Comfort = Slavery
- Madhukar Dama
- 13 hours ago
- 16 min read
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Prologue
Man does not seek freedom. He seeks comfort. From the moment he is born, he is wrapped in blankets, lulled into sleep, fed before he cries too much. And from that moment onward, the mind believes that life must be smooth, padded, free of sharp edges. Comfort becomes the invisible god, worshipped in every choice — the house, the job, the gadgets, the vacations.
But what no one sees is this: every new comfort demands more from you. More work, more money, more vigilance, more maintenance. What begins as a convenience ends as a compulsion. What begins as freedom ends as servitude.
The middle-class man, proud of his comforts, calls himself successful. Yet he wakes up every day to run on a treadmill of bills, deadlines, obligations. He is not chased by a master with a whip. He is chased by his own comforts, which whip him harder than any master ever could.
Comfort looks like a pillow, but it is a chain. Comfort feels like safety, but it is a cage. Comfort appears like progress, but it is slavery.
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We are taught from birth to aspire for comfort. Parents work to provide it, schools train us to secure it, governments promise it, advertisements glorify it. A good life is defined as a comfortable life. But what if this very pursuit — to implement, maintain, and grow comfort — is the root of our enslavement? What if comfort is not liberation, but bondage disguised as happiness?
This is not a metaphor. To secure comfort, you must work. To maintain it, you must work harder. To grow it, you must surrender everything. The work expands, multiplies, consumes. And the result is overwork. Overwork is not freedom; it is slavery, wearing the mask of progress.
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The Lie of Security
We believe comfort will grant us security. A stable salary, a safe home, a future free of worry. But security itself is an illusion.
Take the example of a middle-class worker. He studies for decades to acquire the right qualifications. He fights through competition to land a job. Once he gets it, the struggle only begins. The job is never secure. Industries collapse, companies downsize, automation looms, economic shifts uproot entire sectors overnight.
The comfort of a “secure life” demands continuous vigilance. Courses must be updated, networking must be maintained, skills must be upgraded. Even when employed, the anxiety never ends. Comfort is not security — it is a moving target, one that demands constant chasing. The worker is not free. He is enslaved by the fear of losing the comfort he worked so hard to gain.
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The House That Owns You
A house should be a shelter, nothing more. Yet the idea of comfort expands it into a dream: a bigger home, better interiors, modern appliances, extra rooms, polished finishes. To achieve this, one mortgages decades of life.
The man who signs the loan believes he has acquired comfort. In reality, he has chained himself to thirty years of repayment. Every day he wakes not in freedom but in debt. The home he built to rest his body becomes the burden that drives him back to endless labor.
And it doesn’t stop. Once the house is owned, maintenance arrives. Taxes, repairs, renovations. Comfort never settles; it always demands more. The dream home is the silent master; its owner is the obedient slave.
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The Body Weakened by Comfort
Comfort enslaves not just through money, but through the body itself.
Take food. What was once nourishment has become an industry of convenience. Processed snacks, fast meals, packaged drinks — engineered to save time and taste good. But these comforts poison the body. Obesity, diabetes, fatigue, allergies. To cure these, one spends more on gyms, diet plans, supplements, insurance.
Take temperature control. Fans, heaters, air conditioners weaken our natural resilience. The body loses its capacity to adapt. A mild change in weather becomes unbearable. Now you depend on machines to simply exist.
Take sitting. Soft chairs and couches cradle the spine until it forgets its strength. The muscles atrophy, pain grows, doctors are consulted, physiotherapists employed. The very comfort that promised ease breeds a new slavery — slavery to doctors, medicines, and endless treatments.
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Relationships of Convenience
Even love and friendship bow before comfort. We want partners who fit our habits, friends who confirm our opinions, communities that affirm our identities. The discomfort of disagreement, conflict, or difference is shunned.
