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Modern existence has transformed into a peculiar form of slow suicide, where individuals find themselves trapped in a "life" that systematically destroys them. Each day becomes another step in a march toward exhaustion, driven by the relentless demands of perpetual productivity. The anxiety of this condition grips them like a vice, tightening with each notification, each urgent request, each reminder that their value exists only in their capacity to produce.


This perverse system demands total availability, a complete surrender of personal boundaries and private space. The distinction between work and life dissolves, not because work has become more humane, but because life has been colonized by the logic of production. Every moment of rest becomes marked by guilt, every pause feels like failure, and the very notion of personal time transforms into a luxury that feels undeserved.


The ultimate irony lies in how this pursuit of "winning" requires a systematic abandonment of everything that makes life worth living. Relationships wither under the weight of constant unavailability, passions are indefinitely postponed, and health – both mental and physical – deteriorates in the name of productivity. In this grotesque game, the price of success is the complete surrender of one's humanity, a victory that tastes like ash in the mouth of those who achieve it.


 
 
 


The process of humanization develops in a delicate balance between encounter and separation, like a dance where each step back is as significant as each approach. Human contact nourishes and sustains us, but it is temporary absence that allows us to internalize the other, transforming them into a psychic presence that transcends the physical. This alternation between presence and absence is the fundamental rhythm that allows bonds to mature and deepen.


Absence, when framed between moments of encounter, becomes a fertile space where the representation of the other can take root in our internal world. It is in these intervals that we learn to carry the loved one within us, where their image is inscribed in our mind with a permanence that surpasses the fleeting nature of physical contact. This process of internalization transforms the relationship, elevating it beyond dependence on immediate presence.


This dynamic teaches us a fundamental truth: distance is not equivalent to abandonment. While abandonment implies a rupture of the bond, distance sustained by moments of reunion strengthens our capacity to love and relate. It is precisely this alternation that allows us to develop a more mature form of love, where the security of the bond doesn't depend on constant presence, but on the ability to keep the connection alive even in separation.


 
 
 


In the era of perpetual connectivity, we have developed a collective phobia of silence. Pauses, those vital spaces where thought traditionally germinated and reflection flourished, are now perceived as threatening voids that must be immediately filled with digital noise. Every moment of potential solitude is quickly occupied by the infinite scroll of screens, the constant buzz of notifications, the compulsion to stay connected.


This permanent saturation of stimuli has eroded our ability to experience absence as something meaningful. Distance, that essential element that allows desire to be born and nostalgia to be cultivated, has been abolished by the illusion of constant presence offered by social networks. There is no longer time for longing to develop, for physical separation to transform into that sweet pain of missing someone that enriches our bonds.


In our rush to eliminate all empty space, we have lost something fundamental: the ability to process our experiences, to metabolize our emotions. Without pauses, without silences, without absences, our relationships become superficial, lacking the depth that can only emerge when we allow space to exist between us. The paradox is that, in our attempt to stay always connected, we become increasingly incapable of truly connecting.


 
 
 
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