There’s a certain kind of reaction that shows up when you post something real online — not disagreement, not even anger — just that little 😂.
They laugh.
Not because what you said was funny.
Not because it wasn’t true.
But because they don’t know how else to deal with someone who refuses to stay quiet.
Let’s be honest: it’s never about the post. It’s about control.
It’s about people who don’t like seeing someone rebuild publicly.
People who got used to telling the story for you — and don’t like watching you take it back.
But here’s the thing they don’t realise:
You don’t laugh at someone who’s irrelevant.
You don’t mock what you’re not secretly uncomfortable with.
And you don’t waste energy reacting to someone who’s not already being heard.
When I share my story, it’s not for validation — and it’s definitely not for laughs.
It’s for those who’ve been through the same digital harm, the same silence, the same feeling of being misrepresented or erased.
It’s for people who want to know it’s possible to fight back — with dignity, with clarity, and with proof.
If all someone can do is respond with an emoji, that says more about them than it ever will about me.
Because while they laugh, I’m still building.
While they mock, I’m still reclaiming.
And while they scroll — I document, publish, and correct the record.
The fight for truth isn’t always loud.
Sometimes it’s quiet. Consistent. Relentless.
And if that makes people uncomfortable enough to react with laughter?
Good.
It means I’m being seen.
And it means the story they tried to control is no longer theirs to own.
— Calvin-Lee H

