“We see the world not as it is, but as we are.”                                                              — Anaïs Nin                                                                THE WORLD ACCORDING TO HUMANS:                                   LIFE INSIDE THE PRISON OF BELIEFS — A REALITY CHECK                                                                     By Daniel Walker   ·      The Razor’s Edge of Existence:...

The piece offers a reflective and interdisciplinary exploration of how human beings construct belief systems—scientific, ideological, and religious—to create a sense of certainty within a reality that remains complex, evolving, and ultimately resistant to definitive closure. The essay examines how these frameworks, while intellectually necessary and culturally transformative, can become limiting when confused with reality itself. It calls for epistemic humility and a renewed openness to...

Imagine a city that never sleeps, where highways carry messages at lightning speed, factories produce energy non-stop, and security guards protect every corner. That city is your body — a living masterpiece of anatomy. Your heart is the engine, tirelessly pumping blood through a network of roads called blood vessels. Every beat sends oxygen and nutrients to every cell, keeping you alive and alert. Your lungs are the air purifiers, taking in life-giving oxygen and releasing waste carbon...

"Far in the northern part of the world lived people who wanted to make their own clothes but lacked the idea. Meanwhile, people in the west had the idea but lacked materials. Another group in the east had both materials and the idea but struggled with measurements. Luckily, the people from the south knew measurements like the back of their hand. As years went by, their passion for making clothes began to blown away by each passing breeze One day, an old man from the north said,...

Even a night that will not bend Must one day come to an end. The clock may stall, the sky may seal, But time is stubborn; light is real. A wind waits for gold to climb, A wound submits to patient time. And hearts that thought they’d lost their breath Can outlive a season’s death. So hold the dark with open rope— Dawn owes its rise to hidden hope. And hope, though thin as thread or psalm, Has carried more than faith or arm.

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Here’s the gloomy truth about fire: It’s destructive, it’s consuming, It burns away people, let alone buildings,   It keeps growing higher and higher, It eats till there’s nothing left and still keeps moving, Swallowing wood, giving birth to ashes, Each piece of coal making it more powerful, It changes its course as the wind blows by, Such unpredictability yet it’s on what people rely, From cooking meals to bidding goodbye, Its sound bringing a sense of serenity,  The light creating a flicker...

Hate learned my name before I learned my own, It whispered certainty where doubt lived. I clenched it like a weapon, Mistaking noise for power, Mistaking anger for strength. I became fixated— Eyes locked on wounds that refused to close, Counting every slight like sacred numbers, Letting sorrow build a throne in my chest And call itself king. Sorrow is quiet but endless. It does not scream like hate— It sits beside you, Teaches you how to breathe in pain Until pain feels like knowledge. And...

Many years ago, in a small village called Oke-Ira in southwestern Nigeria, there lived a young man named Ade. Ade was hardworking and clever, but he had one weakness—he always delayed important matters. He often said, “I will do it later. There is still time.” One market day, an old woman with a walking stick arrived in the village. She carried a small talking drum and called the people together under the big iroko tree. She said, “This drum carries a special blessing. Whoever beats it with a...

The limestone block sat before Elam like a silent accuser. In the subterranean cool of the royal quarries, the air was thick with the scent of wet stone and the metallic tang of bronze tools. Elam was a man of the Judean hills, accustomed to the raw, rugged edges of life. To him, the desert wind and David’s wild psalms felt like the true breath of God. But here, under the direction of the Phoenician architects, everything was measured. Everything was bound by the geometry of the square and...