When a Childhood Prophecy Starts to Feel Real

 

Sniped from a diary page

I remember when we were growing up, there was a pseudo-scientific prediction about the future of the human species. I never figured out the original source — it might have been part imagination, part street folklore, part schoolyard “research.”

It was during the time we were being introduced to evolution, natural selection, adaptation — so these predictions slipped easily and convincingly into our young minds.

The prophecy was that someday human bodies would turn spherical from inactivity, while our heads would grow bigger because the brain would be working harder than ever.

The idea was simple: as technology advanced, humans wouldn’t need to work. Machines would do everything. Physical effort would vanish, and as a result, the limbs would slowly lose their purpose and shape. The new human would look like two spheres.

Strangely, it all sounded perfectly logical back then.

Fast forward to November 2025 — Elon Musk, at the US–Saudi Business Forum, predicted that in just 10–20 years, work might become optional. A hobby, he said. Something you’d do the way you grow tomatoes on your balcony — because you want to, not because you have to.

So yes, a part of that childhood prophecy seems to be inching toward reality. “Optional work” doesn’t sound like fiction anymore.

But unfortunately, the other half of the prophecy seems to be drifting in the opposite direction. Instead of thinking more, we’re slowly outsourcing thinking.

We have been drifting away from simple, brain-engaging activities as basic as writing letters. Half the fun was lost when emails replaced handwritten letters, and now my Gmail wants me to reply with emojis. Not sentences. Not thoughts. Not even words.

Just… symbols.

And when I insist on writing a few words, it tries to finish them too — almost nudging: “Leave it to me.”

Meanwhile, AI is drafting reports, taking minutes, generating action items, telling stories, solving math problems, translating languages — almost thinking on our behalf.

It’s strange. We once imagined a future where our brains expanded and became more powerful. Instead, our expressions are shrinking — and so is the brain’s engagement.

So when Gmail offers me an emoji as a reply, I pause.
Not because I dislike emojis, but because I wonder what we slowly lose when we stop forming thoughts… and slip toward symbol-based communication, almost like walking backwards into a pre-language era.

If work becomes optional someday, that’s fine.
But thinking — that should remain non-negotiable.

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What an AI Hit Song Reveals About Human Bias

We’ve created a fresh new record — a brand-new chart-topper — but this time, the twist is hard to ignore. The singer isn’t one of our kind. It isn’t a human. It isn’t even a living being.

“Walk My Walk” by Breaking Rust has taken the No. 1 spot on Billboard’s Country Digital Song Sales chart for the week ending 8 Nov 2025. A gritty voice, a tough persona, a story sung straight from the soul… except that the owner of the voice doesn’t have a soul at all. Not a single breath in that track belongs to a real person. The entire song was created by AI.

What truly struck me isn’t the technology — it’s our reaction.

For centuries, humans have sorted themselves into categories: race, colour, creed, class. We love our boxes. We assign value, expectations, and limits based on these labels. We decide who gets the spotlight and who never stands a chance.

Then comes AI — a voice with no identity, no lineage, no demographic — and suddenly the boxes don’t matter. Yet millions are listening, streaming, embracing… even believing the emotional weight of the song. And they’re doing it without asking a single question about its origins.

Or maybe there is another layer behind the scenes.
A quieter one. A more unsettling one.

Perhaps it isn’t the “artist” winning at all — it’s the algorithm underneath, nudging it upward. The same algorithm that decides what rises, what trends, and makes sure my posts get buried as soon as I put them out. An AI-generated artist reaching No. 1 might simply be the system manipulating for one of its own — the earliest sign of AI influencing not just what we consume, but what we consider worthy.

And that brings me to the part that may be the great leveller.

If we can suspend judgment and prejudices for a piece of art created by a machine — why is it so hard to do the same for another human being?

AI may be rewriting creativity, art, and even authenticity. But its greatest power might be this:
It holds up a mirror — reflecting not its flaws, but our own.

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🔗 Read Reflect Rejoice

Goodbye, Privacy of Thoughts

photo courtesy

The other day, I was discussing the upcoming trip with my wife, and barely an hour later, my phone began showing advertisements from travel portals and a handful of airlines.
It’s no secret that our smartphones are actually very smart — always eavesdropping, quietly learning, and constantly listening.

But believe me, our generation is still fortunate. Our phones may listen to what we say, but our thoughts are our own — at least for now. The generations that follow may not be as lucky.

There are already laboratories working on technology that allows physical actions to be controlled by thoughts. It sounds miraculous — a breakthrough that can change lives, especially for those with limited mobility. Recently, on October 27, 2025, the world celebrated when the UK’s first Neuralink patient successfully controlled a computer with his thoughts. And rightfully so.

But behind that celebration lies a quiet unease.

We are beginning to open the door to our own minds. Once that door is open — once machines learn to read and interpret our neural signals — can we really be sure it will stay a one-way exchange?

