Bad habits
The Cost of Constant Connectivity
In today’s digital world, connectivity is no longer a luxury—it’s a necessity. From the moment we wake up to the moment we fall asleep, we’re bombarded with notifications, updates, emails, and alerts. Whether it’s checking our phones first thing in the morning or scrolling through social media late at night, our lives are intertwined with digital devices and online platforms. While this hyper-connectivity has undoubtedly brought immense convenience, it has also introduced profound psychological, emotional, and social costs. This essay explores the hidden price of being constantly connected and why it’s crucial to strike a healthier balance in the digital age.
By Aiman Shahidabout a year ago in Confessions
A Man Living with a Secret
Story: Jacob sat at the kitchen table, the morning light creeping through the window and casting shadows on his worn hands. The coffee in his mug was lukewarm, but it didn’t matter. He hadn’t tasted anything in days. Not really. Every day was the same routine: wake up, go through the motions of breakfast, take a breath, and then go out into the world. But the truth was, Jacob wasn’t really part of it. Not anymore. At the age of 37, he had everything—a comfortable home, a job he could do with his eyes closed, friends who respected him—but none of it meant anything. It was all a façade. Behind the surface, a dark truth had been haunting him for years, and he was running out of time. The secret was never meant to be kept. It was never meant to linger in the shadows. But life had a way of complicating things, of twisting decisions and making them feel right when they were anything but. Jacob ran his fingers over the old leather journal he kept hidden in his drawer. Inside it, he had documented every moment—every lie he’d told, every secret he’d kept, and every painful truth he had buried deep inside himself. It was the story of his life, told in fragments of guilt and regret. The secret had begun ten years ago, in a moment of weakness that spiraled into something irreversible. He had made a choice. A choice that, at the time, seemed harmless. But that one lie had led to a thousand others, each more complicated than the last. And then came the day when the lie had grown so large that it consumed him. It became more than just words—it became his reality. It became the reason he could no longer look anyone in the eye. It was why he could smile and nod, but never truly engage. It was why he always felt a cold pit in his stomach, as if the world could collapse at any moment, and the truth would finally come crashing down. But Jacob had learned to live with it. To bury the pain deep inside. And he had convinced himself that it would stay buried, that the secret would remain hidden forever. But as he stared at the journal, something gnawed at him, something he couldn’t ignore any longer. The phone rang, snapping him out of his thoughts. He picked it up without looking at the caller ID, but he knew who it was. “Hey, man,” came the familiar voice on the other end. “You okay? You’ve been distant lately.” It was Mark, his best friend. The one person who had been there for him through everything. Mark had always known there was something off, but Jacob had been too good at pretending. “I’m fine,” Jacob replied, forcing a smile into his voice. “Just… tired.” But Mark wasn’t convinced. “If you ever want to talk… I’m here. You know that, right?” Jacob swallowed hard, fighting the lump in his throat. For a moment, he almost told him. Almost let the secret slip out. But then the fear gripped him, the same fear that had held him hostage for so long. “Yeah, I know. Thanks, Mark,” he said, hanging up before the silence between them could grow too long. He looked out the window again, but this time the sun felt colder, the shadows darker. And he knew, deep down, that this secret would never let him go. No matter how many years passed, no matter how many smiles he faked, it would always be there. In the back of his mind. In every conversation. In every moment of silence. A man living with a secret was not truly living at all. He was simply waiting—waiting for the moment when the truth would demand to be told. And that moment was coming.
By Murtaza Shokri (Murtaza)about a year ago in Confessions
“The Last Cup of Tea”
Mira had always made tea at 6:00 PM sharp. For forty years, it was a quiet ritual between her and her husband, Thomas. They didn’t always speak during tea time. Sometimes they read. Sometimes they just listened to the sound of the rain tapping against the windows. But the silence was never empty—it was full of comfort, memory, and love.
By Samiullahabout a year ago in Confessions
One More Cigarette - and the Choise to Live. Top Story - July 2025.
I sat up in bed with a jolt. Wide awake, all senses reaching out into the darkness. Nothing. A chill ran down my spine. The last thing I remembered was fleeing. He was after me. A knife—or was it a spade—raised high toward the sky, ready to slice my belly open like a forced harakiri. My feet caught in the jungle’s vines.
