The only problem is that the world, as it exists right now, is artificially structured so that everyone has to—or MUST—earn money just to survive.
For most of human history, people didn’t live like this; they lived directly with nature, without money, wages, or private ownership of land.
But today, even though the Earth belongs to no one and is clearly finite, a small group of people has built a system where survival itself is locked behind money. We are told that governments and democracy exist to help us and improve our lives, yet in reality, corporations and elites keep extracting land, minerals, forests, and labor for short-term profit, even as ecosystems collapse and the climate breaks down. Everything is taken for temporary, ego-driven gains, while the damage is permanent.
Almost everything humans do in the modern world feels like exploitative and involuntary slavery. We are told we have “choices,” but if you refuse to participate, you don’t get freedom—you get hunger, homelessness, or punishment. If I were to marry and have a child tomorrow, that child would be forced into a system he never agreed to. He would have to earn money, pay taxes, obey laws, and work inside a structure he never chose and will never truly see. No one ever asks him for consent. He is simply born into a contract that already owns his time and energy.
The system is so deeply corrupted that instead of being grateful to nature and working toward real human growth, we are forced to participate in something that destroys the planet and ourselves at the same time.
We know now that pollution is increasing, forests are disappearing, species are dying, and people are more anxious and disconnected than ever, yet the system keeps demanding more productivity, more consumption, more growth—no matter the cost.
Right now, I’m filled with a kind of hungry curiosity that feels like it could actually bring something meaningful to humanity. But I can’t act on it, because my family isn’t wealthy enough to give me time. I will have to earn money just to stay alive. I will have to waste years of my life inside systems that feel absurd and morally wrong. I will have to participate in a world where the environment is polluted, people are pushed into selfishness, peace of mind is rare, and problems keep multiplying without anyone really fixing the root.
Sometimes all I want is to go somewhere with no humans at all—just me and nature.
- No government.
- No democracy.
- No elites.
- No rules designed to extract value from life.
Just silence, trees, water, and space to breathe. Not because I hate humanity, but because this version of human society feels fundamentally broken.
I want to spend my entire life learning and understanding reality, consciousness, and what we really are.
I want to discover things that actually matter and share them with others.
For example, when I recently realised that 1/0 isn’t just “impossible” but a category mistake in classical mathematics, it opened a doorway for me. It helped me see a connection between modern quantum physics and Advaita Vedanta.
Modern society is built on a rigid, binary way of thinking—Aristotelian logic—where things are either true or false, allowed or forbidden. But when I looked at this through the lens of Nyāya Śāstra and Gautam Rishi’s reasoning, it became clear to me that science and Advaita aren’t separate at all.
They only seem different because they’re using different ways of thinking about reality.
This binary way of thinking helped build modern civilization, but it also justified endless exploitation. No automobile company will ever say, “We’ve earned enough.” No corporation will ever stop growing on its own. Growth is treated as sacred, even though the planet is limited. This creates constant competition, pressure, and comparison between people, which slowly turns into resentment, conflict, and destruction of nature through more factories, more mining, more deforestation.
If there were real wisdom and contentment guiding us, we would have stopped at some point. We would have protected land, food systems, and ecosystems instead of exhausting them. Nyāya offers tarka—a way of reasoning that considers context, intention, and consequences.
Our current legal and political systems don’t work like that. They are often technically correct but morally empty. Things can be legal and still deeply wrong. Under Nyāya reasoning, many of these systems wouldn’t survive at all.
And the part that hurts the most is knowing that this system doesn’t just exploit bodies, it slowly reshapes minds. From the moment we are young, we are trained to measure our worth in numbers—marks, salaries, ranks, productivity—until we forget what it feels like to exist without being evaluated.
Curiosity becomes “unproductive.” Silence becomes “wasted time.” Even rest has to justify itself by making us more efficient later. I can feel this pressure trying to crawl into my own thinking, and I resist it every day, because once it wins, something essential dies.
I don’t believe humans were meant to live like this—constantly rushing, comparing, competing, and fearing failure.
When I look at nature, nothing there is in a hurry, yet everything functions. Trees don’t compete with the sky. Rivers don’t race each other. Nothing in nature grows endlessly; it grows until it is whole.
But humans, armed with abstract logic and artificial goals, have convinced themselves that stopping is the same as dying. And so we keep pushing forward, even when the ground beneath us is collapsing.
