This is my truth—and maybe yours too.
We often talk about free will, but I’ve started to question if we really have it. How can we call ourselves free when we can’t even recognize our true inner voice beneath the noise? The moment we open that black screen, we’re hit with a flood of images, opinions, and distractions. It doesn’t stop.
And the truth is—we don’t remember most of what we consume. It’s impossible. In just thirty minutes of scrolling, we absorb more than a hundred reels—fragments of other people’s lives and ideas, stored in our minds, bodies, and nervous systems.
If we ate that much junk food, our stomach would collapse. But we keep feeding our minds an endless stream of content and expect no consequences. The brain, like the body, has limits—too much stimulation, and it burns out.
We tell ourselves we’re choosing it, but are we? Or has it just become the default? The screen has turned into our numbing tool. It’s how we avoid discomfort. It entertains, distracts, sedates. It’s the modern babysitter. Hypnosis on demand.
And when I look around, it’s everywhere. People staring down, lost in the glow. This isn’t just a habit—it’s become a way of life. We live through screens, behind them, rarely beyond them.
But when I lift my eyes—when I really look up—I remember there’s more.
The sky is still there. The clouds keep moving. Birds still fly.
That’s when I return to myself. That’s when I feel alive.
Birds have become my reminder. I see them when I’m stuck in traffic, when I’m stuck in thought. They remind me of something I keep forgetting—that we are meant to be free. Not trapped in loops of noise and fear, but alive in the world, awake to it.
Birds wake at dawn. They fly with the sun. They sing—every day, without fail. That’s freedom. That’s presence.
And that’s why I’m here. To remember.
When I forget who I am, I will look up. The birds will remind me.
Will Remind us all.
Asma J. 2025