Category: Free

I am dragging, dragging from place to place. My mind is constantly in search, filled with the hope that I might be happy, despite all my will to the contrary. A continuous journey, a stillness, a hope, a failure. My belief in achieving success, shaped by the ever-changing nature of time, ends with my relocation, settling for merely watching success drift further away at the end of the road. I attribute everything to change, yet I remain entirely passive in the face of what change brings. Why do my thoughts always strive to keep up with change? Why am I constantly tossed around by the idea that my understanding of life is evolving? Should I start taking life seriously? Should I embrace the ambition of humanity? Should I, like them, endlessly strive for success? Or perhaps I should simply write about how my thoughts meet with laziness in this very spot where I sit.

Writing always brings unease; instead of feeling relieved, I am overwhelmed with sorrow the moment I start writing. As soon as I begin, I find myself stark naked in the clutches of a great sadness. I fear that someone will remind me of my nakedness. Perhaps it is not the act of writing itself but the criticisms I direct at myself that distress me—I am afraid of the thoughts in which I know I am right. I fear my dull convictions that I will never be successful at anything. These days, I am surprised by the praise I receive from others; knowing how utterly useless I am, I feel ashamed of the false perception I project onto people. The moment I receive praise, I want to run away, not even look back. Especially, I do not want to look back—I do not want to look, I do not want to, I do not… because I fear that someone might be behind me.

I do not want them to know that I am a coward who appears confident. I do not want them to see me trembling with fear at night. I cover my mouth so they will not hear the gaps between my sobs, the voids within me. I love the security that silence brings; I fear the meaninglessness of the words that might escape my lips if I speak. I fear people getting to know me, terrified that they will discover my true self. I have been acting all my life, performing like a good actor. I even act for myself, afraid that if I stop, I will come face to face with who I truly am. I fear that the only thing I have ever been truly successful at is acting. I am just afraid.

We are falling, yet we remain unaware until we hit the ground. Each step taken while climbing the stairs marks the beginning of a new universe in one’s mind. Every step is an ascent, and with each ascent, the stakes of what can be lost grow. Every rise carries within it the weight of an even greater fall. But what does it mean to take a step forward while simultaneously stepping back? This is a phenomenon exclusive to democratic societies, for those in power never think of tomorrow; they never cease lying to maintain their position. In a world built on lies, relying on deception to uphold order is both vile and utterly normal.

Distorted laws, dysfunctional institutions filled with loyalists, rising votes fueled by the decline of education, rules imposed through the ignorance of the people. The people are so foolish that they always believe a savior will come to rescue them and transform their world completely—but that savior never arrives. The savior has always existed within us, but we lack the courage to bring it forth. Perhaps it is the inevitable result of our acceptance, which was born from rebellion.

We forget—we forget everything. We forget what has happened. We forget right and wrong. Those who were our enemies yesterday become our friends today; those we despised turn into the ones we love most. Our memory is limited, and we live in a palliative society. We no longer know what pain truly is. We are eager to numb our mental suffering with our phones, our physical pain with anesthesia. What we fail to realize is that this constant societal anesthesia has erased our already fragile memory. We have all become dementia—only we are unaware of it…

People are always talking—but does that mean what’s being said is meaningful? Everyone voices an opinion on something, a direct result of the freedom of speech that the digital age has bestowed upon us. But how useful is it that everyone talks? Just as people aren’t all equal, every sentence uttered should vary according to whose frame of reference we adopt. Do I enjoy the same freedom of speech as a primate? Of course not—words that leave one mouth and enter another’s mind can never be equal in the thoughts they provoke. This is a fact dependent on who’s speaking, and one we all tacitly accept. But when people speak on digital platforms—or when those who feel compelled to vent hatred at us reach our screens—do the thoughts they stir within us differ as well?

Today I read a post from a Frenchman claiming I’m a fool, and it caught my attention. Where did he get that idea? What could have led him to think so? Does France’s so‑called liberal right to speak endorse this kind of baseless chatter? Does he think that by writing that, he’s spoken truly freely? Indeed, people—and the rights we grant them to speak—can be very peculiar. Or consider the freedom of speech born of woke culture: how absurd is it that those who see themselves as outsiders constantly assume the right to criticize? Excluded from society, they proceed to condemn everyone unlike themselves without end, donning the mantle of self‑appointed defenders of rights. People are strange.

Humanity’s greatest problem is its struggle to find a place within society: everyone tries to plant themselves in the seat allotted to them within a group, and the moment they belong, they begin to behave just like everyone else. Perhaps humanity is far more ignorant than we imagine, since each person understands only as much as they wish, never even considering the rest. Perhaps we each express our rebellion against life in this very way. Everyone lies in wait to accuse someone or unleash their hatred. One of the digital age’s gravest ills is the social violence and hate speech we inflict on one another. As products of cancel culture, people who have amoebified themselves now spew meaningless words that differ not one bit from the irritating gnats buzzing in our ears.