But comfort-based relationships breed dependence. When betrayal comes — and it always comes — the collapse feels unbearable. Not because of love lost, but because comfort is broken. We then seek more comfort: therapy, self-help, dating apps, endless distractions.
The cycle continues. Relationships become transactions, built not on truth but on convenience. Dependency replaces intimacy. Comfort becomes the master, dictating who we allow into our lives and how much we can endure.
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The Velvet Prison of Work
Nowhere is the slavery of comfort clearer than in the workplace.
Technology promised us relief. Computers, automation, smartphones — all invented to save time. But saved time is never given back to us. It is filled with more work, more demands, more availability.
Email follows you home. Deadlines blur weekends. A phone call at midnight is expected, and you comply. Why? Because you must maintain comfort. The salary, the car, the house, the lifestyle — all hang in balance. You do not work for the joy of work; you work to preserve a comfort that constantly threatens to disappear.
It is not a boss who enslaves you. It is the fear of losing comfort. You are your own overseer, whipping yourself with overwork. This is slavery without chains, a prison without walls, a master that lives inside your own head.
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The Consumer’s Illusion
Comfort sells itself through objects. Cars, phones, furniture, appliances. Each promises ease. Each becomes a trap.
The car: freedom of mobility. In truth, it demands fuel, insurance, maintenance, repairs, upgrades.
The phone: connection at your fingertips. In truth, it demands endless attention, constant upgrades, data plans, addiction.
The washing machine, the vacuum cleaner, the dishwasher: time-saving miracles. Yet the time saved is filled with more tasks, more responsibilities, more work.
Instead of freeing us, each device enslaves us further. We do not own them. They own us, in the form of bills, repairs, and dependence.
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Fragility: Fear of Discomfort
The greatest chain of comfort is psychological.
We lose the ability to endure discomfort. A WiFi outage feels unbearable. A traffic jam enrages us. A minor illness becomes catastrophic. We grow fragile, hypersensitive, unable to stand the smallest deviation.
Comfort breeds fear: fear of losing ease, fear of instability, fear of uncertainty. And fear is the sharpest form of slavery. When you fear discomfort, you can be controlled, manipulated, sold anything in exchange for reassurance.
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The Expanding Horizon
Here is the final cruelty: comfort is never satisfied. Once attained, it becomes normal. A small house feels good until neighbors build larger ones. A modest salary feels enough until others earn more. A simple phone feels fine until a newer model is released.
Comfort is not a destination. It is an expanding horizon. The more you pursue, the more it recedes. You run faster, work harder, give more of your life, and still remain unsatisfied. This is slavery disguised as aspiration.
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The Affirmative Realization
To see this clearly is not despair — it is liberation. For once the illusion is broken, comfort loses its grip.
Liberation is not in rejecting all comforts, but in no longer being deceived by them. You can use a chair without believing it makes you free. You can live in a house without imagining it gives you security. You can work without assuming your identity rests in your career.
True freedom lies in reclaiming the ability to live without comfort. To eat simply, to walk instead of drive, to endure cold and heat, to rest without gadgets, to love without dependence, to work without fear. Discomfort embraced becomes strength. Strength embraced becomes freedom.
Comfort maintained through overwork is slavery. But discomfort accepted is liberation.
This is not an idea. It is a fact. Look around you. Look inside you. The chains are velvet, soft, invisible — but they are chains. The moment you see them as chains, they break.
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The Normalized Comforts of a Middle-Class Indian Man — and Their Slavery
1. Air Conditioning
Comfort illusion: “I can’t live without AC; it makes life bearable.”
Slavery reality: The body loses its resilience. Bills rise. Dependence on machines grows. You can’t sleep, work, or even breathe freely without technology mediating the air. You are chained to electricity, to manufacturers, to repairs — comfort has made you weak and dependent.
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2. Personal Vehicles (Cars, Bikes)
Comfort illusion: “My car gives me freedom of movement.”
