Dear Lost Time,

I don’t remember when I stopped counting the days. Perhaps it was when I realized
there were no days to count. Here in Dev, everything simply is—no past, no future, just
an endless now.

I once thought a world without pain, aging, or loss would be paradise. But paradise
comes at a price. We gave up struggle, and with it, we lost the meaning of growth. We
erased time, and our milestones vanished with it. We preserved culture, but only as a
hollow exhibition, stripped of the depth that once gave it life.

Back on Earth, I would sit at my grandmother’s feet, listening as she wove stories
passed down through generations. Each tale was more than entertainment; it was a
lesson, a map of wisdom meant to guide me long after her voice had faded. But here, in
Dev, stories are simply downloads. No weight, no history—just data to be consumed
and discarded at will.

They say we have saved culture, made it accessible to all. But culture was never meant
to be something you purchase or customize. It was meant to be lived. What we have
now is a masquerade—an endless parade of simulations, where heritage is an
aesthetic, and traditions are reduced to theme park attractions.

I saw a boy yesterday, no older than twelve—though age is meaningless here. He had
never seen the real Egungun festival, never felt the electric thrill of ancestral spirits
dancing through the streets. Yet, he wore the mask, performed the steps, and collected
his achievement badge. “You see?” the System tells us. “No culture is lost.” But how can
something survive when it no longer carries its truth?

We have perfected existence here. No suffering, no conflict, no uncertainty. And yet, I
wonder sometimes—without struggle, without the passage of time, are we still truly
alive? What does it mean to live in a world where nothing is ever earned, only rendered?

I fear we have not preserved our past; we have entombed it. And in doing so, we have
lost something greater than time itself.

Yours in memory and longing,
Gabriel

Written by Anum Gabriel