They tell us to find our center. They sell us meditation apps, weekend getaways, and the concept of “work-life balance” as if it is a product we simply haven’t purchased yet. But for most of us, balance isn’t a luxury; it’s a ghost story. A myth whispered by those who have never had to choose between their sanity and their survival.
Here, in the cold light of the morning commute, the reality is far sharper.
The Engine of the “Greater Good”
We are forced to keep working. The narrative is always the same: we are building something. We are keeping the nation growing, striving to be the best in the world, pushing the GDP into the stratosphere. But down here, on the pavement, that growth feels like weight.
“Even hardships are just numbers to the higher-ups. The harder they make it for us, the harder we work to get by, and god knows who reaps the benefits.”
It is a cruel paradox of the modern age: the struggle is the fuel. When the rent spikes, when the cost of living tightens its grip, we don’t revolt—we accelerate. We work longer hours. We take the second shift. We compete with a desperation that turns neighbors into rivals. We run faster just to stand still, chasing a “Money Tree” that casts shade strictly for someone else.
If you listen closely over the hum of the servers and the traffic, you can almost hear it. Nature must be laughing hysterically at us.
It watches us fumble in this concrete world we built for ourselves, ignoring the sun to sit under fluorescent lights, trading our time—our only non-renewable resource—for digital numbers in a bank account. We built a cage, locked ourselves inside, and threw away the key, convinced that if we just hustle hard enough, the cage will eventually turn into a palace.
What is work-life balance in this architecture? It’s a glitch. To pause is to fall behind. To rest is to become obsolete.
Nature’s Cruel Joke
Adorning the Decay
We are moving in a factory line, indistinguishable and replaceable. We grind until our edges are dull, pushing toward that glimmering mirage of “Senior Benefits.”
By the time we reach it, we are often old and damaged goods. The shine is gone. The body is tired. The mind is a catalogue of spreadsheets and missed birthdays. And just as we step off the line, the new generation steps in.
They look fresh, hungry, and terrified. They take the torch from our shaking hands, finding new reasons to keep going—new debts, new dreams, new anxieties. Perhaps we live on through them? or perhaps we have just passed down the curse of the grind, ensuring the machine never stops feeding.
The Factory Line of Souls
At Elrequisitium, we do not pretend the world is soft. We do not sell you the lie of “balance.”
We create for the ones in the trenches. For the ones who know that survival is a luxury in itself. Our pieces are not delicate; they are forged in the same pressure that you are. They are the armor you wear when you step out the door to face the noise.
If we must struggle, let us at least wear our scars with dignity. Let us adorn the despair. Because in a world that demands everything from you, holding onto a piece of yourself—something cold, hard, and beautiful—is the only rebellion left.
Welcome to the resistance.