By Henrik Hagelandabout a year ago in Confessions
The Last Scroll: How One TikTok Changed My Life
I was one scroll away from deleting TikTok forever. It was a rainy Thursday. My phone battery was at 2%, and honestly, so was I. My job at the call center had just let me go—downsizing, they said. I hadn't told my parents yet. I was tired of hearing “it’ll get better” when every day felt like walking deeper into fog. I had dreams once—to be a writer, to tell stories, to create—but dreams don’t pay bills. At least, that’s what life had taught me. So there I was, lying on my creaky bed, phone in hand, rain tapping on the window like it was mocking me. My finger kept scrolling, like a habit. Food videos. Dance challenges. People living their best lives while I couldn’t even get out of bed. And then, something stopped me. It was a video of a girl, maybe 19 or 20, sitting on a bench in the rain. No makeup. No filters. She looked right at the camera and said, "If you’re watching this, maybe you’re thinking about giving up. But this is your sign not to. Please… just give it one more day." Then she smiled. Soft. Sad. Real. And that was it. No fancy effects. No background music. Just her words. My thumb froze in place. My chest tightened. For the first time in weeks, I felt something—like someone had seen me through the screen. Like I wasn’t as invisible as I thought. That night, I didn’t delete TikTok. I made a video. It wasn’t anything special. Just me, on the rooftop, my face half-lit by streetlights. I said, "I’m 25, unemployed, and I used to be someone who believed in stories. Maybe I still do. If you’re out there, and you feel lost too, maybe we can find the way back—together." I didn’t expect anyone to watch it. But by morning, it had 45,000 views. By noon, it hit 300k. I sat stunned, still on my bed, watching the comments roll in. The comments were flooded with messages: “I feel this.” “You put my heart into words.” “I’m crying. Thank you.” “Do more. Please.” “You have no idea how badly I needed this.” I read each one like a lifeline. I started sharing more. Not just about sadness, but about little things too—my favorite books, my awkward coffee dates, how I started writing again. Slowly, a community formed. People who weren’t perfect. People like me. We laughed in the comments. We cried too. People began to DM me their stories, their scars, their survival. It felt like healing—slow, quiet, but real. I wasn’t famous. Still not. But I was seen. Heard. Valued. And that changed everything. One comment hit me the hardest: "You saved me. I was about to give up last night. But then your video popped up." I stared at that comment for a long time. That’s when I realized—words do matter. Stories can save. Mine almost didn’t get told. But one stranger, with one video, gave me one more day. And that one day turned into my second chance. Today, I run a small storytelling page. I help others share their journeys. I write about mental health, resilience, quiet courage. I teach a free online workshop twice a month called “Your Voice Matters.” Not for money—just for connection. I still have hard days. I still get lost sometimes. But I no longer feel alone. Sometimes, we wait for big signs—miracles, fireworks, applause. But maybe hope doesn’t come loud. Maybe it arrives quietly, as a TikTok at 2% battery, just when you need it most. Sometimes the thing that saves you isn't a grand moment, but a simple sentence whispered across the screen by someone who doesn't even know your name. And sometimes, it’s not the world that changes. Sometimes, it’s you. If you’re reading this now, let this be your sign: Don’t give up yet. One more day. One more scroll. One more story. You never know what tomorrow holds. But today—you’re still here. And that means everything. Want to share your voice? What was your moment of change? Drop it in the comments. You never know who you might save.
By Muhammad Abuzar Badshah about a year ago in Confessions
The Well's Whisper
The Well's Whisper The silence shattered the moment frantic screams pierced the humid Texas air. It was October 14, 1987 — a day that dawned like any other, filled with the lazy hum of summer’s lingering warmth and the innocent laughter of an 18-month-old child. Jessica McClure, a tiny whirlwind of curiosity, played joyfully in her aunt’s backyard in Midland, Texas, when the unthinkable occurred. One moment she was there — a bright spark of life — and the next, it was as if the earth had swallowed her whole. She had vanished into an abandoned, eight-inch wide, 22-foot deep well — a dark, narrow maw in the unsuspecting ground.
By Noman Afridiabout a year ago in Confessions
The Stranger Who Shared My Blood
I never imagined that a saliva test could make me question everything about my identity. Like many people during lockdown, I got bored and bought one of those at-home DNA kits. It sat on my shelf for weeks until I finally spit into the tube and mailed it off, expecting nothing more than confirmation of what I'd always been told: half Swedish, half French, and a proud mix of both.
By Hamad Haiderabout a year ago in Confessions
“The Last Message I Never Sent”
I still have it—your last message. Unsent. Unfinished. Unspoken. It’s been over a year since we ended things, but that message still sits there in my drafts, frozen in time. I open it sometimes, just to remind myself how close I came to saying it all… and how far I was from actually doing it.
