“How are you?” they’d ask.
Hollowed out. When I wake up, I think about collapse. When I go to sleep, I think about collapse. Every day punctuated by a knowing, that we stand at the edge of time, on a precipice. It’s the backdrop to every news story, every issue. You think things are bad but will get better. I know they never really will.
“Good, looking forward to the weekend!” I reply.
“How are you?” they’d ask.
Exhausted. Whiplashed by a culture that worships Superbowls instead of superb owls. The ad seconds ticking by, dripping with money and invitations to shop like a billionaire, and plastic pollution to feed our souls. Where they invent shows called Fire Country for entertainment, while ignoring the spectacles that feed the fire.
“Tired, stayed up watching that great game! What a nailbiter!” I reply.
“How are you?” they’d ask.
Numb. Every day there are bombs. Another day in a war. Excuse me, wars, plural, but who’s keeping count? If I counted the bodies, if I let myself feel their suffering, I’d be suffering long into a future lifetime that doesn’t even exist. We weren’t supposed to be here. At least 7 billion of us, weren’t supposed to be here. Eeny meenie miney moe, which of us have to go? The lump in my throat won’t go away.
“Fine, busy as usual,” I reply.
“How are you?” they’d ask.
I was born on the upper deck of the Titanic, after it already hit the iceberg. I might be part of the group that is last to drown, but I’ve looked out the window and see the bodies in the water, floating on broken shelves of ice. I sit down at the table, ante up, and am dealt another hand. Laughing with my friends and family, bewildered by our good luck and fortune. They haven’t looked outside, and I don’t mention what I’ve seen. I stay in the game, but I still hear the screams.
“Just trying to be grateful for all that I have,” I reply.
Please visit Kavi's publication 'Metabolizing Collapse' on Substack, and give her a 'Like' and subscribe.
These stories contain the opinions of the writers and do not necessarily reflect the opinion of Collapse Club members or conveners.
This work is licensed under Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International
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Having participated in groups like Collapse Club and Death Cafe, and having run my own group Planet Titanic Human Extinction Café, it’s hard not to notice how few people under the age of 30 join us in these forums. After all, like us, many if not most of them are aware of the societal collapse and human extinction which are close at hand.
I was born in 1985, at 345.72 ppm of carbon to two middle-class artist parents. As a child of the nineties, I remember learning about the Amazon rainforest and being totally captivated by it, and then feeling the concomitant horror when I learned about the slash and burn agriculture that was destroying it. I wanted to stop this destruction, but of course was helpless to do so.
In the world we call Collapse, there are few distinctions more confused and misunderstood than the difference between 'giving-up' and 'letting-go.' These phrases may seem similar at the surface, but represent fundamentally different approaches to life's challenges, personal growth, and emotional healing.
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