Chosen One

 The Reset Switch: War, Technology, and the Strange New Face of Violence Time takes what it owns. History moves, grinds, and forgets; it keeps what is useful and discards what is not. Sometimes I imagine a reset switch not a bomb or erasure, but a social reboot: a global moment that clears rancor from the mind, strips away lies, and forces us to confront what we have become. I say this because modern life crouches under a paradox. We live in an age of unprecedented connection and simultaneous moral amnesia. Society sees truths and looks away. It stigmatizes those who name inconvenient facts and rewards those who weaponize outrage. When communities have become machines that amplify grievance, gossip, and ideologues, perhaps a metaphorical reset is the only balm left to restore shared reality.  This is not nostalgia for violence. It is a lament for clarity. There was a time when war horrific as it was began with visible acts: a declaration, a battlefield, faces in uniform. The r...

 I once wrote: “When Putin’s destructive ambition spreads, the fire will not remain in Ukraine it will reach homes across Europe, and beyond.” At the time, it was dismissed as exaggeration. Some said it was not foresight, but the echo of trauma. But today, the truth is undeniable. Russian drones cross new skies, and now even a third NATO member feels the shadow of war. The saddest part is not that I was right, but that humanity always waits until the storm breaks before believing the thunder was real. Warnings are whispers until the world is forced to hear them as screams.

 The Lost Language of a Generation I have never considered myself a proud person. Yet I cannot escape the feeling that the world is losing something precious our generation. We were a strange kind of bridge. We could sit with the elderly, speak in their forgotten tones, and still understand the language of those younger than us, even when it seemed incomprehensible. We translated between centuries. We knew how to slow down the madness, to master new currents, and to soften conflict before it turned into bloodshed. Now, from Nepal to Utah, no one seems to understand us anymore. A generation raised in the depths of social media speaks a language that no longer resembles ours. In Nepal, they look at sudden upheavals and ask, “What kind of revolution is this?” In America, they ask, “If you are neither left nor right, why are you killing innocent man whose just talking to the young generation and answering the questions?” They mistake the forms of the present for copies of the past, as ...

 When Words Are Met with Bullets There are people who are not simply mistaken, but blinded by their own hatred. This blindness is not the kind that comes from nature it is the blindness of choice. To refuse to see, to refuse to listen, is perhaps the most unforgivable crime of all. We live in a world where words, once meant to connect us, now carry the weight of danger. A thought spoken aloud can shake foundations, while a sentence can become heavier than stone. And too often, the response to words is not dialogue, but violence. This is the paradox of our age: the voice is fragile, yet it is feared. Those who cannot withstand the challenge of speech turn to weapons, as if bullets could silence ideas. But ideas do not die so easily. When a voice is cut short, its echo moves beyond the moment, whispering through time, reminding us of the truths we tried to bury. The greatest tragedy is not just the silenced voice it is the society that allowed hatred to speak louder than reason. If w...

 The Cult of Discipline and the Empty Parade Discipline is a tool, not a purpose. When it is elevated to a purpose, it becomes a mask—covering emptiness with spectacle. In schools, in sports, in armies, the worship of discipline often produces polished surfaces and hollow cores. And nowhere is this more visible than in the Chinese Communist Party’s obsession with military parades. The parade is not about defense. It is not about strategy, logistics, or training. Every serious officer knows it is militarily useless. Its true purpose is political theater. It exists to showcase “order,” to glorify the power of the state, and to remind the people that their leader commands perfect obedience. What millions of citizens see on their screens is not a display of military might—it is a ritual of loyalty. The tragedy is that most Chinese citizens, even if they were free to speak openly, would not denounce it. The absence of criticism is not only the product of censorship. It is also the resul...

 The Inner Guidance System There is something within us, an invisible compass, a voice that whispers when to step forward and when to hold back. Some call it intuition, others a guardian angel. Whatever the name, it feels like a guiding spirit—protecting us, nudging us toward the right path, and keeping us from harm. Have you ever felt that sudden certainty inside you, as if a force beyond logic was guiding your next move? That strange calm that settles over you when you just know what to do? Or that wave of fear before danger arrives, warning you to change course? It may happen in the simplest ways. You’re about to step onto a plane, and suddenly your entire body freezes with dread. A voice inside whispers: Don’t go. You cancel your trip in a heartbeat. Was it just imagination? Or was it something greater—an unseen hand steering you away from disaster? We’ve all had moments when the hairs on our arms stand on end, when our shoulders shiver as though an unseen presence brushed past...

 Have you ever thought about people's past? For example, I really wanted to know how my great-great-grandfather lived. How did he spend his days, what adventures did he have in his life, and did he tell anyone about it? I think everything was normal back then, and if it wasn't normal, it was accepted as part of reality and easier to digest. While fleeing, they might have crossed a river and his mother would have been swept away, his wife would have been kidnapped by attackers, and his child would have died of illness. He didn't say to himself, "No one should hear my story!" For thousands of years, human affairs were divided into two categories: powerful people and powerless people. The one who lacked power accepted that his story would not be heard. It was the powerful person for whom a chamber was built for his grave and on whose wall an inscription was written that he was a very good person and that they praised him. Because having a story required power and was...