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Tayan Tayan Fish

Human hunger is remarkably indiscriminate. It consumes spaces, resources, narratives and bodies. And only a few of us have the social digestive tract to actually process what we take in. The rest of us just discard the fallout without even a second thought.

We love data. We collect it, store it, format it into respectable statistics, and cite it to sound intelligent at dinner parties. But there's another kind of data we consume every day and never archive: the scene on the street corner, the cruelty we watch and don't stop, the structural anxiety we absorb without naming it. The everyday absurdity we take part in without noticing. It doesn't go to a server. It goes into our back pocket, and we carry it home.

That's how the elephants get into the room. It doesn't burst through the wall. We let it in, pour it, a cup of tea, and politely pretend it is an ottoman. Our collective inability to act on what we know thrives on a stacked deck. In a landscape bound by caste, class, and cultural hegemony, support is gated: some are born with a safety net, while the others are left to balance on a tightrope.

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