it felt like we were the only people in the world

15 Nov, 2026

There are moments that tear a hole in the ordinary fabric of days, to remind us of how fragile but beautiful being here, on Earth, is. All at once, I felt in my chest a swarm: a million possibilities, blazing rays flung in all directions - past my body and past the world.

On Thursday, I skipped work for the first time and joined my friends on a spontaneous trip to Wadi Dayqah, a secluded river valley.¹ I'm ashamed to admit that my compulsion to prove my "discipline" at work nearly made me cancel. Then I thought of the cruelty of the corporate ladder, how it persuades rest has to be justified. I pictured myself 10 years later, still climbing, still wondering if I'll ever be praised for all days I had worked that I should have lived.

My phone lost signal upon arrival, and I soaked in the immediate relief of being cut loose. Client calls, emails - how small, ridiculous it all seemed at that moment. I swam in clear, pure water and cupped it between my palms to drink. If there was a cure for my oscillating depression, I pondered, I swear it's all in the water. We collected rocks along the riverbed and made tea on a portable stove, then wondered where we will end up in the next five years.

Eight hours later, in the car, I told my friends, I forgot other people existed. It felt like we were the only people on Earth. For the few hours I was unreachable, I was overwhelmed by how rarely I let that happen. Nothing collapsed in my absence, as I presumed.

Instead, the sun fell, clouds drifted, and people were still working, shopping, resting. Cars pushed through crowded streets and shop owners sat on chairs, waiting for customers. A ceaseless blur of normal people doing normal things. I thought of this life, this vast stubborn mechanism of existing, of days dissolving into night and night into days. I understood how much I would've lost if I never went. ———