Time to recover

I’m a 90s kid.

We lived between two peaks—
the rise of the Millennials
and the birth of Gen Z.

The difference?

Millennials learned to own technology.
Gen Z was born into the internet itself.

Compared to the Millennial era,
the Gen Z world feels rushed—
as if time moves faster than the body can follow.

Years disappear without being felt
because life now happens inside screens.

What I noticed about Gen Z
is how early life becomes global.
Imagine billions of people
looking at the same things,
judging by the same standards,
chasing the same version of success.

A global perspective becomes a global pressure.

Everyone grows up faster.
And everyone wants to become the same thing.

I grew tired of chasing the fear of missing out.

I used to be mainstream.
I used to live globally.
I showed my life online.
I consumed endlessly—
until the internet shaped my personality.

I was a hustle woman.
Chasing success so loudly
that victory only mattered
because others could see it.

Until reality arrived.

The human body has limits.
Coffee is not infinite energy.
Fast food is not real nourishment.
Money is never enough.
Shopping feeds an endless desire.
And everyone is racing to earn more—
without ever stopping to live.

I became exhausted by this life.

So I retired from it in my 30s.

I feel like I’ve experienced enough.
I chased almost everything in my 20s.
I checked off my bucket list—
and even went beyond it.

I gained experiences.
I failed many times.
I have things I’m proud of.

And yet I kept asking myself:
Was it worth it?

Human desire has no finish line.
It is never enough.

I kept wanting more,
not because I lacked anything,
but because I compared myself
to the world’s current standard.

In truth,
I already had more than enough.

So I knew I had to stop.

Stop running.
Stop chasing.
Stop performing.

To finally appreciate
the things I once prayed for—
and now take for granted.

I was angry for a long time.
Angry at dreams.
Angry at standards.
Angry at myself for always chasing.

But my soul was tired.
My body was tired.
My spirit was tired.

So I’m taking a break—
to recover.

I don’t want to lose my soul
for a future I can’t even predict.

Right now,
I need myself the most.

This is my pause.
From research.
From experiments.
From theories.
From philosophy.
From novels.
From life stories.

I hope others, too,
can step away from this world that moves too fast.

Sayonara.
Bye-bye.

It’s time to live slowly.

Sip tea.
Talk to trees.
Touch the grass.
Feel the wind.

Let the universe reconnect with you
before you disconnect yourself
from life.

2024 is a scary year

This feels like the first real year of inflation.

So many difficult things unfolded at the end of 2024.
Unforeseen events.
Losses.
Declines.
Heartbreaks.

Yet, quietly, something shifted.

Many of us began to realize that this is a year to save.
To slow down spending.
To stop showing off lavish lifestyles on social media.

And still—everyone is busy making money everywhere they can.

The cost of living keeps rising.
Healthy food—fruits, vegetables, organic produce—has become expensive.
At the same time, corporations and capitalist systems continue to push cheap, processed food wrapped in plastic—
food that damages our health and dulls our productivity.

Slowly, we’ve begun to distinguish between desire and necessity.

But did we realize why this awakening feels so heavy?

Because living in this world now requires a lot of money.
Living as a human inside a human-made system comes with endless requirements—
and nearly all of them demand payment.

Water requires bills.
Light requires electricity fees.
Shelter requires constant maintenance.

At the peak of the 21st century,
we are humans who must consume continuously just to survive.

We own too many shoes.
Use too many lights.
Consume too much electricity.
Drink endless varieties of water.
Rely heavily on sugar.
Absorb overwhelming amounts of information.
And constantly compete with strangers online—
measuring our worth through visible achievement.

The 2000s feel like yesterday.
We were excited about phones.
Amazed by the internet.
Grateful for connection.

Then came social media.
The world sped up.

We consumed more.
We knew more.
And slowly, we all began chasing the same goals—
goals shaped by algorithms, not inner needs.

Entrepreneurship once looked like the ultimate dream.
A symbol of freedom and success.

Until reality arrived.

The hardship.
The unstable economy.
The financial pressure.

We realized that this “dream” is not meant for everyone.

We once glorified hustle culture—
until our bodies broke down,
our mental health collapsed,
and neglected basics returned as illness.

Sometimes I wonder—
am I alone in feeling that financial stress became the central problem of 2024?

Maybe it isn’t obvious yet.
But the signs are there.

This is the time to be wiser with spending.
More conscious about consumption.
More honest about what we actually need.

Because the world ahead does not look peaceful yet.

And survival—
will belong to those who learn to live with less,
not those who chase more.

Emotion autistic

    1 in 5 autistic people have alexithymia. People who have alexithymia may have trouble identifying, understanding and describing emotions. They may also struggle to show or feel emotions that are seen as socially appropriate, such as happiness on a joyous occasion.

