I don’t say that lightly, and it’s not because I hate people—I just see what we’ve done. The forests we’ve torn down. The animals we’ve driven to extinction. The oceans we've filled with plastic. The air we’ve poisoned. The greed. The cruelty. We walk through this world as if we own it, treating everything else as disposable.

I often ask myself… why did God even allow us to exist? We had so much potential. We could have lived gently, shared the land, and coexisted. But most of us either forgot—or never cared—that we are not the only ones here. We share this Earth with millions of other lives, all trying to exist peacefully. And we took and took, until now, even the Earth itself seems tired of us.

Sometimes I find myself quietly hoping that Mother Nature will reclaim what is hers. That the floods will rise, the fires will burn, and the Earth will shake off the poison that we have inflicted upon her. I don’t think it’s evil to feel this way. It’s not a wish for violence; it’s a wish for healing, balance, and justice that no human court can provide.

When that day comes—if it comes—I just want to be with the ones I love: my family, my dogs, the ones who feel like home. I don’t need anything else. Not comfort. Not answers. Just presence. Just love.

There’s so much I don’t understand, so much that makes me angry. But through it all, I still care. Maybe that’s the hardest part—how much I still care about the animals, the trees, the soil, the ocean, and the life we choose to ignore every day.

Sometimes I feel like I’m screaming into a void, trying to remind people that we live with this world, not on top of it. We are part of something sacred, something ancient. Yet most people aren’t listening. Still, I can’t stop feeling this way. I can’t stop wanting better.

And perhaps that’s my role in all of this—not to fix it or save it all, but to feel it. To resist going numb. To be one of the few who remembers. To hold space for grief, love, and whatever is still worth saving.