The algorithm has decided that loneliness is a product. It is not a state of being; it is a metric. You open your phone. A face looks at the camera—tired, hungry, selling you something. You are not alone in the dark. You are alone in a marketplace.
I lived in Warsaw for many years. In winter, the light leaves early. The sun dies at four o’clock, and the streets go quiet. This was not a bug. It was a feature. We had time to sit. We had time to think. We did not need to fill the silence with noise.
Now, the noise is mandatory. Look at the “content creators” on your screen. They speak to fill the air because they cannot pause. A pause is dead air. Dead air is lost money. So they talk. Fast. Loud. They sell their feelings like cigarettes. They are not real—I do not mean fake. I mean they are not human. A human can sit in a chair and say nothing. A human can look out a window and see rain. The creator cannot do this. If they do not post, they do not exist. Their identity is a stream of data. It is thin. It breaks easily.
We used to call this character. Now we call it “personal branding.” There is a difference. Character is built in the dark. It is built when no one is watching. It is the choice you make when the camera is off. It is the word you swallow. It is the anger you let cool before you speak. Branding is built in the light. It is for the eye. It is a performance.
I watch these videos. I watch the men who sell “masculinity.” They lift heavy things. They wear leather. They speak in low voices, telling you that the old world was better and the future is a trap. They are wrong. They are not fighting the system; they are part of it. They are the salesmen. They have taken the ancient pain of men who feel out of place and turned it into a subscription service. You pay nine dollars a month to feel like a king. You are not a king. You are a customer.
This is a sad thing. I remember my father. He was a teacher. He did not have a channel. He did not have a brand. He had a garden. He had a book. He had silence. When he was angry, he did not post a video. He did not sell his rage. He planted tomatoes. He watched the rain. He waited. The world did not change, but he was not broken.
We are a generation that cannot sit still. We scroll. We tap. We react. We consume. We do not let the moment pass; we capture it, own it, and then throw it away. The silence is gone. But it is still there. It is under the floorboards. It is in the rain against the glass. It is in the space between your breaths. You do not need to buy it. You just need to stop moving.
The phone is in your hand. It is heavy. It is warm. It is glowing. You can put it down. The room will be quiet. The dark will come. You will be alone. But you will be real. That is enough.