There was a time when leaving meant something. Trains hissed and wept, ships wailed into the fog, and real people stood waving until the figures blurred into landscape. Saying goodbye was an event then, not an afterthought. It required presence, patience, and a willingness to ache. Now, we vanish with the subtlety of a software update. Conversations end mid-bubble; relationships expire with a “seen” and no response. We don’t leave anymore - we evaporate. The only thing we seem to linger over...

There’s something almost touching about humanity’s obsession with permanence. We stack stones, pour concrete, and weld steel as if the sheer weight of our buildings might keep time itself from slipping away. Each civilization, in its turn, has left its calling card - a pyramid, a wall, a canal - saying, we were here , in case the future should forget. Of course, the future always does. Yet we keep at it. We drag rivers from their beds, slice mountains in half, and pave deserts into...

There are few things more dependable than a man with power mistaking attention for admiration. History is a long parade of them - waving, saluting, grandstanding - all convinced the crowd came for the show, not the message. Perhaps they did, at first. But then someone squints, someone snickers, and before long the emperor’s fine regalia has slipped into costume territory. Spectacle, as it turns out, ages faster than sincerity. Mussolini had his balcony; Richard Nixon had Laugh-In ; Boris...