Jameel Aahmed Milansaar.
sharejameel@gmail.com.
Somewhere between the first sleepy scroll in the morning and the last reel before bed, we seem to have misplaced our minds. Not metaphorically — quite literally. Studies now suggest that an overdose of videos can quietly blunt our ability to observe, reflect and think clearly. The very screens that promise to “keep us engaged” are, in slow motion, disengaging our cognitive muscles.
Videos are like that overly helpful friend who insists on doing everything for you until you forget how to do anything yourself. They serve up images, conclusions and emotions pre-packaged, leaving no room for analysis or deep observation. Reading, on the other hand, is a far more demanding companion. A book does not perform for you; it asks you to participate. It expects patience, imagination and a willingness to wrestle with ideas. In return, it silently stretches your mental sinews and widens the horizons of your thought.
Step outside — or simply unlock your phone — and you will find humanity busy turning every breath into “content”. Eating, crying, celebrating, praying, even pretending to meditate: all of it is shot, edited and uploaded, often before the moment is genuinely lived. The great digital drumbeat thunders the same command: make a video, chase the views, feed the algorithm. Somewhere between transitions and trending audio, meaningful reflection quietly slips out of the frame.
This raises an uncomfortable question: have we become permanent performers in a never‑ending talent show that no one really has time to watch? Do we still have anything worth saying, or are we now only experts at being seen? The tragedy is not that we are surrounded by noise; it is that we have grown terrified of silence. Lies, manipulation, even the daily spectacle of outrage do not frighten us as much as the possibility of facing our own inner emptiness.
Because when the screen finally goes dark and the notifications fall silent, there comes a rare, fragile moment when we are left alone with ourselves. No filters, no captions, no background music — just the echo of thoughts we never stopped long enough to form. That hollow ache is not caused by the world outside, but by the pages we did not read, the questions we did not ask and the depths we never tried to explore. Perhaps the real radical act in this era of endless viewing is simple: to put the phone face down, pick up a book and dare to listen to the quiet.
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