The Digital Homestead Blog

Day #12: Chasing Northern Lights

“I am sorry you missed this. Please make sure you come to visit this place; don’t hold a grudge against it because of me,” I texted her as a caption for the short video I sent her on WhatsApp. It was our first contact since we broke up. I had left things awkwardly -or I should say cowardly- but honestly, I didn’t know how to explain my reasoning without making things worse.

Her last message was clear and stung with truth: “I don’t understand what’s so hard to explain. Just be honest and say there’s someone else… Anyway, as you wish…”

As I continued to observe in awe the natural spectacle before my eyes, I reflected on our past. I was supposed to be there with her, but I had chosen to end our relationship, which was otherwise going well. We had booked the trip together; it would have been our second. The first was fun, and our bond had strengthened. I refunded her share because I still wanted to go, and I had already taken time off work.

The pattern was all too familiar. The same story as with the other women. She had been too upfront and too early when she brought up the topic of “having kids.” I felt cornered, unready. Moreover, she wanted to spend more time with me than I was comfortable with. It felt like she was chasing me, becoming clingy, and it felt uncomfortable.

I grew up believing that the man is supposed to chase the woman. My early relationships had ended painfully — I was the “very nice guy,” the romcom type.

Disaster.

Over time, I had transformed into a self-aware and confident man, sometimes bordering on arrogant. Yet, I still clung to flawed beliefs whenever I became exclusive with someone.

I felt guilty for desiring other women, blaming them for not being enough to make me forget the others. I danced back and forth in this mating ritual, but whenever they asked for my weekends, my “inventory” took precedence. There was no real exclusivity. My love life was like a career — getting promoted, interviewing for the next position, all while juggling multiple offers.

Maybe I was fighting my own nature, pondering whether men are not built for exclusivity. What if monogamy is a choice against nature, akin to a vegan refusing steak, despite salivating at the mere thought like a St. Bernard?

The closer she got, the more affection and genuine care she showed, the more I withdrew. I had hurt her -a lot-and I didn’t want to lead her on, even though I was enchanted by her presence in my life. I cared about her; I wanted her to be happy. Yet, I couldn’t see myself giving her the life, stability, and the children she deserved. I wasn’t ready to choose her, and I wasn’t ready to bid farewell to the irresponsible man I had become. He was my ally and my adversary, my hero and my greatest disappointment.

Her reply came after a few minutes, laced with a mix of understanding and resolution: “Thank you, I will certainly visit. No grudges; you’ve been kind despite how things turned out. I will never forgive, sorry, I mean forget. ;) Never change, but maybe grow up a bit! Bad timing. FYI, I’m seeing someone, and we might be on the same page, so let’s not spoil that. Enjoy the trip that wasn’t meant to be. Take care. xx”

I smiled, glanced at her profile picture once more, one last time, and deleted her number. “Goodbye,” I whispered.

Bittersweet.

The Northern Lights continued their dance a few minutes longer before clouds, heavy with snow, approached swiftly, their message clear: it was time to head back to my room. I had planned a different date for each day of my stay in Iceland, some chosen last minute over others for superficial reasons, “hotness” mostly, whatever that meant. I wondered, would the pattern repeat even with those I fancied a bit more?

Each broken heart was a reminder that perhaps I should have spent some time alone. This solo trip should have been a journey of self-discovery rather than a conquest. Boasting of my “achievements” in a group chat with friends wasn’t amusing anymore. It was just sad. It had always been sad. I was just realising it.

Maybe I was beginning to mature, just as she had suggested.

Timing is everything. We all ripen at different speeds and for different reasons, but ultimately, we all face decay.

Carpe diem.

In the realm of investing, spreading bets into small bets increases the odds of success, particularly when starting early. Over time, as you discern what works and what doesn’t, the strategy becomes less about diversification and more about commitment -until one day, you find yourself wholly invested in something significant.

A lifestyle business. A family.

Day #6: Ray of life

I emerged from Sol, brought into existence without the involvement of any organism. It was the essence of pure creation.

For the sake of simplicity, you can call me “Photon.” Fundamental, yet infinitely complex, I am devoid of reason, yet somewhere, someone or something might imagine the tales of my odyssey.

In the act of pure creation, I was hurled from a nuclear reaction into the vast expanse known as space. With endless paths before me, my trajectory seems preordained by unknown forces. Another facet of pure creation. Evading Mercury, then Venus, I near the planet some of us term “the cursed one”. Cursed, perhaps, for life blossomed there by sheer chance, at the perfect distance from Sol, amid a delicate balance of elements.

In the dance of pure creation, I collide with a water molecule, imparting my energy and transforming. Do I cease to be Photon, or does my essence endure? The molecule ascends as vapor, forms clouds, and returns as rain, traversing the planet’s face before joining the ocean’s embrace.

My kin, the photons, maybe taking credit from other entities or what you might simply call “radiations”, propel all these dynamics: the winds, the atmospheric pressure shifts, the magnetic fields born from planetary rotation and celestial interplay. Complex, yet elemental. An infinite tapestry woven by compounded forces, all manifesting the marvels of pure creation.

