We live in a world of communication - everyone gets information

Host: The night was a low hum of screens and neon, a thousand windows flickering with the pale light of other people’s lives. The city breathed in data and loneliness, its streets glowing with the blue pulse of constant connection.

Through the wide glass wall of a downtown co-working space, the rain traced thin, trembling lines — as if the sky itself were trying to send a message that no one was listening to.

Jack sat in front of a laptop, his face lit ghostly by the screen, scrolling through an endless feed of other people’s successes, smiles, and perfections. Jeeny stood behind him, leaning against the window, her reflection overlapping his in the glass — two lives blurred together by the cold light of modern envy.

Jeeny: “Zygmunt Bauman once said, ‘We live in a world of communication — everyone gets information about everyone else. There is universal comparison… It’s the crime of humiliation.’”

Jack: (without looking up) “Yeah. And we’re all the criminals and the victims.”

Host: The keyboard clacked softly beneath his fingers. The rain outside grew heavier, beating against the window in slow, rhythmic despair.

Jeeny: “Do you ever think about how it used to be? When the world was smaller? When people only compared themselves to their neighbors — not to billionaires, influencers, or strangers in Bali?”

Jack: (bitter laugh) “Ignorance was bliss, huh? Maybe that’s why people were happier — because they didn’t know what they were missing.”

Jeeny: “Or maybe they didn’t think they were missing anything.”

Host: She moved closer, her voice soft but edged with fire. The reflected city lights shimmered over her eyes, making them look like tiny galaxies — alive, vast, searching.

Jeeny: “Bauman called it liquid modernity — the world always moving, never settling. Everything’s visible, nothing’s stable. People drown in other people’s perfection.”

Jack: (closing his laptop) “And call it inspiration.”

Jeeny: “Or aspiration. Which one’s worse?”

Jack: “Neither. It’s just the price of being connected. You get to see the world, but the world gets to see through you.”

Host: The light from a nearby billboard spilled into the room — a perfume ad, a flawless face, a tagline that read ‘Be Seen. Be Desired.’ The image seemed to hover behind them, hauntingly real.

Jeeny: “You think people ever stop comparing?”

Jack: “No. Comparison’s the new religion. Likes are prayers now. Retweets, confessions. Followers, salvation.”

Jeeny: “And humiliation?”

Jack: “Hell.”

Host: The rain slowed. The sound of the city outside shifted — a taxi’s horn, a couple arguing, a motorbike passing through puddles. The rhythm of life — fast, brutal, indifferent.

Jeeny: “You sound like you hate it. But you’re addicted too.”

Jack: “Everyone is. That’s the trick — the humiliation feels personal, but it’s universal. We scroll through lives we’ll never live, comparing our behind-the-scenes to everyone else’s highlight reel.”

Jeeny: “It’s not just scrolling. It’s survival. You can’t disappear now — the world doesn’t let you. If you’re not seen, you’re nothing.”

Jack: (quietly) “And if you’re seen too much, you lose yourself.”

Host: The silence that followed was thick, humming with electricity and truth. The light flickered on the walls — reflections of a thousand unseen lives flickering through fiber and glass.

Jeeny: “Do you remember when people used to send letters? Real letters?”

Jack: (smiling faintly) “I remember. You had to wait for words. Now we drown in them.”

Jeeny: “And none of them mean anything.”

Jack: “They mean everything. They just mean it all at once. That’s the problem.”

Host: Jeeny turned away, staring out at the rain-smeared skyline, where the towers rose like digital cathedrals, their windows glowing with the false sanctity of attention.

Jeeny: “You think it’s killing us — all this communication?”

Jack: “No. It’s not killing us. It’s erasing the distance between us. And sometimes, distance was the only thing keeping us kind.”

Host: The room dimmed as another cloud passed over the city. Jack closed the laptop fully, as though shutting a door on the world.

Jeeny: “Bauman was right. It’s not just comparison. It’s humiliation — because no matter who you are, there’s always someone better, richer, thinner, louder. And you can’t look away.”

Jack: “Because looking away feels like losing.”

Jeeny: “Even when looking is what hurts you.”

Host: She walked toward him, her bare feet silent against the concrete floor, the rain now just a faint whisper outside.

Jeeny: “You ever think about who you’d be if no one was watching?”

Jack: “Yeah. All the time. But I wouldn’t know how to prove I exist anymore.”

Jeeny: “You don’t have to prove it. Just live it.”

Jack: “That’s not how the system works. You disappear from the feed, you disappear from memory. People forget you existed.”

Jeeny: “Maybe being forgotten is the only honest freedom left.”

Host: Her words lingered in the air, heavy and beautiful. The city lights cast their faint reflections across Jack’s face, highlighting the conflict in his eyes — the yearning to disconnect battling the terror of irrelevance.

Jack: “So what do we do? Delete everything? Go live in the woods?”

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) “No. We learn to look without comparing. To share without needing applause. To exist without performing.”

Jack: “That sounds like a miracle.”

Jeeny: “No. It sounds like courage.”

Host: The lights in the building across the street began to turn off, one by one, leaving only the hum of the digital night. Somewhere, a phone buzzed — a notification, another reminder of the world’s endless, hungry attention. Neither of them moved to check it.

Jack: “You really think we can undo it — the crime of humiliation?”

Jeeny: “No. But we can refuse to participate.”

Jack: “And if that means no one sees us again?”

Jeeny: “Then maybe we’ll finally see ourselves.”

Host: A long silence followed — the kind that holds both grief and clarity. Outside, the rain stopped completely, leaving the streets shining like glass, the reflections of lights trembling across them.

Jack stood, walked to the window, and for the first time, looked not at the screens, not at the world reflected in glass — but at the world itself.

The real one.

Host: Down below, a street vendor laughed as he handed food to a child. Two strangers shared an umbrella. A dog ran through puddles, unbothered by anything but the joy of the moment.

Jack: (softly) “It’s strange. The more we try to connect, the lonelier we become.”

Jeeny: “Because connection isn’t the same as closeness.”

Jack: “So what is closeness?”

Jeeny: “This.”

Host: She stepped beside him, their reflections merging in the dark glass. No filters, no angles, no audience — just two people existing. Real, small, imperfect.

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s what we’ve all forgotten — that the only comparison that matters is between who we are and who we were yesterday.”

Jack: “That’s not very profitable.”

Jeeny: “No. But it’s human.”

Host: The city continued to hum — vast, connected, drowning in its own brilliance. But in that small corner of glass and rain, two souls had found something quieter, truer.

They didn’t post it. They didn’t capture it.

They simply lived it.

And in a world built on the crime of humiliation, that small act of unseen being was the greatest rebellion of all.