Family
Tomorrow’s Utopia
In 2149, humanity conquered sadness. The Global Neural Grid (GNG) was hailed as the pinnacle of human achievement—a mesh of AI, biotech, and quantum empathy that rewired brains to prioritize joy. Wars ceased. Poverty vanished. Even the weather bent to humanity’s whims: hurricanes dissolved into rainbows, and winters were just "aesthetic snow" that didn’t chill. But perfection, as the Grid’s engineers failed to predict, has a funny way of unraveling.
By Ramjanul Haque Khandakarabout a year ago in Confessions
The Bus Stop Stranger
I was late—again. The rain was relentless, drumming against my umbrella like it was trying to shake me out of my fog. I had just left the office, soaked in more than just rain: burnout, boredom, and the dull ache of a life on autopilot. My job in digital marketing paid the bills, but it was eating me from the inside out.
By Khanabout a year ago in Confessions
Letters from the Frontline
Aarav and Meera’s marriage was still new just seven days old when duty called him away. Their honeymoon had barely begun, and the weight of their wedding rings was still fresh on their fingers. The army’s call came with urgency: a border skirmish had intensified, demanding his immediate return to service. Meera, her heart breaking but filled with pride, stood with him at the railway platform, gripping his hand tightly. Her eyes, filled with sorrow and love, refused to let go as the train neared. Before he boarded, she slipped a small leather-bound notebook into his coat pocket, her voice trembling as she whispered, "Write to me." Aarav kissed her forehead gently, his promise unwavering: "Every night, no matter what."
By Maik Tysonabout a year ago in Confessions
Being Shy in a Loud World: What No One Sees. AI-Generated.
Being shy is not the same as being antisocial. It’s not that we don’t want to talk — it’s that sometimes we just don’t know how. In a world full of noise, social media, fast opinions, and constant eyes, being a reserved person can feel like being in the wrong place… all the time.
By The lastabout a year ago in Confessions
The sad things that I see
There are so many ways one can deal with their emotions, especially depression. For me, it's doom scrolling on TikTok for a good laugh. However, there are a few videos on there today that I cannot stop thinking about, and it's due to my survivor's guilt that I struggle with. I tried to go back and look for the video, however, TikTok totally did the thing, and I cannot find the two videos of it now.
By Jessie Lynn Nelsonabout a year ago in Confessions
I Broke My Own Heart
Not because of a fight, or betrayal, or some dramatic moment — but because I had slowly stopped recognizing myself in the mirror. My smile was still there, but it had become mechanical. I laughed at the right moments, said the right things, kept up the routine… but inside, something had gone quiet. I wasn’t in love anymore — I was in limbo.
By inam ullahabout a year ago in Confessions
Every country gets the leaders it deserves
In the same way we are all a product of our environment, leaders are a direct reflection of the society that produces them. Even though this title might seem harsh, it is painfully true. Bad leaders do not sprout out of thin air, they are enabled, tolerated, promoted and sometimes celebrated by the very people who suffer under them. Let's talk about why this happens, how do bad leaders emerge in different societies and rise to power.
By real Jemaabout a year ago in Confessions
The Mirage of Choice
The Mirage of Choice How Our Desires Blur the Lines Between Truth and Illusion Evan Calloway prided himself on his taste. Whether it was his selection of vintage wines, obscure indie bands, or his carefully curated wardrobe, he believed he could see through hype and spot true quality when he encountered it. His friends admired him for it—or, at the very least, they admired how confidently he spoke about things they didn't understand.
