don’t automate my soul.

I just got back from the cinema hall, the images from the movie still tangled in my mind. I didn’t even bother changing out of my clothes — the same ones I wore to the theatre, still carrying the smell of buttered popcorn and that faint, heavy scent of air conditioning. I sat down at my desk, where my old, dog-eared copies of Camus, Kafka, and Dostoevsky waited, their underlined sentences feeling more real than the world outside. My notebook, filled with fragments of thoughts and half-written letters to the universe, sat open beside them.

The movie had shown a version of 2050 where flying cars zipped through glass cities, AI ran homes like obedient butlers, and humans floated through a life free of effort. But somehow, none of it appealed to me. I don’t want a future where machines think for us, or cities are so “smart” that human conversation becomes background noise. I just hope, by then, we’ve put a full stop to this endless, choking loop of capitalism — the one that tricks us into spending the best years of our lives in front of a glowing laptop screen, pretending we’re building futures when all we’re really doing is chasing deadlines.

I don’t want flying cars. I want us to fly — for real. Not with machines, but with our choices. I want to wake up in new cities, learn new languages, feel the wind from mountaintops and not the recycled air of office cubicles. I want my life to be stitched together not by the hours I log into a system, but by the stories I collect from people, places, and moments that don’t fit neatly into productivity charts.

The future doesn’t need to look like a science fiction novel for it to be beautiful. Sometimes, the most human thing we can do is slow down, step away from the machines, and simply live — fully, wildly, and untamed.