Apocalypse News: Our Daily Grail

Are we guilty of the flood of apocalyptic news and info-bombs that so many people around the world are generating on social media (particularly IG and YouTube)? Are we guilty of climate change? Of microplastics in our food and even inside our bodies? Are we guilty of the economic and political injustices and disasters that permeate the world?

I’d say yes—a little. But also no.

Let’s start with why we are guilty: Because whether we like it or not, we are alive. We consume. We’re part of the places we live in. We probably buy things that aren’t strictly necessary for survival. We are part of systems that keep us numb—slaves to other people’s time, also consuming, and also without much power.

Do we do something to change it? Maybe some people do, like politicians or activists… but most of us don’t.

Now, why are we not guilty: Because our parents sent us to school. Because they didn’t instill a revolutionary or communal narrative in us. Because they didn’t teach us to unite and fight the systems that keep us stuck—numb, enslaved, caught in the loops of consuming, polluting, producing, doing—without considering the negative impacts.

Because we were told we were supposed to go to college and be “successful” in society.

What does success mean to you?

Success, to me, meant being really good at my profession. One of the best. While also earning a lot of money. Traveling the world. Getting expensive stuff. A condo or a house. A car. Plenty of clothes, products, experiences. I think most of us have more or less the same “chip” in our brains.

Unless, of course, something broke during the pandemic and we started noticing that what we were doing wasn’t fulfilling. That we weren’t really satisfied with life. That all the travel and expensive stuff didn’t actually give that sweet, satisfying feeling. That it felt bitter—especially when looking around and seeing the reality.

Seeing that some of our fellow humans weren’t doing so well.

And what finally hit? Seeing that, despite all the effort, and how nice the narrative of success sounded, it wasn’t fully crystallized. It was cracking. Fading. Disintegrating. Seeming farther away than ever before.

Because maybe we’ve started acknowledging… but also resisting.

Because in some way or another, we’ve been victims of injustice. Of abuse. Of this system’s demands.

This society demands all of our time, all of our energy, all of our money. And we’re depleted.

So, the main hypothesis of this essay is the following:

Some of us (I won’t generalize—many people still refuse to accept the reality, the numbers, the facts, and are either asleep or trying really hard not to see), are kind of addicted to apocalypse news. At least, I am. And it’s not doing anyone any good.

I’m addicted to Reels on IG and YouTube that drop the newest, most critical piece of information. (Perhaps the algorithm is exploiting the fact that I’ve liked this content—because I care.)

Whether it’s about climate change…
…or how this asshole plans to take over the Middle East…
…or how that other asshole is funneling money from a music platform into war…
…or how this country is the root of all our human problems…

I’ve become addicted to it—and not in a productive way. Not in a healthy way.

I’d love to start taking action. I’d love to be part of a committee, a community with real political power—or at least a voice. I’d love to grow my own food. (I haven’t yet because I’m still building the space I’ll live in—and that’s a bit more urgent for now, while I try to care for my health: nutrition, exercise, therapies, etc.)

Honestly, I wouldn’t love to be a digital activist. But if I’m honest, the urge is so strong that I do have a YouTube channel where I do activism—though it’s mostly me complaining about the way we live, the ideals and standards we’ve been sold.

When I was growing up, and well into my twenties, I believed my life was going to be about art, music, dance, beauty, expression. Cool things. Now? I wish I could just enjoy those things. Only those things.

But I feel guilty. I want to do good. To play my part.

So what do I do? I like the Reel. I share it to my Stories. I create Highlights. I save it to a Playlist I share with another awake digital friend. And I overthink all of it.

Even in my offline spaces, it’s always in the back of my head.

What and where to buy to avoid generating trash. I walk past piles of neighborhood garbage and think:
“I should make flyers to organize the neighbors. Educate ourselves. Create a roundtable. Hear suggestions. What do they have to say about the amount of trash we generate each week? It’s insane.”

This reminds me of a conversation I had with my therapist in 2022, when—low key—I told her:

“I want to change the world.”

She suggested I support nonprofits, volunteer, or take real action. Not just absorb all the bad news and let it paralyze me. Because it was affecting my mental health. My job. My life.

In 2022–2023, I struggled with post-COVID issues. Then Lyme disease. In February 2023, I lost my job because of it. And sometimes I wonder if I allowed myself to be too distracted by all of this—and that it prevented me from focusing on work.

In 2024, I had to return to my home country because of health issues. I couldn’t afford to stay in Canada.

I think there are many courageous people out there—doing activism, making Reels, informing others. And I think that’s amazing. It's a key part of change.

The more people are interested, informed, and involved, the easier it will be to have real conversations, agree on solutions, and act on them.

But… I’m tired.

I don’t want to be part of it right now. Not while I’m not even at my best, health-wise. This is affecting me emotionally, spiritually, physically. I wake up with a dread that contains all of it:

Genocide.
Polluted rivers.
Polluted air.
Polluted soil.
Climate change.
And humans still extracting. Still producing. Still believing in infinite economic growth. Still thinking only some people deserve wealth, freedom, life.

(If I keep going, it gets dark fast—so I’ll stop there.)

I don’t know. It’s too much. It almost makes me cry.

So this essay is me telling myself—and maybe you, if it fits you:

We’re all entitled to a break.
To rest.
To peace.
To recovery time.

Don’t beat yourself up for needing it. For wanting to imagine another reality—even briefly.

Other people are taking the baton.

So please, if you’re reading this and you care—and you can spend some of your precious time picking it up and continuing the action—me and many others will be deeply, deeply grateful.

We can change the course of events.
We can change the world.
For the better.