To Be World War, Or Not To Be

I usually go into the living room, attempting to escape the habit of looking at social media, but once I saw the ruthless headlines I quickly got invested. Before I began typing these words, a strand of 3… no! Four inch hair was stuck on the top, right corner of my laptop screen, when I suddenly developed the motivation to type; just a few minutes ago, I scrolled aimlessly, around the topics of World War 3, and the recent news of Iran getting struck by U.S. missiles, to their nuclear siting, uh, thingy.

And imagined what morning will be like when my mother wakes, my dad turns on the TV at his apartment. And worse, how many of my peers will post endless rivalry and command the public to join a vast message of ‘no war’ statement. Jump, yell, scream, and push: yet, I couldn't even gather the courage to shove my father down the stairs. (Note: I did notice the news around 1 in the morning, after the day the information was viral. I didn't know it already did and I'm smiling after re-reading this text.)

I stopped midway after coming back from the gas station around two-thirty in the morning, after waking up at midnight and walking over to my desk to look at my phone. It's a nice, flat block always awaiting my attention.

Nuclear War still came to mind, and before I went out onto the apartment porch, I looked up at the night sky and wondered, should I wake up my mother? (Again, I thought the news showed Trump announcing his action during the night.)

Before, as I scrolled, though - a strong excitement and fear was noticed as I came upon more and more reels on instagram, of dozens of people explaining their anticipations and predictions on where this could be heading next.

Added by the nervous conflict within me - a tight wrap on death, exciting ends to come, and the onslaught of many others coming to terms with absurdity and truth - I wanted to join in on the hysteria somehow, be part of a mongering crowd, you know. Recently, I got done watching ‘Civil War’ by Alex Garland, and was heavily inspired to be a war photographer, even though I had no intentions of doing so before. That’s when I decided to grab my keys, get in my car, and drive down to the gas station to grab whatever I craved when I got there: just to see if any signs, little symbols, could be detected of the apocalypse. Little omens, you see.

Even knowing well, in the back of my head nothing was really saying it’s all coming down to a hellish trope, of something biblical or tarnished against U.S. development. As I write this, I did see someone on instagram quote a bible verse about the stars coming down to earth, and spreading destruction across the land. Some young drama experts who usually treat the topics they record like MTV or BET Reality TV shows.

However, I never felt so enthralled being part of my world, since everything, from the news and media, was a sign of a coming war, and I wanted to drive on and on in the dark.

You would just have to be in my head to witness the focus I got, when looking around at the headlights on the roads, thinking there was more out in about than usual; looking at the people in parking lots, wondering if they too are invested in what others are saying about it. And traveling along, entering the gas station felt like the beginning of a movie - the calm before the storm. The great suspense of dramatic irony, where the narrative can, at any point in the movie, shift to a different character, and let the main character die.

There’s a likeness to listen, a need to breathe in others’ stories, I believe, and make your own while at it. A need to feel heard, gently despite hate being delicious, and wanting to make the conflict real, both in my life and in others. I do wonder if that instagramer feels the same way when ‘catching’ predators or pedophiles - probably a thrill, an excuse to be proud, honest, and, in my weak opinion cause I barely know the dude, a complete asshole.

Anyway, if I'm being honest, the whole thing would be disappointing if nothing as big as WW3 came of it. The preparation of catastrophe in my excited head would deflate, and I would go back thinking why I don't belong here. Sad, sad.

This interest in me got so intense that, when it came time to stop scrolling, putting my phone back on the charger when I got back, I came here on the couch and turned on the TV to watch maybe cartoons, movies, or ‘Friends’ again on HBO Max. But then I realized something else. Something emotionally sensitive to maybe a poet; an old man, writing about women or the men he slept with at a young age, while sitting at a park bench, as dead bodies lie planted to the ground. (I apologize if this sounded randomly emphatic.)

I started watching Trailers of movies about grief, isolation, death, and psychological turmoil in the spirit.

It’s terrible to come out and say it, but, I sort of began trusting myself, that if war were to happen, I would serve myself on photography, storytelling, and grabbing a brush and painting others - terribly exploiting the weeks or months or years this war has caused, and making it my own eyes brandable. I wouldn’t be so different from everyone else on the internet; finally, it would feel real to many.

I gathered right away I wanted to be proud - proud that as I was part of this human race, I might experience the first war, in my own eyes and others, and witness the cultural and human condition in a new, fresh light.

But then, while sitting here, watching the crescent moon above Sandia suddenly hover near a bright star, going up and up as the Earth spins. An odd fantasy then took over me, and I didn’t want to turn it off. I wanted to dance in the street or something, or paint something, or draw something, or text somebody, I don’t know who, and apologize for anything. Okay, maybe not paint, I admit.

Now that I sit typing this, I feel calmer than before. And, like before, I want to keep my eyes on the world and take an invested interest in where this might go.

In short, because of the fear of coming darkness, a possible war and unbalance, I wanted in my life to not die, and see what will happen next. Blah, blah, am I right? But, everything became so real that I thought I wanted to actually care for people, be there for people, and see where we can all go after this is over.

While watching, in the end, if I should choose ‘Friends’ or Scooby Doo. It’s my choice, I think proudly, and I feel like going back to sleep. And I did.