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  • Isn’t It Time to Reclaim Our Humanity?

    Isn’t It Time to Reclaim Our Humanity?

    We have become entirely numb in the face of injustice. We are trapped in such inertia that we struggle to escape, desperately clinging to stagnation. Our minds, turned into the hell of sameness, extinguish the idea of revolution before it even takes shape. Why have we grown so passive? Why do we appear so utterly inept as a society? Why, having once soared to the skies, do we now fear the unity of the ants beneath the earth? Our sense of wholeness has been reduced to mere individuality, making it harder than ever to achieve anything together. We have regressed from a generation that stood tall in defiance to a hunched-over macaque monkey.

    Humankind is a social creature, yet this status has now been reduced to a herd of amoebas sipping coffee in cafés. Grand words are spoken, only to be forgotten within a minute. After all we once achieved through unity, we have been lulled to sleep by the flickering glow of foolish little phones. And so, in the silence of the night, we awaken to regret, dreaming of the things we will do the next day—only to become sleepwalkers, drifting aimlessly through the daylight. We choose sleep to escape our thoughts. Sleeping has become our new normal; we yawn through the day, and our happiest moments are now those of utter uselessness.

    When did we start bowing to authority’s decisions without question? When did we shrink so much as human beings? Since when do we tremble at the thought of speaking a single word? Since when did we begin hoarding the truth, keeping it to ourselves? Since when have we lived in perpetual humiliation? Perhaps we have always been cowards; perhaps our knees buckle because we have always been willing to kneel; perhaps our hunchbacks are the result of our habit of submission.

    Isn’t it time to put an end to this?.. Isn’t it time to lift our bowed heads once more?.. Isn’t it time to raise our voices, once silenced by fear?.. Isn’t it time to reclaim our humanity?..

  • A Coward’s Diary

    A Coward’s Diary

    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.

  • Social Dementia

    Social Dementia

    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…

  • Accepting because I am one of them…

    Accepting because I am one of them…

    I am running, running without even looking back. Running as if someone were chasing me, running as if my fingertips could graze the edge of freedom, running as if pain could never catch up to me, running for a flicker of hope, for the fire of determination. Running as the trees I leave behind fade into shadows, my world growing lonelier—yet I do not falter. Running as distant faces blur into nothingness, their outlines dissolving with each step—yet I do not stop. Running because I am fleeing the inferno of sameness, running because I am chasing the illusion of paradise, running because with every step, I become someone new.

    I am crying, crying for the ground beneath my feet as I run. Crying for the fragments of myself lost in passing images, crying for the memories that once held happiness, now fading into the void. Crying for a world where I grow more meaningless with every step. Crying for the trees I left behind, their roots thirsty for the care I never gave. Crying for the words I spoke, now trembling under the weight of doubt. Crying for the books I read but never truly understood. But most of all, crying for the pages I abandoned in pursuit of something greater. Crying because I know that some things will never change.

    I am thirsty, thirsty until my whole body trembles with the ache of longing. Thirsty because I could not defy the choices made beyond my will, thirsty because I stood unmoved before the vastness of oceans. Thirsty because I could never quench the dryness that once consumed my mind. Thirsty because though I would have set worlds ablaze for a single drop, I refused the water offered to me. Thirsty because I was once among them, running because I was once been among them, crying because I was once been among them. Accepting because I am one of them…

  • Indispensable Solitude

    Indispensable Solitude

    Loneliness is the unshakable truth we first encounter in the tranquil embrace of the womb. From the moment we are born into humanity, we seek to escape it. We hide in corners, letting the darkness envelop us in its quiet serenity. From our earliest years, we feel the need to return to where we came from, because on this lonely planet, we are never truly alone. We build tents to retreat into, seeking refuge from the world. Our dreams take shape in the dark, a sanctuary from the pain of reality. We always yearn for change, believing that once it arrives, everything will be different—yet deep down, we know that nothing ever really changes.

    We set out to leave, yet the moment we take our first step forward, we are already searching for a way back. We resent the walls of our home, yet we spend our days longing to return to them. We attach ourselves to new objects, convinced they will transform us. We open new books, only to abandon them after the first few pages. Everything we do is an attempt not to think. But no matter how hard we try to escape our own minds, we always end up back in the darkness, thinking. Perhaps that is why we imagine hell in shadows and heaven in light.

    We cling to our social circles, fearing isolation, yet we grieve the time they steal from us. We wake each morning to waste time, only to lament its loss by nightfall. We resist sleep, haunted by the thoughts that visit us in the silence, believing rest to be a waste—when in truth, we squander time in every waking moment. We enter our jobs with passion, only to grow to despise them in the years that follow. We endure years of schooling, resenting every step along the way, yet later, we look back on those days as the best of our lives. Humanity thrives on forgetting, and in the scattered remnants of what we have lost, we search for fragments of happiness.

    Every time we long to be free like a bird, all we do is peck at the forgotten crumbs left behind. Everything flows forward, and the only thing that remains with us is the silhouette smiling back from the mirror.