Blank.
The screen before me, my mind. They're both blank.
For several minutes I tried to summon up some ideas. The paradox of many innovations that worsen the same problems they were supposed to solve; the dull stubbornness with which we keep choosing pleasure today even when we know that the future will pay the price; how often the greed of the few compromise the need of the many; how good this world is in transforming lives in numbers.
Everything seems so absurd that sometimes I wonder if I am awake or trapped inside a bad dream.
Some mornings, I wish I have answers to give.
Instead, I keep finding questions.
Maybe, that's why I can't stop seeking and writing.
Even when the mind is blank, like an empty page.