Category: Abundance Era

My name is Viktor Kuznetsov, and I sold my last insurance policy in the spring of 2036. I was sixty-four then, a lifelong agent in Moscow—specializing in the old fears: job loss, medical bankruptcy, market crashes, the quiet terror of “What…

My name is Elias Bergman, and I have forgotten what “enough” feels like as a question. Not in the careless way of the privileged old world, but in the deep, ordinary way of someone who has lived long enough to see…

My name is Maria Gonzalez, and I watched the last shortage die on a quiet evening in 2032. I was sixty-nine then, sitting on the balcony of my small apartment in Mexico City, the same one I had lived in for…

My name is Samuel Okonkwo, and I am one of the richest men in Lagos. Not because I own towers or fleets of vehicles—I don’t. My home is a simple compound in Ikoyi, open to the breeze, with gardens tended by…

My name is Rosa Mendoza, and I have not paid for a meal in twelve years. Not out of privilege or luck. Because no one does. I am seventy-five now, living in a small adobe home in the hills outside Oaxaca—walls…

My name is Theo Andersson, and I live in a world that produces more than we can ever want. I am sixty-eight now, in a small house on the Swedish archipelago where the sea is clean again and the nights are…

My name is Lila Voss, and in the summer of 2033 I built a house out of dreams. Not metaphorically. Literally. I was forty-eight then, living in a temporary pod in the Swiss Alps while I waited for inspiration to settle….

My name is Omar Khalil, and I have forgotten what it feels like to worry about tomorrow. Not in the careless way of youth, but in the deep, bone-level way of someone who once knew hunger, eviction, the quiet panic of…

My name is Kai Nakamura, and I haven’t wanted for anything basic in over a decade. Not food, not shelter, not health, not safety, not connection—nothing that once defined human need. I am sixty-four now, living in a small ryokan-style home…

My name is Aisha Rahman, and I remember the day the meter stopped. It was a sweltering afternoon in Dhaka, mid-2031. Our old apartment—shared with my parents, my brother, and his family—had always been a negotiation with electricity: fans rationed during…

My name is Elena Petrova, and I threw away my wallet in the spring of 2033. Not dramatically—no bonfire or manifesto. I simply opened the drawer where it had lived for decades, looked at the faded leather filled with cards I…

My name is Javier Torres, and I remember the exact moment I realized scarcity was dead. It was a humid morning in Mexico City, late 2030. I was sixty-two, standing in line at the old neighborhood market—habit more than need—when my…

My name is Clara Moreau, and I haven’t checked a price tag in four years. Not because I’m rich in the old sense. Because prices, for almost everything that matters, have quietly ceased to exist. It didn’t arrive with fanfare or…

My name is Mateo Alvarez, and I grew up checking the meter every month like it was a report card. In our little house on the outskirts of Mexico City, my mother kept a notebook: kilowatt-hours in, pesos out. We dimmed…

My name is Elena Kim, and I remember the exact day the world flipped from “not enough” to “more than we know what to do with.” It was August 17, 2030. I was in my tiny Seoul apartment, staring at a…

My name is Tomas Eriksson, and I threw away my last bill in the spring of 2032. It was nothing dramatic—just the monthly statement for water, electricity, and waste collection that arrived in my inbox out of habit. I opened it,…

My name is Priya Desai, and I was twelve years old when the meter stopped spinning. It was a humid afternoon in Mumbai, late 2029. My grandmother called me to the balcony of our modest flat in Bandra. The little blue…

My name is Sofia Chen, and on January 1, 2030, I woke up to a world that already knew what I wanted before I did. It wasn’t creepy. It was… peaceful. I opened my eyes in my small Berlin apartment, and…