TECH NO

There’s a convenient lull in the middle of my workday. Unusual, but welcomed.
The phones are silent for once (thanks to notifications being shushed). The gentle hum of electronics and the whispery work voices of colleagues in the distance are soothing. Arabic music plays softly over the intercom singing words of praise. It’s a catchy tune, and I find my mood lifting.

It feels strange. I’m not sure what to do in this moment of peace.
But then… it happens.
The creeping realization:
I have no idea what to do with myself.

I have the world at my fingertips. So many possibilities. So many opportunities to connect: Telegram, IG, Facebook...
BUT I’M BORED.
Bored of the online world, its mediocre content, its traps.

Existential boredom has settled on my unsettled soul.
The kind where you ask yourself if you really need to scroll through another video of a podcast bro (or ho) who loves hearing their own voice.

And why is everybody so loud and opinionated these days?

Because tech has made everything too easy.
Connection is a click away.
Validation is served in likes and shares.
Advice -unsolicited, of course- oozes from every digital crevice.
Everyone’s an expert now.

And I ask myself: in my real life, would I have given these people any attention? Would I have welcomed them into my inner circle?

Everyone has a tip, a trick, a hack.
Sharon wants to sell me a miracle foundation to erase my wrinkles and laugh lines.
Some guy named Rick is convinced I need his crypto masterclass. (I don’t, Rick!)
And don’t get me started on the tarot readers who found me after I accidentally left a ten-minute TikTok running while I went to take a shower.

Algorithms, those omniscient gatekeepers of modern life, have decided who I am.
They know me.
Better than I do, apparently.

I watched one video on intermittent fasting, and now I’m a fitness freak who needs powdered collagen and a vibrating face wand.
No, thank you.

But I get it.
We’re wired for connection, and it’s so easy to fill emptiness with chatter, playful banter, and smiley faces. Hitting 'like' and commenting is almost automatic.
We’ve all become masters of small talk, flippant, flirty, frivolous online.
When our fingers do the talking our mouths are too scared to attempt, we become brazen, less inhibited, more daring.
It becomes easier to drop the mantle of shyness.

And so, a conversation is no longer an art form.
It lacks wit and forethought.
Cheapened by the overuse of emoticons, LOLs, and ROFLs by individuals sitting stone-faced in pajamas, doom-scrolling.

In reality, we slap on a filter, toss in an airbrushed selfie, and voilà, suddenly we’re smoldering enigmas.
Not boring.
Not unkempt.
Our facades held tightly in place.

So easy.
So curated.
So empty.

What I really want, what I crave, is connection.
Real, messy, honest-to-goodness connection.
The kind where someone looks you in the eye and tells you their story, not their highlight reel.
Where mutual respect isn’t a tagline but a practice.
Where people give advice because they actually know something, not because they’re chasing clicks or selling printed T-shirts on the side.

Why are we so obsessed with mindless entertainment when we could be...oh, I don’t know, saving the world?
We have platforms!
We have microphones!
We have... TikTok and Substack!

We could be swapping ideas on regenerative farming instead of lip-plumping tricks.
We could be discussing mental health beyond hashtags or learning how to nourish our bodies without supporting industrial food conglomerates that also make rat poison.
And TikTok...please.
Mukbangs and the eating culture you promote are a worrying trend.
GREED should not be celebrated.

Dear Reader, take the time to evaluate your online habits!
But no.
We’re busy.
There’s a new K-drama on Netflix or Prime, after all.

Meanwhile, our nervous systems are fried.
We’re chronically online, constantly stimulated, and somehow lonelier than ever.
And all the while, we’re still stuck in a Eurocentric hamster wheel designed centuries ago, running toward prosperity for some, but arriving at collective burnout for the 99% instead.

And yes, if you’re wondering, the lull in my day has officially ended.
Cynicism has made herself comfortable.
She’s unpacking her suitcase.

---

Why so dark, Nariman?
One word: Is -ra - hell.

This abhorrent society, these murderous, entitled bastards, this epic reveal of double standards, has ripped the last shred of polite optimism from my weary little heart.

We’re fed up.
I’m fed up.

But here’s the kicker:
I still want connection.

I want to sit across from someone and argue about something important face to face, with voices raised and hands flying.
I want to hear laughter that isn’t compressed into a laughing-cry emoji or reduced to a voice note.
I want to admire people for their real talents, not for their follower counts.
I want to clap for their gripping poetry and prose, their groundbreaking ideas, their art that moves my soul.
I want a world where people take care of their families, their neighbors, their communities, not just perform it online for clout.

Imagine a world without mental health crises fueled by digital dopamine addictions.
Without food insecurity, homelessness, and wars designed to pad some billionaire’s yacht fund.
Where people don’t work three jobs just to afford rent, while a tech bro makes millions for inventing an app that lets you virtually feed your cat.

But hey, who am I kidding?
Every platform is a marketplace now.
We’re all being sold something.
Products, ideas, identities, entire belief systems packaged, branded, and algorithmically optimized.

It’s heavy.
I could do without these, and without SEOs and CEOs.
But we like easy.
We like convenience.

And so, I silence the hopeful little angel whispering in my ear.
I pick up my phone, unlock it, and fire off a text.
“Hey you.”
The devil stirs.
“SUP?”
“You, I hope.”

And just like that, I’m back in the game.
Notifications flood in.
Dopamine hits hard.
My eyes glaze over.
The numbness creeps in, comfortably familiar.

My devil takes charge.
And my angel?
She’s on silent.