I am not an influencer, nor a teacher, nor the bearer of any particular cause. I don’t chase trends or craft strategies. I write simply because I must — because the moment demands it, because something stirs within me and insists on being set free. But social networks are fickle creatures — like shifting winds, unpredictable and untamed. One day, they carry you far; the next, they bury you in obscurity. Their algorithms are vast, faceless voids — spinning, swallowing, indifferent. You cast a word into them, and it vanishes without a trace. You cast another, and inexplicably, it crosses an ocean.
Many try to chart these digital currents, mapping their whims, searching for patterns in the chaos. They time their steps, memorise the formulas of engagement, study the rise and fall of visibility as if it were a science. But how does one make sense of quicksand? Some adapt, mastering the rules, shaping their words to fit the tide. And then there are those, like me, who move without a compass, without a map, without expectation. We write because the words exist — and we let them drift.
And so, I carry on, expecting little from these restless waters. If something I write lingers for a moment, if a single thought finds its way to someone who needs it, then it will have been enough. Because what truly matters is not the wave that lifts me up or pulls me under, but the trace I leave in the sand — however briefly it remains before the wind takes it away.
The curious thing is that most of my patients don’t even bother with social media. They have no interest in its rhythms, its demands, its illusions of permanence. They are too busy living — walking without hurry, feeling the earth beneath their feet, inhabiting their own bodies fully. And while I wonder where my words will land, they remind me — without meaning to — that what truly matters has never lived on a screen.
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