There was a time when sadness was quiet and stylish. Aamir Khan walking alone in Tanhaai, earphones on, Sydney doing the emotional background work. He was sad, but not announcing it. No explanations. No audience. Just a song and a slow walk. Sadness had dignity back then.

Now I open Instagram and everyone has trauma. Trauma from loss. Trauma from love. Trauma from childhood. Trauma from adulthood. Trauma from food. And yes, finding a dead fly in your burger at the last bite is also emotionally disturbing. I am not ranking pain. Pain is democratic.

But that is not my problem.

My problem is that I cannot stay stressed for long. Stress comes, messes with my sleep, affects my body, overstays its welcome, and then my system politely throws it out. Like a guest who has talked enough about their problems and needs to leave now.

Instagram does not understand this concept.

I do not like trauma reels. I do not engage. I just want a dog video or someone failing at cooking. Still, trauma keeps finding me. Healing trauma. Unhealed trauma. Childhood trauma explained in thirty seconds with sad music. At some point, I start wondering if something is wrong with me.

Why do I not want to sit with sadness all day. Why do I not want to keep revisiting pain. Why does my mind prefer moving on instead of making content out of it.

Then I read this line. Joy does not need words. Loss does.

That suddenly made sense.

When you are happy, you just point at things. This. That moment. That laugh. Joy is simple and selfish. It does not explain itself. It does not need captions. Loss is different. Loss leaves an empty space, and empty spaces make us uncomfortable. So we fill them with words. Long words. Heavy words. The dictionary shows up because the thing itself is missing.

That is probably why sadness writes better. Pain wants language. Joy just wants to exist.

Maybe nothing is wrong with me. Maybe I just do not like living inside loss for too long. I feel things, process them, and then I want quiet. Not a reel. Not a performance. Just silence and a return to normal life.

So no, I am not broken.

Some people write because something is gone.

Some people stay quiet because something is still here.

And honestly, I am okay being the second kind.