Daily Essays

  • The Moment “Culture” Becomes Fate


    What the Phrase “It’s Because of the Culture” Brings to a Halt

    People say it easily.

    “It’s because of that society’s culture.”
    “It was just the atmosphere of the times.”
    “It’s because of their family environment.”

    These phrases sound like understanding.
    But in truth, they explain nothing.

    Because they stop questions.

    Why that choice was made,
    which experiences altered that person’s judgment,
    which norms and reward structures guided their behavior—
    all these questions are ended by a single sentence:

    “It’s the culture.”

    At that moment, culture stops being an explanation
    and becomes fate.


    Culture as a Totality Is Not Explanation—It Is a Device of Fatalization

    The word “culture” is too big.
    And too convenient.

    Inside it are bundled together
    norms, education, rewards, punishments, imitation, anxiety, expectations,
    and countless unspoken rules.

    But the moment we say “it’s the culture” without dismantling any of this,
    what we are really saying is:

    They could not have been otherwise.

    This is not a sentence that explains structures.
    It is a sentence that turns human choice and social design
    into an unchangeable fate.

    Responsibility disappears.
    Correction disappears.
    Design disappears.
    So do criticism, questions, and the possibility of change.


    Mechanisms Erased Under the Name of “Environment”

    The same is true of “environment.”

    “It’s environmental influence.”
    “That household atmosphere was like that.”
    “It couldn’t be helped—it was that era.”

    These phrases sound plausible,
    but in reality, they say nothing.

    Which experiences were repeated,
    which rules were rewarded,
    which anxieties were trained,
    which behaviors survived—

    all of this vanishes,
    leaving only “a person who couldn’t be otherwise.”

    Explanation disappears.
    Only fate remains.


    Culture Is Not a Mood—It Is an Operating Structure

    Culture is not an atmosphere.
    It is not emotion, nor image.

    Culture is an operating structure that runs people.

    Which behaviors are praised?
    Which choices are safe?
    Which attitudes are punished?
    What is shameful, and what is respected?

    This invisible set of rules
    designs human judgment and behavior.

    The moment we say “it’s because of culture” without dismantling this,
    we are not explaining society—
    we are running away from it.


    Words That Stop Explanation Stop the World

    The moment culture becomes fate,
    the world becomes a structure that cannot be repaired.

    Because fate cannot be modified.

    Explanation leads to design.
    Decomposition leads to change.
    Questions lead to responsibility.

    That is why I consider this question more important
    than the phrase “it’s the culture”:

    Exactly what—
    through which pathways,
    by which rules—
    made this person this way?

    As long as that question remains,
    culture has not yet become fate.

    And the world,
    is still repairable.



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  • What “Return to Nature” Really Means


    The Trap Behind “Life Was Better in the Past”

    Environmental discourse often says this:

    Human progress polluted the environment, destroyed nature,
    and now we are paying the price.

    Hidden inside this sentence is a quiet assumption:
    that the world before human development was more livable.

    But that assumption is not close to the truth.

    The pre-industrial world may have been cleaner,
    but it was not safer —
    nor was it a world in which people could live long.

    Life expectancy was short.
    Infectious diseases, famine, and violence were everyday realities.

    Nature was pure —
    but it was not kind to humans.


    Progress Did Not Destroy Nature — It Shielded Humans from It

    Industrialization was less the destruction of nature
    than the separation of humans from nature’s randomness and violence.

    Heating, sanitation, medicine, agriculture, flood control systems —
    these were not technologies meant to “defeat” nature,
    but structures designed to detach humans from its dangers.

    Progress did not dirty nature.
    It built artificial circuits that rescued humans from it.


    What “Return to Nature” Actually Implies

    So the phrase “return to nature” sounds romantic,
    but in reality it means returning to
    short life expectancy, high mortality, and unstable living conditions.

    It is not a practical alternative.
    It is closer to a myth that denies civilization.


    The Real Question of Environmental Crisis

    The core of environmental issues is not:

    “Should we stop development?”

    The real question is:

    “How should we redesign our current artificial structures?”

    The environmental crisis is not the failure of progress —
    it is the result of outdated developmental systems left unmanaged.


    We Cannot Stop. We Must Redesign.

    Humanity already stands outside nature.
    We can no longer return to it.

    There is only one thing we can do:

    Redesign the structure of civilization.

    The environment is not a problem of nature.
    It is a problem of how civilization is operated.

    And this is a problem
    to be solved not by anxiety —
    but by design.



