When I first heard about TikTok, I dismissed it. I thought it was childish, a playground for silly dances and lip-syncing, something I couldn’t possibly connect with. But I gave it a try because I heard about BookTok—a space where people like me were sharing their love for books. What I didn’t expect was to find a platform that not only made creating fun and easy but also felt alive in a way no other app ever had.
TikTok is unique. It’s raw, real, and unapologetically diverse. It isn’t polished like Instagram, where every post feels like it’s been through a thousand filters. It’s a place where anyone—no matter their background, appearance, or status—can grab their phone, share their thoughts, and maybe, just maybe, go viral. It’s a space where creativity isn’t just encouraged; it’s celebrated.
But now, with the threat of TikTok being banned in certain countries, I find myself feeling something I didn’t expect: grief.
I don’t have a big following. I won’t lose a business or a platform that supports my livelihood. But my heart aches for those who will. For the small businesses that built their shops on TikTok. For the creators who found their voice there after years of feeling silenced. For the marginalized communities who used TikTok to shine a light on their stories when no other platform would. For the friends, families, and strangers who connected over shared passions, experiences, and ideas.
TikTok is more than an app. It’s a lifeline.
What makes this even harder to accept is how unfair it feels. TikTok is being blamed for issues that go far beyond the app itself. Some say it’s about national security; others argue it’s because TikTok is one of the few platforms where people can’t control the narrative. On TikTok, I’ve seen stories about the world—war, oppression, joy, resilience—that never seem to make it to the sanitized feeds of Instagram or other platforms. It’s raw. It’s messy. It’s real. And maybe that’s why it’s so threatening.
As I sit here, scrolling through TikTok and seeing creators post their heartbreak, their uncertainty, and their resilience, I realize what we’re losing. We’re not just losing a platform. We’re losing a sense of connection, of spontaneity, of freedom.
It feels like watching a fire burn down a house—except this time, it’s burning down businesses, dreams, and communities. The saddest part? Many people don’t even realize what’s being lost until it’s gone.
Grief is a strange thing. It sneaks up on you when you least expect it. I didn’t think I’d care this much, but I do. Not just for me, but for the millions of people whose lives have been touched by TikTok.
If this truly is the end, I hope we carry forward what TikTok taught us: to create unapologetically, to share authentically, and to lift each other up in ways no algorithm can predict. TikTok wasn’t just about videos—it was about people, connections, and a shared spark of creativity. That’s something no ban can ever take away. Here is the song I made for TikTok—sing along with me and keep the spirit alive.
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