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 melancholy 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.