Long before we question what we want, we’re taught what to want, who to admire, and what to fear so we won’t be cast out of the herd. Most never notice when that bargain is made, or what it costs. This reflection is about the moment the noise becomes unbearable, borrowed desires grow heavy, and the suspicion arises that freedom may require letting go of far more than we were ever told.
Tag: identity
This piece explores how deeply capitalism has shaped our inner lives — not just our work or our wallets, but our values, identity, and sense of purpose. It asks what remains when we strip away the inherited stories and return to our original essence, our unconditioned knowing. It’s an invitation to question the structures that have defined us, and to rediscover the freedom we unknowingly traded along the way.
There are moments when the noise of the age grows so thick — so insistently loud — that something in us quietly steps back, listening for a deeper resonance beneath the static. We feel the strain in the seams of society, the drift in the collective psyche, the hollowing out of promises that once shaped our sense of direction. And yet, in that retreat, there’s a kind of clarity — a recognition that something essential is being asked of us again.
A life is rarely one life. We evolve through countless small endings and beginnings — each one a quiet death, each one a rebirth. Transformation isn’t an event but a continual unfolding, a long remembering of who we truly are.
We live in an era of boundless creative freedom — and yet, somehow, most of what’s produced feels hollow. We’re offered spectacle without substance, nostalgia without soul, and storytelling that chases algorithms rather than meaning. What was once a genre built on hope and humanity has been flattened into a delivery system for politics, ideology, and content quotas. Here, we unpack how it happened — and why it matters.