February 20th

Had an appointment this morning. The bus was late.

A woman with a little girl and a huge schoolbag was counting coins in her hand, quietly, like it was a private ritual. The child kept asking if they’d miss school. She kept saying, “No, love, we’re fine”, in that tone adults use when they’re not fine at all.

I once was that mum.

Of course there were no headlines. No panel discussions. No hashtags.

Just time stretching differently depending on who you are.

We tend to talk about justice only when something explodes.

A scandal. A trial. A disaster.

But most injustice isn’t explosive. It’s slow. Administrative. Boring.

It lives in waiting rooms and application forms and whose accent gets taken seriously.

It lives in who gets described as “troubled” and who gets described as “dangerous“.

You know…

Who can be late without consequences.

Who can be sick without suspicion.

Who can be angry without being reduced.

Today is World Day of Social Justice. I barely missed it.

For me, it’s less about punishment and more about…

whether the ground feels steady under your feet on an ordinary Friday morning…

The kettle’s on.

Yours, B.