When Trolls Attack: The Rise of Cyberbullying on Social Media (Or: How Keyboard Cowards Are Poisoning the Digital Well) Let’s cut the algorithm-friendly niceties. Social media isn’t just a town square anymore—it’s a gladiator arena where the loudest, cruelest, and most unhinged voices get amplified. And the weapon of choice?  The troll.  Not the mythical bridge-dweller, but the real-life, basement-lurking, anonymity-addicted cyberbully whose sole purpose seems to be inflicting pain for sport. Buckle up. This is a rant.  We’ve normalized digital savagery. Scroll through any comment section on a post about  anything —politics, parenting, pineapple on pizza—and you’ll find it: a seething undercurrent of venom. Someone shares a vulnerable moment?  “Attention seeker. Do us a favor and log off.”  A teen posts about mental health?  “Weak. My generation didn’t whine.” A woman dares to exist online?  “Make me a sandwich.”  It’s not debate. It’s not cr...

As we journey through life, friendships anchor us, providing support, laughter, and shared memories. We often cherish moments spent with friends from our childhoods, college years, or even those we met in our early careers. However, as time passes and life’s demands shift, the painful reality emerges: we may lose touch with these once-close companions. The feeling of drifting apart can be a solemn reminder of the transient nature of relationships. The reasons for losing touch with old friends are varied. Career aspirations, relocations, the demands of family life, and the relentless pace of modern living can all contribute to the gradual fading of once-vibrant connections. It’s easy to allow weeks, months, or even years to elapse without reaching out, believing that there will always be time to reconnect. Yet, reality often proves otherwise—people’s lives evolve, priorities shift, and those cherished friendships can slip through our fingers like grains of sand. One of the most challeng...

J.R.R. Tolkien’s famous line, “Not all those who wander are lost,” resonates deeply with a specific kind of wanderer: the camper. While modern life often equates wandering with aimlessness or confusion, those who seek the embrace of the woods know a different truth. Venturing beyond the pavement, pitching a tent under the stars, and trading screen glow for firelight isn’t about losing your way. It’s a deliberate pilgrimage towards finding something essential: profound peace and the fertile ground for genuine self-discovery. In a world saturated with notifications, deadlines, and the relentless hum of the digital, the woods offer a sanctuary of silence that isn’t empty, but full. It’s the rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze, the crackle of your campfire, the distant call of an owl, the rhythmic lap of water on a lakeshore.  This is the soundtrack of peace.  Away from the manufactured urgency, the mind, often frazzled and fragmented, begins to settle. The constant “doing” gives ...

Remember that? Remember when two people could hold wildly different opinions on… well,  anything … and still share a pint, pass the salt, or discuss the weather without descending into apocalyptic screaming or icy, soul-crushing silence? Seems like a quaint relic from a black-and-white sitcom, doesn’t it? Because somewhere along the line – probably around the time social media became our primary personality – we collectively decided that disagreeing wasn’t just a difference of perspective; it was a declaration of war. A moral failing. Proof positive the other person is either a monster, an idiot, or both. It’s exhausting. Utterly, bone-achingly exhausting. You can’t mention  anything  anymore without triggering the Spanish Inquisition of Opinions. Pineapple on pizza? That’s not a harmless topping preference, sunshine, that’s a character assassination! You either  get it  (and are therefore enlightened) or you’re a culinary Neanderthal whose taste buds deserve ex...

Let’s cut the corporate gaslighting and call it what it is: the daily commute is a soul-sucking, time-vampire, masquerading as a necessary evil. It’s not just “getting to work.” It’s an unpaid, mandatory purgatory wedged between our beds and our desks, stealing our lives hour by agonizing hour, and frankly, we’re all being taken for absolute mugs. Think about it. You roll out of bed, bleary-eyed, already dreading the gauntlet ahead. Is it the bumper-to-bumper crawl on the motorway, where you spend more time staring at the same brake lights than your own family photos? Is it the sweaty, armpit-adjacent hellscape of the 7:45am cattle car… sorry,  train ? Or perhaps the bus journey where every pothole feels like a personal insult to your spine? Whatever your flavour of torture, the result is the same: you arrive at work already knackered, stressed, and harbouring a simmering rage usually reserved for arch-villains. And you haven’t even logged on yet! They talk about the “work-life bal...

Ah, Hatyai. A small city in southern Thailand that has somehow become the mystic realm of backpackers, Instagram influencers, and wannabe world travelers. It’s the kind of place I used to think was merely a pit stop for those headed to other, more glamorous locales like Bangkok or Phuket. However, I now find myself bombarded with cheerful announcements and posts of “travelers” claiming they’ve discovered the profound essence of the world after achieving a grand pilgrimage to Hatyai. Seriously? One checklist of street food and a weekend getaway does not make you a traveler—let’s get real. For starters, let’s explore what our newly minted “travelers” have experienced. A convenient flight, or train ride from KL, a few hotel selfies, and the obligatory snapshots of food stalls exploding with vibrant colors seem to tick all the boxes in their self-imposed travel checklist. Sure, the street food looks scrumptious (I admit, Khao Mok Khai and Pad Thai is a delicious endorsement for Hatyai), bu...

Let’s talk about the elephant in the conference room, the one awkwardly wearing a name tag that says “Synergy” and holding a half-inflated balloon animal. I’m referring, of course, to the modern workplace’s peculiar obsession with mandatory “fun,” otherwise known as the Team Building Exercise. The very phrase, often uttered by HR with the forced enthusiasm of a game show host, sends a ripple of suppressed groans through the ranks. We know the drill. Calendars are cleared, deadlines are conveniently ignored, and we’re herded – pardon me,  invited  – to participate in activities that range from the mildly embarrassing to the utterly inane. All in the sacred name of “building bridges,” “fostering collaboration,” and “boosting morale.” But who, exactly, is this morale being boosted for? Is it the introvert sweating bullets at the prospect of sharing their “spirit animal” with Dave from Accounts Payable, whom they’ve successfully avoided for three years? Is it the veteran employee ...