By Gabriela Toneabout a year ago in Confessions
When Phones Were Not Our World: A Journey Back to Simpler Times
Remember the skies that stretched so wide, Where dreams would dance and hopes would glide, No screens to flicker, no buzzing calls, Just barefoot races down dusty halls. We built our castles in the sand, Held galaxies inside our hand, We laughed till dusk with skinned-up knees, And chased the whispers of the breeze. No stories snapped, no videos streamed, Only the laughter that brightly beamed, We shared our candies, traded dreams, Invented worlds by babbling streams. With sticks as swords, with crowns of mud, We fought great battles through field and flood, The puddles were oceans, the trees our forts, And every victory earned in sports. Our playgrounds stretched beyond the eye, No filters blurred the open sky, A cricket bat, a rubber ball, Defined our summers, one and all. We counted stars on sleeping nights, And shivered under northern lights, No urgent buzz, no flashing light, Just mother’s call to end the night. Bicycles whirred through village lanes, We raced the trains, outran the rains, Our cheeks were flushed, our spirits wild, Unbroken dreams of a fearless child. The simple joy of spinning tops, The endless thrill of candy shops, We waited weeks for fairs to come, To win cheap toys and chew on gum. We carved our names on schoolyard trees, We tied our dreams to floating leaves, The rivers whispered songs we knew, As barefoot, wild, we simply flew.Letters traveled from hand to hand, Promises sealed with grains of sand, No urgent emoji could replace, The warmth of touch, the smiling face. Sunsets meant a world of gold, Stories that the elders told, Tales of dragons, kings, and wars, Of sailing ships and wishing stars. Festivals lit the village square, With laughter heavy in the air, We danced to drums, we sang aloud, No live streams shared the buzzing crowd. Birthdays were a humble treat, Homemade sweets and little feats, No cake-cut posts, no trending news, Only heartfelt smiles to choose. We knew our neighbors, sang their names, Played barefoot cricket in rough games, Chalk on pavement, swing-set songs, We stitched our summers wild and long. When letters written by careful hands, Flew farther than these broadband lands, The ink would fade, but never die, Unlike the pixels we swipe by. No reels to post, no lives to stream, Only real laughter and shared dream, A friend's hug spoke more than a text, A moment lived, not second-guessed. Yet here we sit, with heads bowed low, Into our phones, we barely glow, The world outside, a whisper fades, While screens consume our sunny days. Close your eyes, and hear once more, The knock, the shout, the old front door, The giggle fit at foolish jokes, The muddy streams, the climbing oaks. Let’s find the children we have lost, Beyond the network's heavy cost, Let's build again those dreams we hurled, Back when phones were not our world.Start writing... 2 Remember the time, when the skies were wide, When laughter echoed, with nothing to hide, No glowing screens, no endless feed, Just open fields and childhood’s need. We chased the winds and climbed the trees, Built paper boats that sailed the seas, We ran with dreams on dusty roads, And carried laughter as our loads. No texts, no calls, no ringtones loud, Just shouting names across a crowd, A broken slipper, a playful fight, A streetlamp's glow our only light. We played with marbles, tops, and strings, Imagined castles, kings, and wings, We'd race the rains and dance in mud, While puddles splashed and heartbeats thud. Our bruises told a thousand tales, Of backyard forts and hidden trails, Of secret handshakes, secret codes, Of sun-kissed fields and endless roads. No selfies snapped, no double-tap, Just honest smiles and friendly clap, A pat on back, a playful shove, An endless stream of brotherly love. Evenings came with sunset hues, And tales our grandmas would infuse, Of fairy lands and talking trees, Of magical ships that sailed the seas. No apps, no snaps, no video calls, Just echo games through broken walls, We scribbled hearts on dusty ground, And twirled in circles round and round. When friendship bloomed without a screen, When love was pure, and eyes were keen, We wrote our letters slow and neat, And mailed them down the bustling street. We climbed the roofs, we touched the stars, We made believe the moon was ours, No GPS to guide our play, Just intuition led the way. Birthdays meant a homemade cake, A chorus loud enough to shake, No viral posts, no flashing lights, Just hugs that warmed the coldest nights. Summer vacations stretched so long, With cricket games and silly songs, Our hearts beat wild with simple joys, No gadgets needed for girls and boys. We flew our kites in open skies, Dreamt without a thousand tries, No filters masked our dirty cheeks, We proudly wore those scrapes for weeks. Skipping stones on lazy streams, Building forts in childhood dreams, We lived our lives in shades so bright, Without a charger through the night. Now here we are, with phones in hand, Lost in pixels, lost in sand, Tapping screens but losing touch, Missing the world we loved so much. Notifications steal our sleep, While memories grow buried deep, Our thumbs are fast, our hearts are slow, We've forgotten how to truly glow. So close your eyes, remember back, The muddy fields, the railway track, The laughter pure, the sunsets gold, The fearless dreams, the hands we’d hold. Let’s find that child we used to be, Beyond the walls of technology, Let’s run again with arms unfurled, Back to when phones were not our world.
By raj Ubaleabout a year ago in Confessions
The Price of Fragility
We live in an era where consumption isn’t just encouraged — it’s demanded. We are bombarded every day with products, content, distractions. We’ve been taught that to be happy, we simply need to buy something new, watch another show, consume one more ready-made experience. And without realizing it, we’ve drifted away from our true nature: to create, to think, to question.The result is everywhere. We are increasingly anxious, depressed, and apathetic. We've lost the spark in our eyes because we stopped building something that is truly ours, something that is born from within. Creativity — the vital spark of human existence — is being suffocated by the ease of prepackaged experiences. We’ve stopped imagining. We’ve stopped dreaming. We’ve become addicted to receiving, incapable of producing.
By Persephoneabout a year ago in Confessions