Slavery reality: You are enslaved to EMIs, fuel prices, traffic jams, insurance, parking problems. Instead of freedom, the car dictates your expenses, your stress levels, even your daily schedule. The machine owns you.
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3. Smartphones & 24/7 Connectivity
Comfort illusion: “I am always connected; life is easier.”
Slavery reality: The phone demands your attention every waking hour. It interrupts meals, sleep, family time. It spies, sells your data, dictates upgrades. You are no longer a man; you are a servant responding to pings and notifications.
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4. Streaming Subscriptions
Comfort illusion: “After a long day, I deserve some entertainment.”
Slavery reality: Instead of rest, you binge through the night. Your time, attention, and sleep are stolen. You no longer choose what to watch; algorithms dictate your mood. You are shackled to endless distraction.
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5. Restaurant Culture & Food Delivery
Comfort illusion: “Why cook? Food is just one click away.”
Slavery reality: You become dependent on overpriced, chemical-laden food. Your health declines, forcing you into medical slavery. Kitchens that once represented self-sufficiency now rot unused.
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6. Packaged Food & Convenience Cooking
Comfort illusion: “Quick meals save time.”
Slavery reality: Dependency on corporate food chains strips you of health and vitality. You can no longer prepare simple nourishment without external help. The kitchen is outsourced, your body pays the price.
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7. Gated Community Lifestyle
Comfort illusion: “I live in a safe, modern society.”
Slavery reality: The “safety” enslaves you to monthly maintenance, inflated housing loans, artificial status. Your identity shrinks into a postcode. You live in a cage disguised as luxury.
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8. Loans & EMIs
Comfort illusion: “Why wait? Buy now, pay later.”
Slavery reality: Your future years are mortgaged. You wake up each morning not to live, but to pay. Your labor belongs to the bank. The comfort of today is purchased with chains that last decades.
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9. Online Shopping & Instant Delivery
Comfort illusion: “Why waste time in markets? Everything comes to my door.”
Slavery reality: You become a servant of impulse, constantly chasing discounts and trends. Boxes pile up, money drains away, and you can’t stop. The comfort of convenience enslaves you to consumerism.
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10. Domestic Help
Comfort illusion: “Why tire myself? Let someone else do the chores.”
Slavery reality: You lose basic self-reliance. The absence of help throws you into chaos. You can’t clean, cook, or function without external labor. Dependency is slavery, even if it feels like luxury.
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11. Private Schools & Tuition Mania
Comfort illusion: “I’m giving my children a better future.”
Slavery reality: You enslave yourself to monstrous fees, overwork to pay them, and burden children with schedules that kill curiosity. The family is chained to institutions, all in the name of comfort.
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12. Weekend Getaways & Holidays
Comfort illusion: “We deserve a break.”
Slavery reality: The trip is booked not from joy but from fatigue. Loans, EMIs, and exhaustion follow you. You return more tired, trapped in the cycle of escape-and-return. Leisure becomes an obligation — another chain.
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13. Home Appliances
Comfort illusion: “These machines save time.”
Slavery reality: Repairs, replacements, electricity bills, and constant upgrades enslave you to manufacturers. The machine breaks, you break. You no longer wash, clean, or cook without dependence.
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14. Gyms & Supplements
Comfort illusion: “I am staying fit in a modern way.”
Slavery reality: You pay for treadmills while ignoring the free act of walking. You swallow protein powders while traditional diets rot. Fitness is commodified. You are a consumer, not a free body.
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15. Branded Clothing & Accessories
Comfort illusion: “Quality and prestige make me confident.”
Slavery reality: Your self-worth is outsourced to logos. You are enslaved to trends, advertising, and seasonal fashion. You no longer wear clothes — clothes wear you.
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16. Multiple Vehicles per Household
Comfort illusion: “Each family member should have convenience.”
Slavery reality: Costs multiply. Roads choke. Fuel expenses spiral. Convenience fragments into burden. You are chained not by one vehicle, but by an entire fleet.