Sometimes I wonder how many people feel this but never allow themselves to say it out loud. How many people wake up every day with a quiet sense of suffocation and then immediately silence it with routine, entertainment, or distraction.
How many people had real questions once, real hunger to understand life, and slowly learned to bury it because it didn’t pay the bills. I’m scared of becoming one of them—not because they are weak, but because the system is very good at breaking people gently, without them noticing.
What terrifies me is not suffering or hardship, but the possibility of living an entire life without touching what feels true. I don’t want to reach old age having optimized my survival while abandoning my soul. I don’t want to look back and realize that I spent decades obeying rules that never deserved my respect. I don’t want my thoughts to shrink just so they can fit into a world that doesn’t care about depth, wisdom, or meaning.
And yet, I’m not blind to the contradiction I’m living in. I still use the tools of this world. I still depend on the very system I criticize. That tension never leaves me. It sits inside me every day, reminding me that clarity alone doesn’t grant freedom. Knowing the cage doesn’t open the door. It only makes the bars more visible.
Still, I can’t unsee what I’ve seen. Once you realize that the game is designed to never end, that growth has no final point, that legality has replaced morality, and that logic has been detached from wisdom, you can’t fully pretend anymore. Even if I have to participate to survive, I refuse to let this system define what is real, what is valuable, or what is worth dedicating a life to.
If there is any quiet rebellion left to me, it is this: to keep my curiosity alive, to keep questioning the foundations, to keep listening to that part of me that doesn’t belong to markets, nations, or identities.
Even if I never escape physically, I don’t want my inner world to be colonized. I don’t want my thinking to become binary, my heart transactional, or my time meaningless.
Maybe I’ll never reach that place with no humans, no governments, and no noise. Maybe it only exists as an inner direction rather than a physical location. But as long as I keep moving toward silence, truth, and understanding—even imperfectly—I know I haven’t fully surrendered.
Even after reading and understanding Krishna’s Gita, if I choose to live my life being nishkāmi for the betterment of others, there will come a point where I will pass through a phase that feels unavoidable.
A phase where I will think clearly and without guilt: if pursuing self-interest leads to ruin, then I prefer ruin, but I cannot completely destroy myself to awaken those fools who, even after being awakened, will still embrace self-interest.
I refuse to make the same mistake that others made in the past—sacrificing everything in the hope of uplifting people—only to see where those people still stand today, far below what was once imagined.
I look at Bhagat Singh. He gave his life so that people could breathe freely, and today those same people are busy fighting over religion, caste, and political idols, arguing on social media while living comfortably inside the freedom he paid for with his life.
I look at Chanakya, who understood power, greed, and human stupidity better than most, and even he knew that the masses do not change because of wisdom; they change only when forced by circumstances.
And I look at Lord Rama himself—Maryada Purushottam—who followed dharma perfectly, sacrificed endlessly, and still could not prevent betrayal, misunderstanding, exile, and the eventual distortion of his own story by those who claimed to worship him.
What does this tell me?
It tells me that the problem was never a lack of examples. The problem was never ignorance. The problem is that fools don’t want truth; they want comfort.
They don’t want liberation; they want advantage.
Even when someone shows them the highest form of sacrifice, they bow, they praise, and then they return to the same selfish patterns the moment it benefits them.
So no, I don’t believe anymore that destroying myself will somehow awaken humanity.
History is clear.
Those who burned themselves to light the way were honored later, but followed never.
Their sacrifices became stories, not transformations.
Their suffering became symbols, not lessons.
I am not arrogant enough to think I will succeed where they failed, and I am not foolish enough to repeat an experiment whose results are already written in blood.
This doesn’t mean I will become selfish.
It means I will become precise. I will live by dharma without becoming a martyr for fools. I will act without attachment, but I will not offer my life as fuel for a society that refuses to evolve. If the world improves, let it be because people choose growth—not because I destroyed myself trying to drag them toward it.
I choose to walk my path clearly, even if it leads to solitude, even if it leads to ruin, but I will not bleed endlessly for people who mistake sacrifice for weakness and wisdom for inconvenience.
If this makes me detached, so be it. If this makes me misunderstood, so be it. But I will not repeat the mistake of the past—offering everything to fools who, even after awakening, still choose self-interest.
Thanks :)
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