Luze-VOL.

Why do people tend to communicate in their native language on X?

I told my therapist I was “doing the work” and making progress, but I’ve been lying to her for 3 sessions straight just so she keeps saying I’m doing great. I pay $180 a week for emotional validation and lies.

I love when the office loses power. Wi-Fi goes down, computers die, no one can bug me for last-minute changes or impromptu meetings. I just sit at my desk scrolling my phone, even my boss walks by and says “just head home early.” This brief, no-reply freedom hits harder than the weekend.

During a brief team meeting, the leader announced a new rule with obviously flawed details. All colleagues stayed quiet, nodding along in unison. Seated in my chair, I’d planned to point out the problems. Glancing around, I paused and nodded lightly too.

Before bed, I scrolled social posts and saw an old friend’s update from the neighborhood we once visited often. I opened our chat and typed a line asking if he was back. I stared at the words for a moment then deleted them entirely. I closed the chat and scrolled past his post.

I wiped my hands after washing dishes and answered a relative’s video call. They chatted casually and asked about my meals. I’d had little appetite lately, often eating hastily and sleeping restlessly. Holding back my words, I said everything was fine. We talked for a while, then I ended the call.

Late at night scrolling through moments, I saw an old friend’s photo taken at the old restaurant we used to visit every week. I opened our chat and typed a long paragraph asking when he came back and why he’d gone silent. The cursor hovered over the send button for half a minute. I read every word, deleted everything, and closed the chat. The next day, I scrolled past his post normally, acting like I’d seen nothing at all.

They used to be inseparable, sharing every little interesting thing right away. As time went by, their lives drifted apart, filled with endless busyness. Several times he typed long messages, but deleted them before hitting send. When scrolling across the other’s posts and unfamiliar smiles in photos, he neither liked nor commented. A friendship that once ran deep faded into nothing more than a casual acquaintance amid endless silence.

Having lived away for years, his calls with family turned routine. They spoke gently, only talking about daily meals and weather, never mentioning troubles. One day on a video call, he casually talked about mounting stress. Silence fell on the other side. His family quickly changed the subject, avoiding his gaze. After hanging up, he stared at the black screen. Separated by a display, they were close yet chose silently to leave each other’s hidden struggles untouched.

After a tiring day, he slumps in front of the screen, scrolling endlessly through various short clips. Constant changing visuals and noisy laughter fill the room. Worn out physically, he still refuses to turn it off. As long as the screen stays lit, his mind stays occupied, leaving no room for inner troubles and confusion. Night deepens, yet he keeps staring at the flickering light, refusing to face quiet solitude.

When he first started out, he spoke his mind freely and pointed out flaws bravely. After repeated setbacks, he gradually hid his sharp edges. In meetings, he echoed the crowd and stuck strictly to rules, never voicing opposing views again. Now he is reliable and well-liked. Late at night after work, he sometimes thinks of his bold younger self, a vague melancholy creeping over his heart.

Their life together was perfectly steady, with no fights or suspicion, seen as an ideal pair by others. They ate, walked and managed daily routines in skilled harmony. Yet a cold quiet lingered whenever they were alone. He tried talking about old thrills and future dreams, only to receive bland replies. Living side by side in the same space, their hearts settled in two separate corners, choosing not to disturb one another.

When he first started out, he spoke his mind freely and pointed out flaws bravely. After repeated setbacks, he gradually hid his sharp edges. In meetings, he echoed the crowd and stuck strictly to rules, never voicing opposing views again. Now he is reliable and well-liked. Late at night after work, he sometimes thinks of his bold younger self, a vague melancholy creeping over his heart.

They used to be inseparable, sharing every little interesting thing right away. As time went by, their lives drifted apart, filled with endless busyness. Several times he typed long messages, but deleted them before hitting send. When scrolling across the other’s posts and unfamiliar smiles in photos, he neither liked nor commented. A friendship that once ran deep faded into nothing more than a casual acquaintance amid endless silence.

Having lived away for years, his calls with family turned routine. They spoke gently, only talking about daily meals and weather, never mentioning troubles. One day on a video call, he casually talked about mounting stress. Silence fell on the other side. His family quickly changed the subject, avoiding his gaze. After hanging up, he stared at the black screen. Separated by a display, they were close yet chose silently to leave each other’s hidden struggles untouched.

The new boba shop in town features a completely self-serve touchscreen ordering kiosk. You walk up, tap the screen yourself, select your ice and sweetness levels, and then stand by the counter to wait for your drink. Yet, when it comes time to pay, the screen naturally pops up three massive options: 18%, 20%, and 25% for a tip. With a line behind you watching, your finger hovers between "No Tip" and "18%," feeling like you're making the most stressful moral dilemma of your life.

He spent his Saturday screaming at an uncertified teenage umpire over a bad call at his eight-year-old’s Little League game. On the drive home, his son asked to quit the team. He wasn't mad at the referee; he was just furious that his own life had peaked fifteen years ago on a high school field and this was the only kingdom he had left to rule.

He spent the whole Saturday sitting on his John Deere riding mower, cutting the grass back and forth for three hours like he was driving a tank into battle. His wife watched him from the kitchen window, knowing perfectly well the lawn didn't need cutting. He just wanted the noise of that 24-horsepower engine to drown out the fact that they hadn't spoken a meaningful word to each other since Tuesday.

We’ve officially entered the era where a manager uses AI to expand a single bullet point into a 500-word corporate email, just so the employee can use AI to summarize it back into a single bullet point. The efficiency is flawless; the human contribution is zero.

He spent a weekend installing a four-hundred-dollar smart lock that recognizes his face from three feet away. It’s a brilliant piece of engineering, except for one detail: the person living inside that house haven’t actually looked at his face in three years.

I met an old friend for coffee, and we both spent half the time taking photos of the latte art and the other half checking our notifications. We didn't have a conversation; we just performed "friendship" for our respective followers.