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17. Social Media Comfort
Comfort illusion: “I stay connected with friends and family.”
Slavery reality: You live for likes, shares, and validation. Comparison, envy, and anxiety govern your mind. You are shackled to the approval of strangers.
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18. Healthcare Dependence
Comfort illusion: “Regular check-ups keep me safe.”
Slavery reality: Fear is monetized. Normal fluctuations of the body become diseases. You are enslaved to pills, tests, and policies. Instead of health, you buy anxiety.
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19. Lavish Weddings & Celebrations
Comfort illusion: “We must celebrate in style.”
Slavery reality: Families collapse under debt. Status replaces joy. The wedding becomes a lifetime of repayment — a festival of slavery disguised as tradition.
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20. Smart Homes & Gadgets
Comfort illusion: “Life is effortless with smart devices.”
Slavery reality: The machine listens, watches, dictates. Privacy is gone. Dependence deepens. Even a light bulb requires an app. You are enslaved to technology for the smallest action.
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✅ Final Note:
Every comfort here feels normal — even essential. But each is a chain disguised as luxury. The middle-class man believes he has “arrived.” In truth, he has only built a golden cage around himself. What he calls comfort is nothing but self-policed slavery.
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Epilogue
One truth remains after all illusions are burned: life is not meant to be comfortable, it is meant to be lived. Comfort dulls, weakens, enslaves. Discomfort sharpens, strengthens, frees.
The man who embraces discomfort — who can sleep without AC, eat simple food, walk without machines, work without fear, live without excess — that man is unchained. He may not look successful in the eyes of the world, but he alone has tasted freedom.
Look around you. Every glittering possession, every “normal” comfort, every luxury disguised as necessity — they are all asking the same price: your life. You are trading away hours, years, health, and freedom, only to preserve things that keep demanding more.
Step back. Strip away the comforts. Let the body sweat, let the mind endure, let life be raw again. For only then will you see: what you called slavery was never outside you. It was in the comforts you guarded like treasure.
To reject slavery is simple — stop worshipping comfort.
Comfort is Slavery
-- a dialogue with Madhukar
(Morning sunlight streams across mud walls. The birds are loud. Tea cups clink. The men from Bidar sit on reed mats, their eyes heavy with both fatigue and curiosity. Madhukar leans back against a wooden pillar, relaxed, grounded. The discussion begins to flow like the cool morning breeze.)
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Act I – The House Loan
Ramesh
Madhukar, the biggest weight on my shoulders is my house loan. I thought — owning a house means stability. But every month, the EMI drains me. If I miss even one payment, the bank threatens. My own house doesn’t feel like mine.
Madhukar
So you live inside four walls, but who is the real owner? The bank. You decorate it, polish it, fill it with things, but until your last EMI, you are only a tenant of the bank.
Sharan
But without a house, how can a man live with dignity?
Madhukar
A rented house gives shelter too. A small home can nurture warmth too. But pride whispers: “Bigger, permanent, better.” You obey pride, and soon you obey the bank. Dignity is not in bricks. Dignity is in freedom.
(They stare at the floor. The word “freedom” echoes louder than the chirping birds.)
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Act II – The Car and Transport
Sharan
Then there is the car. I thought it was convenience, but it has become a hungry beast. Petrol, repairs, insurance — always demanding.
Madhukar
A car is not evil. But when the car owns your hours, your health, your air, is it not a master? You tell yourself: “I am free to travel anywhere.” But in truth, you are chained to petrol pumps, mechanics, and banks.
(Sharan shifts uncomfortably. The others nod. The truth is raw, but undeniable.)
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Act III – The Air Conditioner
Praveen
For me, it is AC. Once I installed it, I cannot sleep without it. If power goes, I suffer. If bill rises, I panic. I cannot tolerate heat anymore.
