Do you know what truth is? It’s that package labeled “Immediate download,” only to require an update that takes longer than the lifespan of your dreams. They tell you, “Be yourself,” but only after you’ve taken a personality quiz. Pre-cooked words, multiple choices—and in the end you’re as confused as you are on the darkest social feed. When I was young, an idea and a sheet of paper were enough. Today you need an app, an algorithm, a six-language tutorial. Innovation calls; you click “I agree” without reading the contract, and end up lost in a maze of cookies and notifications. That freedom once shouted on posters now comes in installments, with revolving credit and spending limits. You can travel from your couch via VR headset, but you can’t see the sky without a digital filter. Work is smart, agile, flexible—but messages after office hours have taken up permanent residence in your life. Leisure is just an icon in the corner of the screen: clickable, spendable, but not breathable. We have instant connections, yet relationships demand constant patching. Solitude has become a premium subscription; friendship, a temporary cloud file. And yet there’s a moment when everything stops: when you put the phone down, look in the mirror, hear silence like an old vinyl, and realize the truest words are those born without a preview. So you switch everything off, open the window without the software filter, and let the air flow in uninvited. You start writing with your voice, touching with your hands, laughing without emojis. In that space between breaths you find the frequency of your existence. And they don’t sell it on streaming—nor does it cost a euro each time you tune in.