But June? June is a full-blown event. It’s loud and layered and bright enough to make even the grocery store feel like it’s trying to come out. Thirty whole days of rainbow merch, playlists, themed drinks, hashtags, and heated arguments online.
And I started wondering—not accusing, not judging, just… wondering.
Why does the nation give a day to the people who died for its freedom… but a whole month to those still trying to live in it?
I’m not saying Pride shouldn’t exist. I think there’s something beautiful about people finally being allowed to celebrate parts of themselves that used to get them hurt—or worse, made invisible. We live in a world that once forced queerness underground, so when it comes out dancing, yeah, let it dance.
But it still feels strange that the people who died—literally died—for freedom… barely get a long weekend.
I know. Maybe it’s because they’re already in textbooks. Because they got medals. Streets named after them. Final salutes. Maybe they don’t need the noise anymore.
Or maybe we’re just better at selling identity than sacrifice.
It’s easier to make a rainbow mug than to sit with grief.
And grief doesn’t go viral. It just lingers, quietly, like background static you only hear when the music stops.
Pride is about visibility. And maybe we’ve decided the dead don’t need to be seen anymore. Maybe memory has a shorter shelf life than hashtags. Maybe the heroes didn’t ask for a month because they didn’t expect to be forgotten so quickly.
I don’t think this is a competition. I think it’s a mirror.
And it’s showing us who we’re comfortable remembering… and who we’re starting to forget.
And maybe we need both. The dead and the living. The quiet and the loud.
Maybe celebration and remembrance aren’t opposites—they’re just different ways of holding on.
One with glitter.
One with silence.
Both sacred.
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