Bad habits
The Unexpected
Introduction This is just a stream of consciousness about things that have happened unexpectedly over the last couple of days. These are, actually, in my opinion, positive things, just things that were unplanned or I didn't expect to happen, and I suppose that most of the time, life is like that.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred about a year ago in Confessions
We’re More Connected Than Ever, But Lonelier Than We’ve Ever Been: A Day in 2025
This morning, I woke up to 134 notifications. Messages from group chats I barely participate in, app updates, news alerts about a wildfire on the other side of the world, and a reminder from a mental health app that I haven’t “checked in” for four days. A part of me smiled at the digital buzz — a small, addictive rush of relevance. But another part of me, the quieter, honest part, sighed. Because despite the constant pings, replies, and virtual thumbs-ups, I haven’t had a real, meaningful conversation in person for over a week. And I know I’m not the only one. A Hyperconnected World with Disconnected Hearts It’s 2025, and technology has officially won the race for our attention. We live in a time where you can FaceTime your cousin in Australia while ordering groceries through an app, all while streaming a show recommended by an algorithm that knows you better than your closest friends. We carry tiny glass rectangles in our pockets capable of connecting us to anyone, anywhere, anytime. And yet — statistically and emotionally — people have never felt more alone. A recent global study showed that nearly 45% of young adults report feeling lonely most of the time, despite spending upwards of 7 hours a day on social media and messaging platforms. How did we get here? And more importantly, how do we find our way back? The Illusion of Connection I remember when technology was supposed to bring us closer together. Back in the early 2010s, apps like Facebook and WhatsApp promised to bridge oceans and time zones. And for a while, it felt like they did. We reconnected with old school friends, shared pictures of our pets and plates of food, and sent each other silly voice notes just because we could. But somewhere along the way, something changed. What began as a way to nurture friendships turned into an endless competition for attention. The highlight reels replaced honest conversations. People started measuring their worth in likes, followers, and story views. We became performers on a stage with no intermission. And in this constant performance, something vital got lost — authenticity. Now, I scroll through my feed and see people I used to know posting motivational quotes about growth and gratitude while I know they're struggling in silence. I see perfect selfies with captions about "good vibes only," while their eyes tell a different story. It’s a digital masquerade, and most of us are too tired to take our masks off. Always Online, Always Lonely The irony of this hyperconnected world is that while we have more ways to reach each other than ever before, we rarely actually connect. A friend leaves you on 'read' for hours, and you assume they’re busy. But deep down, you wonder if you’re annoying, irrelevant, or easy to ignore. You get tagged in memes instead of receiving phone calls. Birthdays get a generic "HBD 🎉" on your Facebook wall rather than a warm hug or a meaningful message. We’ve replaced depth with convenience, vulnerability with curated images, and conversations with emojis. And while these tiny interactions keep us superficially tethered, they rarely nourish us in the way true human connection does. The Rise of Digital Companionship In 2025, loneliness has quietly become an epidemic. Mental health professionals warn that prolonged social isolation — even when you're technically surrounded by people online — is just as damaging as smoking 15 cigarettes a day. The situation is so severe that AI companionship apps are exploding in popularity. Programs designed to mimic friendship, romance, or mentorship are topping app store charts because people desperately need someone to talk to. An AI that never judges, always listens, and remembers your favorite color might sound comforting, but it’s also a tragic commentary on where we are as a society. When artificial relationships feel safer than human ones, we have to ask ourselves: what went wrong? When Everything Is Performative, Nothing Feels Real Another unsettling truth about modern connection is its performative nature. I remember last month, scrolling through TikTok, I came across a woman sobbing about her breakup. It was raw and emotional — until I realized it