As you gaze upon the sea, recognise it as pure creation in motion. Look then to Sol, your shadow, your hands…everywhere, creation is at play.
So, create. Leave a legacy, a mark to be remembered. For in some form, even beyond what’s called death, your essence will remain. A piece of the perpetual creation that will inspire someone, something, somewhere to create what was never creation but transformation, elevation, transcendence.

Day #7: American Dream

We are disciples of the exponential; we are incapable of growing anything linearly. Apart, maybe, for regrets, excuses and lies we tell ourselves.
Time is limited, and as we consume it, the pressure to make something out of it mounts.

Everything inflates while the time at your disposal deflates.

That pressure can make or break you. Alternatively, you could be so unaware of it that you lead a happy life.
I chose violence, or violence chose me, what is the difference anyway?

They say the mind is our own worst enemy. You can live in the moment and enjoy yourself, or you can dwell on what you should or shouldn’t have done, drowning in the “what-ifs” and pondering all the Sliding Doors that lead to your Final Destination.

If you married your high school sweetheart, you might find yourself seeking a lover. If you’ve been a considerate saver and investor, you might indulge in a sports car, perhaps a vintage one, or both.
The same applies to organisations and countries; ultimately, they are composed of humans with herd-like behaviour.

Boom and bust cycles may be a feature, not a bug.

The virtuous are punished and tortured until they are rewarded. Most perish, but those who withstand will rebuild in the aftermath of the bust.
Yes, because we need the fittest. We cannot rely on those whom nature has selected for elimination.
The old lady knows. Yes, she’s a she and proud of it, you can just tell. Look around yourself and smell some flowers.

Pain is just a signal until it becomes noise.

You can be the turkey, or you can be the cockroach. You can enjoy the steak in the Matrix or the watered-down porridge in real life.
Like it or not, even if you consume the metaphorical steak, you still need to eat in the real world. Keep that in mind, and keep your soul strong and your mind stronger.

Beneath the dust, you’ll find beauty. Don’t be buried under it.
It’s always brightest before sunset.

By the way. Nice rides. They scream of opportunities, dreams, and “hell yeah!”.
The American dream. What happened to it?

Day #8: Boutonniere

For the first time in more years than I could remember, I was attending a party — or rather, a formal celebration that actually held meaning for me.

At the entrance, we were given floral arrangements — “boutonnieres,” they were called, or something of the sort. I stopped my Eva424 just in time, just before it could complete the answer to my visual prompt, having noticed that it might be a French term. It was odd, but my personal assistant was still malfunctioning, causing the neural interface to trigger a scent like burnt plastic whenever I prompted anything that might return a French word. That’s why I stopped seeing Claude. I liked the guy, he was kindly teaching me wood carving in exchange for some bow fishing but that sensation was unbearable.

Fortunately, I no longer dared ask about water desalination, as it caused me to collapse face-first to the ground — some issue with losing control of my knees, apparently. I had compiled a list of topics to avoid, which was torturous because my thoughts drifted there anyway. What’s the use of an assistant if it can’t assist? Sure, it helped with most tasks, but it also made me more inept as a human, more dependent on a mere ornament, an implant.

Receiving such an adornment for my vintage tuxedo from a bearded fellow who resembled a younger version of myself — albeit from several, perhaps seven, decades ago — felt peculiar. The only difference was his attire: a floral dress and high heels, complemented by prominent mammal prosthetics. I had never ventured into such fashion, despite the trends. Darker colours suited me, and lacking any implants other than my Eva424, there was nothing flashy about me apart from the scar I got from the bear attack that also damaged my Eva424. I could have had my scar removed, easily, but I liked it. I felt more in touch with my nature, whatever that meant.

“Enjoy yourself, see you around” — he told me, with his altered voice.
I smiled back and left. I couldn’t recall the last time I saw a real woman or heard a feminine voice that wasn’t AI-generated or anyway coming from a speaker.

At least pronouns weren’t an issue anymore, we were just dudes.

Nobody knew what truly happened, but suddenly, the few births worldwide ceased to produce female infants. We were now dependent on our clones — I was on my fifth iteration. I was one of the youngest once again. Exciting but demeaning at the same time.

We were constantly told how useless we were as men, that the world was female, that we needed more diversity here and there and when the problem completely reversed, when men became the minority and were even stripped the right to vote, and to father their own children — nature, fate, or perhaps some unspeakable design, intervened to change the course of events.

We were gathered to celebrate something monumental, far surpassing the AGI “standby” which we had marked with an even grander festivity than its “birth”. That day, one of the era’s most intelligent and repeatedly cloned individuals — then on his seventeenth iteration, having consistently sought the extremes of human capability with his body and mind, only to self-destruct each time — had made breakthroughs that now simplified our existence. On that day, he was to be reborn as a female, having figured out a way to alter his own chromosomes and artificial womb. Our boutonnieres, placed near our hearts, symbolized this hope somehow. At least that was the genius’ idea. Who was I to question it?

The world as we knew it was poised for radical change, once more. That. I was celebrating.