    Autistic children often struggle with emotional regulation. Big emotions in autism can be related to problems with sensory integration, communication deficits, and difficulty understanding social cues—and they can be hard to regulate and express appropriately. Emotional outbursts can be hard for everyone involved.

    Autistic people may act in a different way to other people. They may find it hard to understand how other people think or feel. find things like bright lights or loud noises overwhelming, stressful or uncomfortable. get anxious or upset about unfamiliar situations and social events. They take longer to understand information and common sense.

    They tend to process emotions more intensely and may have difficulty expressing them in ways that are deemed socially acceptable. For example, an autistic girl may have a blank facial expression, leading others to believe she is cold or uncaring when she is actually experiencing intense emotions.

    "Just because I struggle to put how I feel into words it doesn't mean I don't feel things. In fact, the worse I feel, the more I struggle and often default to, 'I'm fine'."

    Autistic people may lack the ability to recognize and label emotions, and they may have difficulty responding to social cues. This can vary from individual to individual. Cognitive empathy can be taught, so it is possible for autistic people to learn empathetic behavior. Other therapies may improve emotional empathy.

    For some autistic adults, emotions do not show, either on their face, in their body or in their tone of voice. The fact that autistic people experience the full range of human emotions, including love, is indisputable. Many autistic people are observant and have excellent attention to detail of understand emotion.

    Because of their difficulty in regulating their emotions, they are more likely to move to an extreme emotional state, such as a meltdown, at times. There can also be the social pressures of responding differently in terms of emotions compared with others sharing the same experience.

    Someone with autism may not show any signs of grief at a funeral. Similarly, they might say they are feeling calm when they are showing physical signs of agitation and alertness. To other people, this might appear confusing and untrue. Autistic people may act in a different way to other people. Normal people will find it hard to understand how this autistic people think or feel. Because this people take longer to understand basic information and impression. 

Metropolis

 You see all this picture? 
How you see it?

In the past, I was proud of the city I lived in.

I was proud of its speed.
Its advanced technology.
Its endless amenities.

I dreamed of living in a developed, busy city.
I loved doing things that only cities could offer.
I am Gen Z—
so I believed my life had to be in the city.

New buildings kept rising.
New shops kept opening.
Everything felt exciting.

But after ten years of exhausting life and work in the city,
I became deeply tired.

Every day felt like chasing life itself.
Mornings began with coffee.
Meals were fast food—
not because we wanted it,
but because time moved too fast
and work never seemed to end.

At first, this felt normal.

Then my health began to decline.

I was constantly exhausted.
Easily stressed.
Burned out.
My thoughts became chaotic.
I cried without knowing why.

I started observing the people around me.

Every morning, we chased trains to get to work.
We ate quickly in restaurants
because there were always more places to go.
We shopped constantly,
yet the list of things we wanted never ended.

We ate desserts every day
to feel a moment of happiness—
but that happiness faded quickly.

We followed trends.
We bought new clothes again and again,
even though our closets were already full.

Then I became truly sick.

That was when I decided to go home.

My home is in the countryside—
not in a big city.
My favorite shops don’t exist there.
There is nothing trendy to show online.

But the food is fresh.
Home-cooked meals are warm.
They restore something deeper than energy—
they refresh the soul.

I fell in love with the sounds of nature.
At home, silence feels alive.
In the city, the noise was so constant
that I needed artificial white noise just to feel calm.

Only then did I understand:

The life I once loved
was the life that made me sick.

There was always too much to do.
Too much to have.
Too much to chase.

I felt drained by a temporary life
that never truly satisfied.

So I quit.
I returned to the basics.

We need a life that does not steal our soul.
We need to live with our soul—
not trade it away.

Don’t sell your soul for status, speed, or approval.
It’s okay to stay in your comfort zone.
Because sometimes,
while chasing what everyone else is doing,
you lose everything that truly matters.

Metropolises and megapolises
are not the life we actually need.

What we need is:

• Warm, home-cooked food

• The sound of nature

• A simple, ordinary life

• A loving family

• And a soul that still lives peacefully inside the body

That is real living.

Our world

Hi, and hello, March 2024.

Time moves so fast
that it becomes easy
to lose ourselves
in this busy world.

So I want to ask you—

Do you feel your existence?

How do you feel it?
Can you explain it?

Do you perceive the world first—
or do you perceive yourself first,
and only then the world?

How would you describe that moment?

Can you see the world
beyond what the eyes can capture?

Can you feel existence
beyond what the hands can touch?

Can you taste your being
beyond what the tongue can sense?

Isn’t that strange?

Are the five senses—
our proof that we exist?

Or are they only tools
to interact with something deeper?

What about the soul?

