You have a superpower: the ability to leave this planet. Not too far, just far enough to see the entire human race as a hidden object nightmare. Of course, you bring a cosy blanket and maybe a pot of tea, coffee or even a bottle of red wine. Or something stronger (because, let's be honest, you won't be able to stand it for long sober). Actually, maybe a bag of popcorn too, just in case. Sweet, preferably, because the salty kind will be enough to make you sick just looking at it. Don't worry about the weight of the bottle or the pot. Or the bucket of popcorn. There's enough room on your little tracking cloud for you, your blanket and your escapist alcoholism. You curl up, take a sip and watch people race against their own insignificance. Beautiful. Tragic. Well, what do you see? OK. Maybe you see a lot: chaos, trapped between glossy facades. Trees, carefully planted for a clear conscience. Cars. Traffic jams. Factories that produce more waste than meaning. Smoke rising up to you, but swept away by the wind like an embarrassing thought. You breathe in. Fresh. At first glance. What else do you see? Billboards promising that you will be more beautiful, smarter and happier if you just consume them. Demonstrations, and next to them cafés where no one wonders what's actually going on. Influencers filming themselves with the sunset while they miss it. Politicians gesticulating with greater passion than if they were writing a better story (Yes, there are so many demands and promises that it makes your head spin). Lines on maps. Flags waving while children scream beneath them. Suits in safe countries using words like ‘necessary’ and 'defence'. And, of course, ‘solidarity’. If you narrow your eyes, you will see the cages. Rows of them. Not just made of metal, but of loss. Beings, uprooted, torn from what was once home. And then there are other cages - fleeting places of last moments. There is a lot of red. Bones in silence. Fur that no longer belongs to anyone. And somewhere in the rubble: a teddy bear. Dusty. Powerless. Misunderstood. You glance up briefly: planes in the sky with people who want to get away from something or get to something, usually both at the same time. Let's pause for a moment and acknowledge that there is definitely a lot to see. Perhaps too much. But we can't multitask on the clouds. Let's narrow it down. Let's observe the perpetrators. The perpetrators. They whisper through loudspeakers, on screens, in advertising slogans, in podcasts with overproduced jingles. They tell you what you need before you've even had time to question it yourself. ‘You want freedom? Then buy this contract.’ ‘You want love? Swipe right.’ ‘You want change? Vote for me.’ Some sell you abstract notions of survival, packaged in monthly subscriptions. Others sell you fear, because fear is simply easier to monetise. And it's always about getting you to move. Not forward. Just somehow. Frantic, distracted, busy enough not to have time to ask why. You watch people follow these perpetrators like moths to a flame, only to realise that it's an insecticide. A brief flutter, then a twitch, then a black dot in the statistics. And then you suddenly think - maybe that's all I have left: to sit. To watch. Not intervening, not correcting, not comforting. Just watching. And eating popcorn. You see patterns repeating themselves like a broken record in slow motion. Always the same thing: Power. Fear. Noise. Pretty words, ugly deeds. Hope evaporating somewhere between various campaigns and rocket launches. And yet, you keep watching. Your cloud carries you on. The world keeps turning. You take another breath. Fresh. Or maybe not. The bottle is empty. Even the popcorn bucket has left you and rolls leisurely away, over other patches of cloud, on its own journey into nothingness. Only you and the blanket are left. A small alliance against the great absurdity. But wait. Don't get up too quickly. We never talked about your superpower bringing you back. ​What are you asking right now: ‘Wait, what?!’ Or ‘What now?!’ Calm down first. Please! I have a quick piece of advice, if that’s okay: since you're not entirely sober right now, whether because of alcohol or because of what you saw down there, pull the blanket over your head. Forget everything. Maybe get some sleep. ​But when you wake up, you'll be sitting there again. Same cloud, same view.  ...And then I ask myself: Are you really so naive as to believe that someone will come and save you? Or will you make a pact with your fate and make the best of it: wait for the sunrise with the hope that the light will improve your mood a little? Anyway, even if you try to suppress everything and your throat is parched from thirst as you desperately cling to the first rays of the sun, a question suddenly pops into your head when you realise the contrast between beauty and ugliness: Am I merely an observer? A silent perpetrator? A blind follower? A fighter in hiding? Or just someone who’s trying to survive…?