—I do not.

I am proud of my work, I am steadfast in my beliefs that I am able to see things clearly, and I feel honoured that others are able to recognise that I speak with honesty and compassion, that I have not been manipulated by propaganda, nor have I dehumanised either side. I have not stood with terrorism. I stand with peace, but sometimes peace has a price.

Kelli x