I am always late for work. There. I've said it. And the frustrating thing is that my lateness isn't caused by traffic or some unpredictable morning disaster. Most of the time, it is entirely my own doing. I wake up and make my coffee. Then I get back into bed, which is right by the window, cross my feet, face the window and slowly sip my coffee. And when I say slowly, I mean slowly. I look at the trees. I watch the birds. I feel the morning sun on my skin. Sometimes I just sit there with my thoughts. I really love these mornings. I've also noticed something else. When I give myself enough time in the morning, my body usually does what it needs to do. A slow morning often leads to a bowel movement, which, as far as I'm concerned, is one of the must-haves of starting my day. And so I find myself wishing for more time. More time to sit. More time to drink my coffee. More time to maybe get outside and do some yoga or mat Pilates on the grass while the sun is stil...
For the past month, I’ve been watching Netflix — something I rarely do. I don’t subscribe to entertainment platforms; I don’t binge shows; I don’t keep up. But this month, I scrolled, sampled, and let myself be carried through the endless conveyor belt of content. And somewhere between dating shows, scripted drama, and predictable plots, I realized something unsettling: so much of what we call “entertainment” isn’t reflecting life — it’s scripting it. The stories may look different, but the messaging is the same. A dating show in Los Angeles echoes one in Brazil, which mirrors one filmed in South Africa. And the formula hardly shifts: alcohol, tension, betrayal, temptation, chaos. Reality TV is not reality — it’s a machine of engineered dysfunction dressed as modern love. What surprised me wasn’t the drama. It was the consistency. Why do all these shows rely on the same emotional ingredients? Why is alcohol a permanent character? Why is infidelity an expectation rather than a...