Madhukar
See how it works: earlier, your body adjusted with seasons. Now, you adjust to the machine. What you call comfort is dependency. Heat has not increased — your tolerance has decreased. AC cools your room but weakens your body.
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Act IV – Gadgets and Phones
Praveen
And phones — you already know. They eat my time, my peace.
Madhukar
Gadgets sell you the illusion of control. But notice: the phone demands attention every few minutes. You are not its master; you are its servant. Once, kings had slaves to fan them. Today, you are the slave, fanning the screen with your eyes.
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Act V – Education and Status
Anand
My slavery is school fees. To give “best education,” I work day and night. But my children hardly see me. They are alone with books, I am alone with my work.
Madhukar
Education is not wrong. But you have mistaken prestige for learning. You buy status, not knowledge. What future is worth destroying the present bond between father and child?
(Anand looks away, his jaw tight. The truth burns.)
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Act VI – Food and Lifestyle
Ramesh
What about food? Now everyone wants packaged snacks, fast food, restaurant outings. My wife complains if we don’t go out every week.
Madhukar
Once, food was to nourish. Now, it is to entertain. You eat not to live, but to escape boredom. The more exotic the food, the weaker the body. Cooking simple meals at home is seen as “backward.” Yet, that backwardness once gave strength, immunity, and family bonding.
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Act VII – Vacations and Leisure
Sharan
Vacations too. People call it relaxation. But it empties pockets, creates more loans. And after the trip, we need another rest!
Madhukar
Exactly. Leisure bought on credit is not leisure, it is exhaustion with a smile. Real rest is free: under a tree, near a river, with your own breath. But we call that “cheap” and go running to airports.
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Act VIII – Medical Comforts
Anand
But Madhukar, at least medical comforts are necessary. Hospitals, insurance, checkups — how else can we survive?
Madhukar
Basic healthcare, yes. But today, even health has become a market. You overeat, oversit, overwork — then run to doctors for “comfort.” You insure yourself not against disease, but against your own lifestyle. True immunity comes from right food, rest, and balance — things our ancestors practiced daily. Insurance is not protection; it is a bet against your own body.
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Act IX – Religion and Ritual Comforts
Ramesh
Religion too, Madhukar? Even that is comfort?
Madhukar
Yes. You perform rituals not out of devotion, but out of fear. You build temples in your homes with marble, spend on ceremonies, hire priests — because you are uncomfortable with silence. Ritual becomes comfort, but true prayer is uncomfortable — it shakes you awake. That is why you avoid it.
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Act X – Social Comforts
Sharan
And society? We buy comforts to keep up with neighbors. Clothes, jewelry, furniture — if others buy, we cannot sit quiet.
Madhukar
That is the heaviest chain. Comparison is the master; you are only slaves competing for approval. Every comfort you buy is a vote you cast for your own imprisonment.
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Act XI – The Final Cut
(The air has grown hot. The men are sweating. The tea is long finished. Madhukar’s words feel like hammers on soft clay.)
Madhukar
Listen carefully. Necessary is food, water, shelter, a little clothing. The rest is comfort. And comfort, when maintained, demands slavery.
You thought slavery meant someone whipping you. No — it means you cannot walk away. Tell me honestly: can you leave your car, your AC, your school loans, your gadgets, your vacations?
(The men exchange glances. No one answers. Silence is heavy, suffocating.)
Madhukar (softly)
There. That silence is your answer.
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Epilogue: The Seed
(The group prepares to leave. They walk back through the fields. The morning has ripened into noon. They carry their chains still, but also a seed — a thought they cannot un-hear. Comfort is slavery. The phrase follows them like a shadow across the hot dust road back to Bidar.)