What begins as medical innovation may soon find itself in the marketplace, where ethics have another meaning. From thought-controlled devices, it’s only a short step to thought-analyzed advertising, thought-monitored workspaces, and thought-influenced behaviour. The lines that separate what we do, what we say, and what we think are blurring faster than we realize.

Artificial intelligence and machine learning thrive on data — and there is no data more personal than our thoughts. The idea that our unspoken feelings, private reflections, or quiet fears could someday be interpreted, stored, or even predicted by a machine should make us pause.

We once feared that technology would read our messages.
Now, it may one day read our minds.

I’m not against progress. Every great leap forward carries both promise and peril. But somewhere in this pursuit of innovation, I hope we remember to preserve a corner of our personal self — a small, silent space where our thoughts remain untouched, where they can still breathe freely, without algorithms listening, measuring, or manipulating.

Because the day we lose that, we may gain convenience — but lose something far more precious:
the sanctity of our inner world.

Thank you for reading. If this reflection resonated with you, do share your thoughts below — while they’re still your own.

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Read Reflect Rejoice

The AI and Washing My Clothes

 

Photo Courtesy

Recently, our washing machine broke down — a minor domestic setback, but one that demanded immediate attention. So, I went to a large electronics store — the kind that sells everything from toasters to 90-inch TVs. It says something about our economy, but that’s not the point here.

The salesman appeared promptly — well-trained, eager — and began my guided tour through what I can only describe as the washing machine district. After a few minutes of polite nodding, I narrowed my choices down to two models — both of suitable capacity, both from brands I trusted.

One, however, was about 20% more expensive.

“That one has AI,” the salesman said, tapping the sticker as if revealing a divine truth.

Not being entirely naïve about AI, I was both suspicious and curious about this supposedly groundbreaking feature I’d somehow missed.

“What exactly does the AI do?” I asked.

He brightened. “Sir, it checks the weight of your clothes…” — I nodded — “then it analyzes how dirty they are, and decides how much detergent is needed.”

I paused. “Wait a minute. It checks how dirty the clothes are?”

He nodded earnestly. “Yes, sir. It has sensors.”

I couldn’t help picturing a boardroom of tiny robots inside the drum, holding a meeting:
“Gentlemen, we have a stubborn curry stain on the sleeve — increase detergent by 7%.”

AI and sensors have become the modern salesperson’s magic words — covering any gap between imagination and reality.

I asked to see the brochure. Unsurprisingly, there was no mention of this revolutionary dirt-detection technology. The salesman quickly added, “Not everything is written in the brochure, sir,” and suggested I check the online specifications.

I didn’t.

Instead, I chose the simpler model — the one without AI, without self-awareness, and without ambitions to optimize my laundry experience.

On the way home, I thought about how easily the word AI now slips into every sales pitch — as if intelligence, artificial or otherwise, can be sprinkled on anything to make it desirable.
Maybe the real test isn’t whether machines can think — but whether we still can, before we swipe our cards.

Thank you for taking a moment to read my reflection today. If this piece brought a smile or a thought worth keeping, I hope you’ll return for more.
Until next time — think gently, live simply, and keep your mind switched on. ✨

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#readreflectrejoice

🎾 Come On, Get Off My Back!

Leave me alone as I get along with the day!

Lately, I’m getting intimidated by the demanding and commanding nature of almost everything I use.

I agree, I asked for a wake-up call in the morning — but once I open my eyes and pat the screen, that task should be done. There’s no need to keep buzzing like a nagging child. That’s one time I feel like throwing the phone away, but even in half-sleep, the price tag flashes before my eyes.

Score: Love-All.

Next up, breakfast. I put my food in the microwave, and it insists I take it out immediately when it’s done. If I’m late, it starts protesting, beeping — just like the better half!

Love–15.

I get into the car. The moment I turn the key, it starts beeping for the seat belt. I politely say, “Thank you very much,” but it keeps raising its voice until I give in.

Love–30.

Like most men, I too suffer from the “I’ll find my way” syndrome — if there’s one by that name — and would rather circle the city than ask a stranger for directions. Yet, I have no qualms taking orders from Siri, Google, or Cortana. Trouble starts when I miss a turn and we both lose our cool, yelling at each other. Eventually, I surrender, follow her lead, and make it to the office — only to be scolded by the elevator lady: “Please press the button for your desired floor.”

Love–40.

At work, I log into my email. The server insists I change my password. I choose something simple, but no — it wants special characters, numerals, and uppercase letters. I twist my simple mind into a complex password I’ll soon forget. Then it demands my mobile number for “extra safety,” sends me a code, and makes me prove I’m not a robot.

Game Over.

Finally, I open my inbox.
As I start writing, my word processor joins the match. It constantly finds fault — grammar, spelling, even my choice of words. Now it wants me to write shorter and shorter sentences.

Being an introvert, I hardly speak in public; now my word processor seems determined to make me write less too.

I ignore it for the time being and override it.

The score stands: 15–Love.
Set 2: Game paused due to serious workload. 🎾 

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Read Reflect Rejoice