Why I turn the TV on the second I get home

Syel · 7 October 2026

Seven in the evening, you drop your keys. Before your coat, the remote. You watch none of it, you just needed something talking.

You didn't pick the channel, you just pressed the button. Then you go to the kitchen, turn it up a notch so you can hear it from there, pull out a pan while someone does the weather in the living room. If anyone asked what was on, you couldn't say.

I think that's very human, not wanting to walk into a room that says nothing back.

Because silence asks questions. In it, the day comes back: the sentence from this morning, the message you never sent, the thing you told nobody. As long as something is talking, none of it surfaces. And what it takes is quiet: the evening goes by without you really in it, the tiredness never quite lands, and you go to bed late with the sound still on.