The internet is a strange place. I scrolled past a post about random, celebrity drama. I saw people dancing in the streets. And another post where a television show had a scene of people talking about ICE and another post about the same show saying that the television show had gone downhill because the show about doctors had gotten too political.
As I’m writing this, I stopped to watch a reel of a little girl in Gaza cooking. Her name is Leen. I’ve followed her online long enough to pause and go, “Oh, she is growing up.”
She cooks meals with her tiny hands. Usually, she is in a tent. But this time, she looks like she is in a house. I’m relieved. I’m always relieved when I see her posts.
The war has not gotten her yet. She still smiles. She still makes her little recipes. I don’t know if she knows she has to do them to try and make money. Or if she enjoys them.
She’s four. Or three. I’m not sure anymore. She should be in pre-school, not worried about bombs dropping overhead, or having to make money for herself, her family, and her friends.
The internet is strange and terrible. I can see stories from miles away. Horrifying, heart-warming stories.
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