was staged content for followers. In the very next video, a man pretended to find an abandoned puppy on the street for likes, even though it was his own pet. Social media incentivizes drama, vulnerability, and human moments — but only when they’re packaged, edited, and filtered for public consumption. As a result, many people now struggle to recognize or engage in genuine connection. We hesitate before sharing a tough moment with a friend, wondering if it’s “oversharing.” We downplay joy in case it seems boastful. And so we drift, further and further apart. The Quiet Return of Small, Real Moments And yet — in the middle of this digital noise, there are still flickers of hope. The other day, my elderly neighbor left a basket of lemons from her tree at my door. No text, no Instagram story, no public display. Just a small, human gesture. At the park, a little boy sold painted rocks for $1.50 each. I watched strangers stop to admire his work and actually talk to one another — not about politics or algorithms, but about how their week was going. These moments reminded me that the human instinct for connection is still alive. It’s buried under push notifications and doomscrolling, but it’s there. And perhaps that’s our way back. Choosing to Be Present If there’s one thing this year has taught me, it’s that presence is a choice. You can scroll for hours and feel emptier than before. Or you can meet a friend for coffee, even if you both just sit quietly. You can put your phone on silent during dinner. You can ask someone how they’re really doing — and wait for the real answer. Because while the world profits off our distraction, what we really crave is attention — not the kind you get in likes or retweets, but the kind where someone looks at you and says, “I see you. You matter.” Final Thoughts 2025 will likely bring even smarter gadgets, AI friends, and virtual worlds. But the most precious thing we’ll ever have is still each other. So maybe it’s time to rebel. Talk to someone in person today. Notice the sky. Leave your phone behind for a walk. Compliment a stranger. Check in on your quiet friend. Because in a world addicted to performance and connection on-demand, choosing real, unfiltered human moments might be the most powerful thing you can do.
By Muhammad Ilyasabout a year ago in Confessions
The Community Garden
Leo, a quiet man who found more solace in the soil than in human conversation, spent most of his evenings tending his plot at the community garden. His hands, calloused and earthy, created beauty from barren ground, but his heart remained a tangled mess of unexpressed feelings. For years, he had carried a secret, a small act of betrayal against his childhood friend, Maya, that had festered into a deep-seated regret. He’d never confessed, and the silence between them had grown into an uncomfortable chasm.
By Momin Shahabout a year ago in Confessions
The Unsent Letter
Eleanor lived a life meticulously constructed around unspoken truths. Her art, vibrant and expressive, was the only place where her true feelings dared to surface, a stark contrast to the calm, composed exterior she presented to the world. A successful architect, she designed buildings that soared, yet her own emotional foundations felt perpetually shaky, built on a secret she had carried since her youth.
By Momin Shahabout a year ago in Confessions
WMYHUSWAH. Content Warning.
Hino. A last name so common it doesn’t register much thought to many people. To me, that last name was my world for five months. Compared to a lifetime, five months may be absolutely nothing, but six years later and here we are writing an essay about it. WMYHUSWAH (What Made You Have Unprotected Sex With A Hino)? The question was originally presented as a lighthearted joke to ease the tension of some horrible past mistakes. It is now a staple to the Goo Goo Dolls song, “Iris.” At first, my chest filled with laughter, but I never thought of an actual answer in a respectful manner. Why did I do it? Let’s travel back to the 2018 Rachel mindset. This man, dare I say his name, my dearest Jonah, was my dark knight wrapped in a cape ready to save the day. My dearest Jonah was a passionate man who expressed interest in the hobbies I really cared about, was a great performer in bed, and foolishly discussed having a future with me.
By Rachie Iris about a year ago in Confessions
I Found a Hidden Letter in My Husband’s Jacket—What I Read Changed Everything
I’ve always believed truth doesn’t knock politely—it barges in when you least expect it. That’s exactly how I found it: in the dusty inner pocket of my husband’s jacket, buried behind fabric and forgetfulness.
