A reflection on the beauty of a slower, deeper time

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Sometimes I long for a world that no longer exists — not because it was perfect, but because it was present. A world without internet, where connections were slower but deeper, where our attention belonged to the moment, not to algorithms. This piece is a tribute to that time — a memory stitched together with heat, stars, longing, and laughter.

Before the Internet, There Was Infinity

There was a time — not long ago, yet already a distant continent —

when life moved like a breeze through open windows,

unrushed and tender.

Days were longer then,

not because the sun lingered more generously,

but because we were fully present,

measuring time by laughter, dust, and shadow.

In the heat of summer afternoons,

we played in the yard with bare feet and burning cheeks,

so immersed in the joy of the moment

that the world outside our small universe simply ceased to exist.

Missing a friend or sibling felt like heartbreak — a quiet, unbearable ache,

because there were no texts to ease the distance,

no photos to scroll, no emojis to soften absence.

Only longing, pure and unfiltered.

We slept deeper.

The kind of sleep that followed long days and peaceful thoughts.

No glowing screens humming beside our pillows,

only the lullabies of crickets and the breathing of the wind.

At night, lying beneath the sky —

the real sky — not pixels or filters,

I would choose one star and try to hold it with my eyes,

to not blink, not breathe too hard,

just in case it moved,

just in case it noticed me watching.

And sometimes, I would trace shapes among the stars —

the ones we’d learned in school, from our science books.

There was one that looked like a saucepan.

I used to stare at it and wonder:

Is this a part of God’s kitchen?

Does the divine cook under this same sky,

while we dream beneath it?

Back then, the sky was unreachable,

and maybe that was the beauty of it.

Everything wasn’t available at the touch of a screen —

and so everything mattered more.

We lived in a world of waiting, wondering, missing, and imagining —

and in that sacred space,

we learned how to love,

how to endure,

how to dream.