Digital Echoes

I have observed a curious phenomenon. Fingers slide across the screen with an almost instinctive haste, as if fleeing from something or racing toward an uncertain destination. They do not touch, they skim; they do not see, they merely pass through. Perhaps it is just a reflection of the world outside, that incessant whirlwind where everything moves, but little lingers.

Emotional intelligence, that delicate subject, unsettles and provokes. Some approach it with curiosity, while others recoil, as if standing before a mirror reflecting something they would rather not face. Not everyone can bear to see themselves fully. And I understand: there are moments when consciousness weighs heavier than one can endure.

As for deep reading, that poor thing has almost become a museum relic. People seek what is ready-made, pre-digested, reduced to the least effort. Time is short, they say—but is it really just time? Or has thinking, that solitary and uncertain exercise, become an uncomfortable luxury?

And engagement? Ah, that remains a mystery. What is it that those who swipe aimlessly are looking for? Distraction? A brief forgetting of their own lives? Or perhaps a fleeting breath of meaning, without even realizing it?

Social networks feel like a house full of shadows. There are glances, but few traces. Silent presences, readers who leave no marks. And yet, they are there.

And I keep writing. Because I know that, even in silence, someone is reading. And sometimes, without my knowing, a word of mine finds shelter in an unknown heart. That, for me, is enough.