By Silent Confessionsabout a year ago in Confessions
Trump’s African Summit: A Modern Display of Colonial Power
Trump’s African Summit: A Modern Display of Colonial Power On July 9, 2025, the White House became the stage for a troubling diplomatic theatre, as United States President Donald Trump hosted a mini-summit with the leaders of Gabon, Guinea-Bissau, Liberia, Mauritania, and Senegal. What was billed as a friendly summit about economic cooperation quickly revealed itself as a spectacle of domination and submission, raising critical questions about modern-day power dynamics between Africa and the West. Diplomacy Disguised as Control Trump opened the summit with a brief speech, claiming the five visiting presidents were “representing the entire African continent.” This gross oversimplification ignored both the vast cultural, economic, and political diversity of Africa and the reality that these five nations play a relatively minor role in U.S.-Africa trade. Trump’s primary focus was not on partnership but on Africa’s riches: gold, oil, and rare minerals. His praise for these nations centered not on their people, culture, or innovation, but on the wealth buried beneath their soil. The meeting’s timing only sharpened the contradictions in Trump’s message. On the same day, his administration escalated its global trade war, imposing new tariffs on eight countries, including African nations Libya and Algeria. The contradiction was glaring: while the U.S. president spoke of “strengthening ties with Africa,” he was simultaneously penalizing African economies elsewhere. Critics argue that this is the true face of Trump’s Africa policy—where “partnership” means compliance and where rewards are conditional upon submission. A Scripted Performance of Deference The summit quickly turned into a carefully choreographed performance. Trump, playing the role of master of ceremonies, invited—though effectively instructed—his guests to speak to the media. Each African leader played their part, offering Trump glowing praise in a manner that seemed rehearsed and reluctant. Mauritania’s President Mohamed Ould Ghazouani, who had served as the African Union (AU) Chair in 2024, led this display of flattery. In a particularly surreal moment, he declared Trump a global peacemaker, bizarrely crediting him with stopping a war between Iran and Israel. This narrative ignored the U.S.'s ongoing military support for Israel’s devastating assault on Gaza—an act that the African Union itself had condemned. Ghazouani’s silence on Palestine, in exchange for possible economic favor, was a painful reminder of the compromises leaders sometimes make on the global stage. Senegal’s President Bassirou Diomaye Faye, once a symbol of anti-imperialist politics and youthful reform, was particularly disappointing. Having campaigned on breaking away from neocolonial structures, Faye instead requested that Trump build a golf course in Senegal—an ask that symbolized not independence, but submission to foreign leisure interests. Trump’s response was to compliment Faye on his youthful appearance, brushing aside the request like a schoolteacher humoring a child. Gabon’s President Brice Oligui Nguema tried to discuss “win-win partnerships,” only to be met with lukewarm interest. Liberia’s President Joseph Boakai impressed Trump, but not for his policy ideas. Instead, Trump marveled at his English fluency, asking in astonishment, “Where did you learn to speak so beautifully? Where? In Liberia?” The question betrayed not only ignorance of Liberia’s founding by freed American slaves in 1822 but also a racist surprise that an African leader could be articulate in English. Colonial Attitudes in the Modern Era Trump’s remarks and attitudes throughout the summit echoed a long history of colonial condescension. His surprise at Boakai’s language skills mirrored the colonial-era belief that Africans who adopted Western customs or languages were anomalies, curiosities to be admired for their proximity to whiteness rather than their own merits. Similarly, at a previous White House event, Trump reduced an Angolan journalist, Hariana Veras, to her looks, publicly calling her “beautiful” during a peace ceremony between the DRC and Rwanda—another deeply inappropriate and objectifying comment that continued the legacy of sexualizing and diminishing Black women. The summit was not an isolated incident but part of a broader pattern in Trump’s dealings with Africa: transactional, dismissive, and rooted in old imperial power dynamics. His foreign policy has repeatedly shown little regard for Africa’s agency, focusing instead on what the continent can offer in terms of natural resources and political compliance. Contrast with Biden’s Approach The contrast with President Joe Biden’s U.S.-Africa Leaders Summit in 2022 could not be starker. Biden welcomed over 40 African heads of state and representatives from the African Union, civil society, and the private sector. His summit emphasized peer-to-peer dialogue, respect for African development agendas like the AU’s Agenda 2063, and sought genuine partnership rather than subordination. Where Biden sought engagement, Trump sought obedience. The Real Cost of Compliance Perhaps the most painful aspect of the July 9 summit was the lost opportunity. In a moment when African leaders could have asserted their nations' sovereignty, challenged Trump’s condescending tone, and defended Africa’s dignity, they instead bowed—metaphorically and literally. Their compliance secured a fragile reward: Trump promised that their nations would not face new tariffs “because they are friends of mine now.” It was a transactional victory purchased at the cost of dignity. For the African leaders present, the choice was stark: protect their economies from Trump’s wrath or risk challenging a president who thrives on punitive diplomacy. But their silence and flattery only emboldened Trump’s imperial performance. A Reminder of Unfinished Decolonization The summit’s optics were impossible to ignore: a powerful Western leader extracting loyalty and resources from compliant African heads of state. It was a modern-day colonial tableau, reminiscent of 19th-century encounters where African kings were forced to bow before European emperors. Despite decades of political independence, economic and diplomatic relations between Africa and the West often remain shaped by uneven power dynamics. President Faye’s capitulation was especially disheartening. He had risen to power as a voice for African dignity, promising to reclaim sovereignty and reject neocolonialism. Yet, in Washington, he followed the script, failing to challenge Trump’s narrative and thus betraying the ideals that brought him to power. The Illusion of Partnership In the end, Trump didn’t build bridges; he built a stage. He didn’t engage with equals; he orchestrated a performance where he alone was the master. The African leaders, by participating in this spectacle without protest, helped perpetuate the very systems of control and exploitation they once promised to dismantle. If Africa is to break free from these cycles of dominance, its leaders must resist such public humiliations and redefine engagement on their own terms. Genuine partnership cannot be built on flattery and fear; it must rest on mutual respect, shared interests, and the courage to speak truth to power. Until that happens, summits like Trump’s will remain not forums for cooperation but stages of colonial theatre—where the master still holds the script, and Africa plays a supporting role.
