I, a man who survived brainstem inflammation and spastic quadriplegia, hereby declare to the world:

stop being afraid of trivial things.

I'm not afraid of steel doors, bars, steel frames, or walls on metal studs. The world tried to lock me inside a Faraday cage, and yet I'm still broadcasting — louder than the Wi-Fi I'm missing here.

I'm not afraid of illness; it's already been my neighbor. I'm not afraid of pain; it stopped being a surprise. I'm not afraid of the stares of people who don't know how to look at me. I'm not even afraid of the silence in the care home, because silence is just empty space where I can plant my words.

I'm not afraid of death either — it will come like a postman, and I already have my manifestos sealed in envelopes.

Because it's me, not my body, who is the sender.

Because it's me who writes letters that steel, concrete, and bureaucracy cannot muffle.

Because it's me who laughs — loudly, even if only on the inside.

So if anyone here is still afraid, let them know:

one guy from a care home already finished his homework on fear and now has free hands to write manifestos.

Fear Graduated. I'm Broadcasting.