Do you feel your existence through the soul?

And if so—
how do we prove it exists?

When we die,
where does the soul go?

We leave everything behind—
our body,
our possessions,
our names,
our achievements.

So what remains?

Only the soul?

This world feels heavy.
Sometimes it feels like misery.

And perhaps the highest knowledge
we can reach in this life
is not how to control the world—

but understanding why we exist within it.

MYTHS AND MISCONCEPTION

HELLO. IT’S A NEW YEAR.
And somehow… it’s already 2024.

When I was a child,
I imagined the future differently.

I thought 2020 would arrive
with flying cars,
a happy world,
and technology that truly made life better.

But the world that came
was chaotic.
Messy.
Broken.

Yes—this is a world of advanced technology.
Everything is easier now.

With a single phone,
you can buy anything,
order transport,
work,
attend classes,
replace television,
video call,
message,
and connect with people across the globe.

Today, the basic requirement for life
is no longer food or shelter—
it is a phone and internet.

And if you have those,
you are considered “alive.”

But look at the timeline:

2020 — a global pandemic.
2021 — mandatory injections and division.
2022 — economic collapse.
2023 — war in Palestine.
2024 — bunkers, fear, preparation for disaster.

What did all this technology and globalization really give us?

After everything,
people became cautious, suspicious, fragmented.

There are the paranoid.
The anti-vaccine.
The preppers.
The capitalists.
The governments.
The victims of war.

And here is the misconception:

“If you have a bunker, you will be safe.”

That is a lie.

In war, governments control movement.
Men are sent to fight.
Evacuation is ordered.
No bunker protects the soul.

I now see that much of this chaos
was built long before.

Between 2017 and 2019,
we were taught to hustle.
To become entrepreneurs.
To chase financial freedom.
To turn content creation into identity.

We were trained for a rat race
disguised as ambition.

Twenty-four hours were never enough.
There was always more to monetize,
more productivity to prove,
more success to display.

Everyone chased the same dream
they saw online.

We even gave it a name—
FOMO—
the fear of being left behind
in a globalized world.

But this life is not fulfilling.

It is easier to eat fast food
than sit together for dinner.
Family tables disappeared.
Home-cooked meals vanished.
Conversations faded.

People isolate themselves
inside their phones.
They connect deeply with strangers online
while drifting away
from the people beside them.

We are sicker now.

Hospitals are always full.
New diseases keep appearing.
Masks became normal.
Distance became habit.

I realized something painful:

Fast food made me tired.
Lethargic.
Emotionally empty.

I missed warm food.
I missed my mother’s cooking.
I missed nourishment that carried love.

It is easier to develop mental illness
when your body is fed junk.

Now I understand
how important real food is.
How essential home-cooked meals are.

Fast food is not food.
It is synthetic fuel—
chemical, toxic, cheap,
designed for profit, not health.

Our immunity weakened
because our food lost its life.
Medicine and supplements replaced nourishment.
Plastic replaced soil.
Profit replaced care.

A technological world promised happiness—
but delivered distance.

Food lost its soul.
Humans lost connection.
Technology built more weapons
than solutions.

War now has no rules.
Machines make killing easier.
Genocide against the weak
is normalized.

This is not the future I imagined.

I don’t hate life.
I hate what we turned the world into.

And maybe that anger
is not destruction—
but grief
for a world that could have been better.

IHATETHISWORLD

World War

The world we live in today.

I still cannot believe that in the 21st century
I am witnessing genocide—
live,
with my own eyes.

I hate war.

Since I was a child,
war has never stopped.
Soldiers killing women and children.
Innocent people targeted.
Babies killed.

This is not accidental.
This is not “collateral damage.”

Civilians are deliberately targeted.
War machines are designed
for mass killing of the defenseless.

And now, there is no shame left.
Genocide is committed openly,
in front of the world,
broadcast without remorse.

These are the same people who once said:
“We will never repeat World War I.”
“We will never repeat World War II.”

They said they had learned.
They said the suffering was enough.
They built museums to remember their darkest history.
They told the world:
Never again.

I believed them.

I believed that remembrance
was meant to prevent repetition.

But I was wrong.

After World War II,
they did not abandon violence.
They refined it.

They built more weapons.
More efficient machines.
More sophisticated ways to kill.

They competed to create
the most powerful instruments of destruction.
They were proud of them.

And they called it technology.

This is the 21st century—
a world overflowing with technology.

The same nations that sing anthems
for fallen soldiers,
that hold remembrance days,
that vow never to forget—

are the same nations
that attack others
in the name of
“defense,”
“security,”
and “alliances.”

I do not understand this contradiction.

So I ask a simple question—
not as an accusation,
but as a human being:

Why do men love war?

Is my question to the world