Comfort = Slavery
(a poem for the comfortable slave)
you wanted a house.
not shelter,
a monument.
so you chained yourself to the bank.
thirty years of sweat
for bricks you call “mine.”
but it isn’t yours until you’re almost dead.
that’s not security,
that’s slavery disguised as dignity.
you wanted a car.
a beast on four wheels.
freedom, they said.
but you became the fuel boy,
the repairman,
the insurance clerk,
the driver who drives all day to pay for the right to drive.
your freedom burns at the petrol pump.
you wanted the cold air of the AC.
so your body forgot the sun.
your skin forgot sweat.
the bill rose,
the wires hummed,
and you sat there fragile,
weaker than your grandfather who slept under the stars.
your comfort bought you dependency.
you wanted gadgets.
shiny, glowing.
pocket gods that vibrate and sing.
but every ping is a leash.
every scroll, a shackle.
you don’t own the phone —
the phone owns your attention,
your hours,
your children.
you wanted the “best school” for the kids.
you bought prestige, not education.
EMIs heavier than textbooks.
your children grew up with tutors instead of fathers.
you mortgaged your evenings
to buy them a future they don’t even want.
you wanted fast food,
foreign snacks,
restaurants to show “progress.”
you filled your stomach,
emptied your gut.
you killed your body softly,
while calling it “treat.”
every packet came with a bill for your health.
you wanted vacations.
escape, they said.
but you returned with debt,
with photos,
with hangovers and no rest.
real rest was free under the tree,
but you never sat there.
you ran to airports,
chained by brochures promising happiness.
you wanted medical comfort.
so you lived careless,
waiting for pills to fix you.
insurance became a religion.
hospitals became second homes.
you became a patient of your own comfort,
never its master.
you wanted rituals,
marble temples inside your homes.
priests on payroll,
gold for gods.
but all it bought you was fear in silk clothing.
you avoided silence,
so you bought noise with incense.
you wanted social approval.
furniture like theirs.
clothes like theirs.
a wedding bigger than theirs.
and so you slaved not to survive,
but to compete.
your neighbors became your masters.
you wanted streaming screens.
so you sat for hours,
eyes fed, soul starved.
you became the chair’s prisoner.
your spine curved like question marks.
you wanted gym memberships.
machines to fix the damage from your other machines.
you paid to run on treadmills
instead of on fields.
you called that health.
you wanted coffee shops,
mall weekends,
new releases.
you bought the idea of “lifestyle.”
but you were buying the right to sit,
the right to consume.
you became a spectator in your own life.
you wanted credit cards.
swipe, swipe, smile.
future money burned today.
you thought it was power.
it was just a longer chain
with shinier links.
you wanted internet everywhere.
wifi like oxygen.
but it suffocated you in silence.
you couldn’t sit with yourself anymore.
you scrolled through the night,
while life slipped by in the dark.
you wanted delivery —
groceries at your door,
food with a click.
you thought it saved time.
but it only erased movement,
the small joy of walking,
the dignity of effort.
you wanted designer clothes.
to look better, sharper, richer.
but each season changed the chains.
new trends, new masters.
your body wrapped in labels
but your spirit naked.
you wanted jewelry,
status symbols.
gold locked in lockers.
but the shine blinded you.
the weight dragged your neck lower.
you became a walking advertisement
for your own captivity.
you wanted bigger screens,
bigger couches,
bigger houses,
bigger plates.
everything bigger
except your freedom.
and finally —
you wanted “peace.”
but you tried to buy it
through comforts.
peace does not come with cushions.
peace comes when you walk away.
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look closely:
comfort is not evil.
comfort is the bait.
slavery is the hook.
and the hook is buried in you.
you think you are resting.
but you are paying.
you think you are free.
but you are owned.
necessary is little:
food, water, a roof, a cloth.
the rest is performance,
a circus of comfort
where you are the clown and the chained animal,
both at once.
but here is the quiet truth —
you can walk away.
leave the house half-paid,
the car rusting,
the AC off,
the phone silent.
walk barefoot on earth again.
sweat, cook, breathe, rest.
call it backward, call it madness.
but that is freedom.
the only freedom left.