By Ikram Ullahabout a year ago in Confessions
My Ex HAS Become My BOSS
MY EX HAS BECOME MY BOSS – I'M DOOMED We broke up five years ago. Now he signs my paycheck. And every time he calls me “Miss Ade,” I hear the anger he never spoke out loud… They say time heals everything. I believed that—until I saw him again. Until I walked into the boardroom of my dream job and saw the man I ghosted five years ago… sitting at the head of the table, in a tailored navy blue suit, smirking with the same quiet fury that used to haunt my dreams. His name is Lanre. Once, he was my everything. Now, he’s my boss. And I think he wants revenge. --- It was never supposed to be like this. Five years ago, I ended our relationship with a single message: > “I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. Please don’t call.” Then I blocked him. Changed my number. Moved to another city. Not because I hated him—he was gentle. Loving. Too loving. I was scared. Scared of how much I depended on him. Scared of how much he wanted to marry me when I wasn’t ready. Scared because he saw a future, while I saw only fear. So I vanished. --- Now, at 29, I’m tired of running. When I landed a job at Crest Capital—one of the top financial firms in the country—I thought it was my second chance. Until the glass doors slid open on my first day… and I saw him. Lanre. Older. Colder. More powerful than ever. His eyes locked on mine. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t smile. He simply said: > “Miss Ade… we’ve been expecting you.” --- That was three months ago. Since then, I’ve tried to stay professional. He never mentioned our past. But it leaks into everything: Into how he assigns me the hardest projects. Into how he corrects me in front of everyone. Into how he says “Miss Ade” with venom wrapped in velvet. The others think he’s hard on me because I’m new. I know better. He remembers everything. --- Last Friday, he called me into his office. The air felt like ice. Without looking up, he spoke: > “We’re flying to Abuja for the investors’ summit. You’ll assist me directly.” I hesitated. > “Sir, there are senior associates—” He looked up. His stare was fire. > “You have a problem, Miss Ade?” I swallowed. “No, sir.” --- The flight was silent. The hotel lobby buzzed with executives. I stayed in his shadow, hoping to go unnoticed. But at dinner, surrounded by partners from Dubai and London, Lanre turned to me: > “Tell them, Miss Ade… why you believe loyalty is the most undervalued asset in business.” The table fell silent. He smiled. But his eyes burned. I knew exactly what he meant. --- That night, I couldn’t sleep. At 2:13 AM, there was a knock at my door. My heart stopped. I opened it. Lanre stood there. Tie loosened. Sleeves rolled up. A storm behind his calm expression. > “May I come in?” I froze. Then stepped aside. He walked in, looked around, then turned to me. > “Why did you do it?” --- I looked at him. Really looked. The man who once held my face like it was something precious. Who wrote me poems he never shared. Who once whispered, “You are not hard to love. You just need someone who won’t run.” And I did the one thing I promised myself I wouldn’t do: I cried. > “I was afraid,” I whispered. “You loved me so much, it felt like drowning. I didn’t know how to love you back. So I ran.” He stood silent. Then finally asked: > “And now?” I looked up. > “Now I wish I hadn’t.” He nodded once. Then turned toward the door. > “Get some rest. Early call tomorrow.” And he left. --- Back at the office, everything changed. He wasn’t cold anymore. But he wasn’t warm, either. Silent. Deliberate. A week later, he called a leadership restructure meeting. My name was on the shortlist for promotion. Everyone was shocked. So was I. But the real shock came the next morning. --- On my desk was a small envelope. Not from HR. Handwritten. No name. Just five words: > “You still owe me closure.” I thought he only wanted revenge. But maybe… he wants something more. And I don’t know if I’m ready —to find out what it is.
By 🇲 🇮 🇳 🇩 🇺 🇳 🇫 🇴 🇱 🇩 🇪 🇩 about a year ago in Confessions
