Midway through my coffee break, I overheard my colleagues marveling at the surge in the price of gold, assuming it was wealth, as if its shine could liberate them from their debt trap of consumption to provide for further consumption.
Yet, gold does not move. It lies dormant in lockers, locked behind rituals of love and legacy. Their wives would never let it be pawned in crisis. Every month, they feed savings schemes in the jeweller’s name—not investments in freedom, but deposits for ornaments. A necklace here. A ring there. A gesture, perhaps.
But to what end?
Is it love?
Is it duty?
Or just another loop?
A ritual mistaken for meaning, one more tether in the great machinery of passed-on habits?
Most lives begin not with intention, but with competition—the need to be on par with their peers in this day and age.
A glance.
A night.
A ritual.
A child.
A script. Rewritten all over again.
Children born not always as gifts,
but as outcomes of boredom, lust, or inherited inertia.
The architecture doesn’t ask why.
It only demands more.
More bodies, more mouths, more movement, more consumption.
From birth, we’re pressed into rhythms we never chose.
School teaches obedience.
Work teaches endurance.
Marriage rewards conformity.
Procreation parades as duty, not design—to suck everyone into the conformity of legacy.
Each step feeds the next,
and each next feeds the system.
We consume because we must survive,
and then we consume to feel alive. To feed our dopamine and serotonin.
To feel we progress. To feel we have purpose. To feel we're better than those around.
It’s not a cycle—it’s a loop.
Silent, vicious, profitable.
This loop economy thrives not on brilliance, but volume.
It doesn’t need vision, only multiplication.
The more children born, the more consumers made.
The more consumers made, the more profit extracted.
Purpose here is not a calling.
It’s a leash.
Ask the migrant labourer.
He doesn't question why to get married. Doesn't give it a thought if he could feed the mouths he would bring into the world.
He leaves his village not to explore, but to survive.
He builds towers he will never inhabit,
lays tiles in homes whose doors he’ll never cross.
That ignorance feeds the loop. Legacy? I doubt it.
His children grow up breathing dust and diesel,
as his body breaks to sustain a loop he didn’t design.
This isn’t sacrifice.
It’s structure—a structure of breeding ignorance through multiplication as conformity.
Even the educated aren’t exempt.
They marry because it is “time.”
They procreate because it is “expected.”
They work jobs that poison oceans and pollute skies,
calling it “career growth.”
Children raised not by parents but by screens,
school systems engineered to replicate the same loop.
Photos curated, birthdays staged—
captioned words like “blessing” and “legacy,”
while the architecture quietly extracts value
from every diaper, every tuition fee, every toy.
This is not life.
It is choreography.
A puppet show.
We are not participants—we are performers.
Invisible hands pull the strings.
Filthy rich applause rains down from balconies
built with our labour, our longing, our loops.
And we?
We mistake movement for purpose, purpose for meaning, and meaning as mission. Ignorance? Indeed.
Stop.
Stop calling multiplication legacy.
Stop calling obedience purpose.
Do not rage against the system—
simply refuse to dance for it.
No offspring to feed the loop.
No guilt to fuel the ritual.
A life lived by intention, not inheritance.
Ritual, yes.
But not righteous.
Only vicious.
They tell us to leave a legacy.
But perhaps, in this age,
the truest legacy
is learning to leave—
without looking back.
Just as gold lies locked, lifeless in lockers—
so too can a life lie locked in loops.
Freedom is not what glitters.
Freedom is what refuses to shine on command.
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