Who Gives a Crap?
Author’s note:
This one wasn’t planned.
It just came out—somewhere between frustration with the world and trying to hold myself together within it.
There’s a line in here that’s very real, and a moment I didn’t expect to share—but it felt important to leave it in.
Sometimes we carry more than people realise.
And sometimes, it only takes a voice from the past to unravel everything.
Who gives a crap?
Who gives a crap about some orange-tinted “Master Chief”
playing war like it’s Halo?
Everybody – or so it seems.
Who gives a crap about the ongoing battle in Ukraine,
still quietly burning in the background?
Nobody – the algorithm moved on.
Slava Ukraine.
Who gives a crap about the brain rot—
six second clips,
seven second attention spans,
swipe… repeat…
Nobody. Society’s become immune to it.
And what about the person standing in front of you?
The one who’s cried three times this year already—
Mostly behind a mask,
holding it together,
stitching myself into something presentable,
like nothing’s wrong.
Because that’s what we do, isn’t it?
We stitch.
We patch.
We carry on.
Except once.
Sat at Mum and Dad’s,
watching an old home video—
and hearing my Grandma’s voice again…
She used to stitch blankets.
Carefully. Patiently.
Thread by thread.
And that memory—
that voice—
unpicked me.
Right there.
In front of everyone.
Who gives a crap?
I do.
I give a crap about life.
About people.
About not becoming numb.
My mission?
To be the best version of myself—
and stop letting everything get the better of me.
And nobody—
nobody—
can fucking stop me.
So tell me now…
Who gives a crap?