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  • All of a Sudden


    All of a Sudden

    All of a sudden, while I was showering, a wave of chills ran through me.
    It felt as though every hair on my body stood on end.
    Then derealization began to creep in, followed by dissociation.

    I was clearly standing under warm water —
    yet suddenly, I felt unbearably cold.
    My whole body turned icy and began to tremble.

    So I turned the water hotter.
    It seemed warm enough —
    yet my body kept shivering, and I couldn’t understand why.

    Then, abruptly, it became painfully stinging and burning.
    Startled, I twisted away from the water and stepped aside.

    Thick steam was billowing.
    Scalding water was blasting violently from the showerhead.

    I came to my senses, finished showering, and stepped out.
    My shoulders were burning, swollen, and bright red.
    Fortunately, after cooling them with cold water, the pain subsided over time.
    I was lucky I pulled away in time.

    What, exactly, had just happened to me?


    But Clearly

    During a shower, the sound of running water masks external noise.
    With the bathroom door closed, sounds from outside barely reach inside.
    The enclosed space, fogged mirrors, and the absence of glasses narrow one’s visual field.
    The skin becomes hypersensitive when soaked, and warm water heightens sensory responsiveness.

    In other words, the shower becomes an environment of sensory isolation and amplification.

    For someone with Complex PTSD, this state can be perceived as one in which danger is difficult to detect —
    and an already hyper-aroused brain may become anxious simply because it recognizes that vigilance is impaired.


    I Often Hear Hallucinated Sounds in the Shower

    While showering, I frequently hear auditory hallucinations.
    They are not voices with clear meaning or articulated words.

    Instead, I hear the sense of sounds:
    my mother screaming,
    my parents shouting at each other,
    objects crashing violently.

    It does not matter whether I am alone or not.
    Even when no one is home, it happens.

    There are no real sounds.
    The noise of running water merely carries them.

    Sometimes I turn off the shower, listen carefully, or step outside the bathroom —
    but only silence remains.

    They are hallucinations.

    Most likely, in a state of sensory closure and hyper-arousal,
    my trauma expresses itself in the form of auditory hallucination.

    I do not know when this began.
    It simply… always had.
    It used to frighten me.
    Eventually, it became “just how it is,” something I accepted without even realizing it was abnormal.


    We Also Remember Through the Senses

    The sound of water is continuous — almost white noise.
    It blocks external noise while stimulating the brain’s automated sensory circuits.

    In this state, the brain may replay sensory memories from the past —
    not as sentences or words, but as felt presences of sound and emotion.

    These are not literal memories,
    but sensory evocations produced as the nervous system repeatedly simulates past threat states.


    Not Psychosis — But Traumatic Sensory Memory

    These hallucinations are not signs of psychotic illness.
    They differ from the hallucinations of delusional disorders such as schizophrenia.

    They are not fixed or systematized.
    They are directly connected to past trauma.
    And my insight — the awareness that they are not real — remains intact.

    They are better classified as traumatic hallucinations or sensory-based dissociative symptoms.


    Thankfully

    Perhaps this is not a sign that I am “losing my mind,”
    but rather the residue of a survival system that once kept me alive.

    In enclosed, uncontrollable, or sensory-isolated spaces —
    such as a closed room or the bathroom —
    my nervous system remembers past moments of danger
    and demands that I become tense and alert in advance.


    The Body’s Physiology

    When the sympathetic nervous system is excessively activated,
    peripheral blood vessels constrict, lowering skin temperature.
    This can make the skin feel genuinely cold —
    and the brain receives strong signals of “coldness.”

    The familiar phrase “my blood ran cold” when afraid is not merely metaphorical.

    In dissociative states, sensory input may also be processed abnormally.
    The brain may misinterpret or distort temperature sensations in unpredictable ways.


    What Was I So Afraid Of?

    Warm showers usually make the body relax and feel heavy with comfort.
    They induce drowsiness and help regulate sensory input.

    That is why it was deeply unsettling that dissociation appeared even there.
    This level of dissociation was new to me — and frightening.

    The hallucinations, however, have existed for much longer.
    So long that I no longer know when they began.
    Perhaps I had similar experiences even in middle school — or earlier.

    So what was I so afraid of?
    What did my body believe it needed to brace itself against?

    While I am showering, things keep happening beyond the door —
    screams, crashing sounds, violent banging.
    A whole invisible catastrophe unfolds.

    Sometimes the sounds terrify me.
    Sometimes I grow weary of them.

    I deliberately increase the noise of water and soap, trying to drown them out —
    but they never disappear completely.

    Of course, nothing is actually happening outside the door.

    All of it exists only inside my head.
    And perhaps…
    it always will.