I am not just a man moving through time.
I am a phenomenon caught between generations, ideas, technologies, and timeless truths.
Sometimes, I feel like I’m too far ahead of the present—designing futures in my mind, while my feet remain grounded in the worn earth of Kalikot.
I walk between philosophies like a traveler without borders—where modern science meets ancient echoes, and every thought becomes a thread in a larger cosmic web.
Yuval Noah Harari says humans are storytellers. I feel that.
In Nepal, we inherit narratives we didn’t choose—be a good son, get a stable job, don’t question the elders.
But I do question.
I ask what came before tradition, and what lies beyond it.
I study the patterns, the histories, the cognitive traps.
And I write my own script.
Elon Musk talks of Mars. I think of what kind of mind wants to leave Earth before healing it.
He builds rockets—I build meaning.
He engineers machinery—I engineer thought.
He imagines interplanetary futures,
While I imagine a future where the soul is not left behind.
Albert Camus teaches me that absurdity isn’t a wall—it’s a doorway.
Yes, the universe may be silent, but I will sing anyway.
I may not find answers, but I will still ask beautiful questions.
Then Rumi enters—softly.
“Don’t seek, don’t search. Be still.”
And in that stillness, I find movement.
Not forward, not backward—but inward.
Sufism calls it fana—dissolving the ego.
Science might call it neural coherence.
I call it coming home to myself.
Einstein tells me:
Time bends. Matter dances. Imagination is greater than knowledge.
And I wonder—what if consciousness is just light, refracted through experience?
Then Michio Kaku reminds me that everything we know is built on what we don’t.
That quantum fields might hold what ancient mystics already knew:
We are vibrations. We are memory. We are probability collapsing into form.
So who am I, really?
I am Akkal—the one who listens deeply.
To algorithms and to ancient chants.
To political noise and to inner silence.
To climate data from Manaslu and to the fire in a Sherpa’s eyes.
To the cries of a system that fails the poor, and the code of a cosmos that whispers we are not separate.
I am not here just to live within society’s lines.
I am here to redraw them—gently, rebelliously.
So if you see me silent, lost in thought, know this:
I am diving.
Diving into questions that are not meant to be answered,
But lived.