Entry II of the Truth-Seeking Series
— On America’s Amnesia, Discomfort, and the Ghosts We Still Deny
There are stories we love to tell.
And then there are stories we quietly bury.
America has always been good at forgetting —
forgetting what made her bleed,
forgetting who built her streets,
forgetting who was never invited to the dream.
We remember wars, but not the reasons.
We remember speeches, but not the silences.
We remember the myth — the shining city, the founding fathers, the land of the free —
but not the bones it was built upon.
It’s easier that way.
Memory, after all, is dangerous.
It asks for accountability. It demands presence.
And we’ve built our comfort on distraction.
But what if remembering is the only way forward?
What if forgetting is the real storm?
Lately, I’ve been thinking about how truth disappears —
not just by force, but by fatigue.
We get tired of caring.
We scroll past genocide, sleep through corruption,
and wrap ourselves in headlines like blankets to stay warm.
But the soul doesn’t forget.
And the body remembers even when the mind does not.
This country is haunted —
by what was done,
by what was denied,
by what was never healed.
I am not a historian.
I am a listener. A noticer. A quiet witness to a loud unraveling.
And I’ve come to believe that part of my work — however small —
is to help stitch memory back into the fabric
before it tears completely.
We don’t need more arguments.
We need more remembrance.
Of what it cost to get here.
Of who was sacrificed for comfort.
Of what it means to be truly free.
Because until we remember…
we will keep repeating.
Until we tell the whole story…
we are only writing ghosts into the future.
The truth was never lost — only hidden beneath the comfort of forgetting.
Unravel the scroll.
Remember what was buried.
Restore what still lives.
My Reflection —
I wrote this because I’ve been watching the world forget.
Not just the headlines — but the deeper truths behind them. The people erased. The patterns repeated.
Some days it feels like everything is crumbling, and yet no one wants to admit what was faulty from the start.
I don’t claim to have the answers. I only know that when we stop remembering, we start betraying something sacred.
This piece is my offering to the part of us — and of America — that still wants to wake up.
Hellènic Muse 