Big changes don’t always burst into your life with a big, loud announcement. Sometimes, just sometimes, you get warning signs.

The ocean water slowly recedes before you find yourself under a tidal wave, fighting to keep your life, and everything that you own.

I didn’t see it while listening to my teacher's monotone lecturing voice during history class. I didn’t see it when we announced the war against neighboring countries — they were going to attack us first, it was the only logical thing to do.

I didn’t notice the light leaving everyone’s eyes. Weighted down by the grief of sharing blood with fallen soldiers, greatly overworked — people stopped caring about anything at all.

I didn't panick when we got our country’s very own messenger app. The government's taking care of us. By banning every other way of communication they’re keeping us safe from cyber attacks. I supported the decision that we shouldn’t travel abroad. It’s only temporary, the world looks down on us, and we clearly aren’t safe in other countries.

They said that the walls they’ve built are supposed to keep us safe.

However, what truly kept me safe weren’t the walls, it was the opaque, warm bubble that I was living in.

With time, its color faded more and more, it was getting close to translucent. I started noticing our president giving different versions of the same events, but I’d brush it off — I’d convince myself that I was the one who’s confused.

Sometimes I’d catch myself wondering why our government closed the borders, instead of fixing our diplomatic relationships. I’d remind myself that they know better, and if they said it was safer then it must be.

I did everything when my bubble got a tear. I desperately tried to inflate it back, and when that didn’t work,I put a plaster over it. And when, despite all my efforts, the air had completely abandoned my shelter, I wrapped my aching body in the remains and wept like a baby.

My cheeks burned with shame of my ignorance, and my heart raced with the fear of a trapped animal. It has dawned on me that I am in complete and utter mercy of the people above me.

And that’s when I saw it.

The complex looks strangers exchanged on the streets, the scribbles on the subway walls, the double-meaning phrases said out loud and the blatant whispers I’d overheard.

They didn’t give up, they weren’t exhausted, they were waiting. Waiting for the next wave to come. This time we will be ready.