By Zahir Ahmadabout a year ago in Confessions
The Girl Who Only Spoke in Movie Quotes
Everyone in the small town of Ashbury knew Mia Langston. Not because she was loud or rebellious, but because she had a peculiar way of speaking: Mia only communicated in movie quotes. Ask her how she was doing, and you'd hear, "I'm just one stomach flu away from my goal weight," delivered in Meryl Streep’s clipped tone from The Devil Wears Prada. Ask her what she wanted for lunch, and she’d smirk and say, "I'll have what she's having," like in When Harry Met Sally. People would laugh. It was quirky. It was charming. But behind the lines, there was always a silence no one questioned. Mia had mastered her craft. She had memorized hundreds of films—from timeless classics to obscure indie gems—and carefully catalogued the quotes in her mind. Her conversations were stitched together like scenes from a screenplay, carefully edited, always in control. To her teachers, she was an enigma. Her classmates thought she was hilarious. But to those who watched closely, Mia was hiding behind a script—never revealing her true thoughts, never saying a single word of her own. She hadn’t always been this way. Before the quotes, before the act, there was a girl who used to sing out loud in class, who made up ridiculous rhymes and jokes that no one understood. That girl vanished the day her father died. One moment, they were watching The Princess Bride together. The next, he was gone—suddenly, tragically, and without warning. The last words he ever said to her were, "As you wish." Grief doesn’t speak in complete sentences. It chokes. It twists. Mia found comfort in the language of movies—predictable, rhythmic, structured. Movies didn’t leave. They didn’t die. They played on repeat. So she stopped speaking her own words and started quoting instead. At first, her mother thought it was a phase. Then a coping mechanism. Then a problem too fragile to fix. Therapists came and went. Teachers tried writing prompts. But Mia stayed in character. Until Theo Carter entered her life. Theo was the new kid, fresh from the city, with an annoying habit of asking deep questions and not taking “funny answers” for replies. He was tall, lanky, and always had a pencil tucked behind his ear. While others laughed at Mia’s one-liners, Theo listened like there was something underneath them. One rainy afternoon in the school library, Theo sat across from Mia, flipping through a copy of Dead Poets Society. “You really never say anything that’s not from a movie?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Mia tilted her head. “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” Theo grinned. “That’s Gone with the Wind. But you do give a damn. I think you just don’t know how to say it.” She glanced down. Her hand subconsciously reached for her journal—a black notebook where she scribbled quotes, not thoughts. “I think,” Theo continued, “you’re writing your own story. You just don’t know how to read it yet.” For the first time, Mia didn’t respond with a quote. She stared at him, words dancing on the tip of her tongue, but none borrowed, none rehearsed. They became unlikely friends. He introduced her to poetry. She showed him her collection of scripts. Slowly, a friendship bloomed between the lines of their shared silences. They started writing together—short scripts, scenes, character studies. Theo would write the dialogue, and Mia would “translate” it into famous lines. But then came the school’s talent show. Theo, always the bold one, signed them up for a short performance—an original piece. Their piece. “I can’t,” Mia whispered backstage, her voice barely audible. Her palms were sweating, her mind racing. Theo looked her in the eyes and said gently, “Carpe diem. Seize the day, Mia.” That line would have usually made her smile. But this time, something shifted. She shook her head and said softly, “I don’t want to borrow words anymore.” And just like that, the curtain rose. Mia stepped forward under the spotlight. For a moment, she froze. The crowd waited. She took a breath—not the kind you take before a performance, but the kind you take before becoming someone new. Then, for the first time in years, she spoke in her own voice. “This is a story about silence,” she began, “and how sometimes, the only way to survive is to speak through someone else’s voice. But I’m done surviving. I want to speak for me now.” A hush fell over the auditorium. She didn’t quote a single film that night. Her performance was raw, real, and unpolished. But it was hers. After the final line, there was a beat of silence. Then came the applause—thunderous, standing, endless. Mia Langston, the girl who only spoke in movie quotes, had finally found her own script. And it was beautiful.
By Mati Henry about a year ago in Confessions
Toxic Friendships: The Truth Behind a Bond That Drained Me
1. When It Felt Like Love in Disguise I met her during my second year of college. She was vibrant, magnetic, the kind of person who could turn a quiet room into a party just by walking in. I was the quieter one, the observer, always watching from the edges. But she pulled me into her world like I belonged there. And honestly, I loved it.
By majid aliabout a year ago in Confessions
