Fragments of the Quiet Mind

In 1905, Albert Einstein introduced his theory of relativity—special and general—and somewhere along the line, humanity began to obsess not with the science itself but with what it could mean if taken far enough: time travel, wormholes, bending space, escaping consequences. The concept of a space-time continuum didn’t just revolutionize physics; it gave cinema an infinite playground. Back to the Future, Jumper, Time Stoppers, Interstellar—maybe we're not really chasing science, but a loophole. At this very moment, I'm mid-marathon, swimming through sci-fi timelines and parallel dimensions, wondering if I, too, can somehow slow down time by simply not participating in it. Maybe that’s what movie marathons are—a refusal to acknowledge the clock. Not a break from reality, but a deliberate skewing of it. It’s not time travel, but it feels like it. And feelings—though unquantifiable—sometimes govern the way we understand laws we cannot rewrite. Einstein’s theory is brilliant, n...

sometimes, letting go doesn’t happen with a bang. it’s a slow fade-out, like your wifi signal dropping in the middle of a zoom call. this is your faux guide to vanishing gracefully—because who says being forgotten can’t be an art form? Step 1: Respond only in lowercase. no punctuation. no enthusiasm. just the emotional range of a potato. they’ll ask “are you okay?” and you’ll say “lol yeah” every message reads like it was typed from beneath a blanket of emotional detachment. you’re emotionally open the way a gas station bathroom is ‘open’—technically, yes, but no one’s excited to check. eventually, people stop expecting depth. or joy. or… replies. you become the human version of an autocorrect error. forgettable. soft. lowercase You’re basically elevator music now—heard, ignored, and emotionally skipped. Step 2: Exit group chats like a ghost with commitment issues. Don’t announce it. Just slowly react less. Heart-react a meme 3 days late. Laugh at a joke that’s clearly ...