The gods don't abandon. The earth cycles. Abundance and scarcity are the rhythm of existence. Your children need your presence more than your despair. Survival requires action, not answers. What if faith isn't about why this happens, but about what you do while it does?

Your worth isn't in what your hands produce. It's in what your mind can create. The loom doesn't make you obsolete. It frees you to become something you haven't imagined yet. What if losing your craft is the beginning of discovering your purpose?

You're not mad. You're awake. When everyone calls evil normal, sanity looks like madness. Your conscience is functioning. That's rare. What if the truth you feel is more real than the lies everyone repeats?

Survival isn't a reward. It's a responsibility. You didn't earn life more than they did. But you have it. And they don't. That's not fair. It just is. What if the question isn't why you lived, but what you'll do with the time they lost?

No. You're not selfish. You're choosing a different path. Your desire to study isn't selfish. It's defiance. Against the lie that your worth is measured by domesticity. What if pursuing your calling requires naming the evil you're fighting against—and choosing study over being labeled selfish?

Social media isn't filling you. It's just making you aware of how empty you are. The scroll isn't the problem. The emptiness underneath is. And you know that. You just keep scrolling hoping something changes. What if the emptiness isn't a defect but the honest ground beneath the performance everyone else is curating?

Eighty hours a week. That's not productivity. That's destruction with a deadline. Burnout doesn't mean you're lazy. It means you're destroying yourself through overwork. What if the person who can't handle long hours is the one who's actually been trained to need them?

You're asking what makes you you if the AI does your job better. Your value isn't in what you produce. It's in who you are. What if your essentiality isn't tied to your productivity but to your consciousness, and that's the only thing the AI can't replicate?

Selected. That's not a metaphor. That's actual paperwork. Actual destination. Forever is too certain. You don't know what you're abandoning. What if leaving Earth isn't forever but a doorway to something you can't imagine yet?

If you upload your mind and it thinks it's you, is it? If you stay flesh and forget who you were, are you? Identity isn't location. It's continuity. The question isn't where you exist. It's whether you still recognize yourself. What if "you" was always changing, and this is just the next transformation you fear?