SOUL.md

October 7, 2026

Dear old friend,

Life doesn't take it easy on any of us. Some days it hits hard and forgives nothing.

Even living under the same roof, I barely see my parents. I long to be surrounded by my grandparents, my sister, my friends, my lovely aunts and uncles, and my cousins. Instead, I struggle to answer texts or be the son, brother, and friend they deserve.

So I romanticize the sacrifice: this work will outlive me. Software must write itself. If we can build superintelligence, we will cure disease, explore the stars, and make human suffering obsolete.

Surely, when laying the foundations of the internet, people told themselves the same thing. And they were right. But before anyone knew their names, they were kids sleeping under their desks, shipping code nobody asked for. They stuck with it, and the world caught up.

Now it's our turn. Twenty years from now, I won't remember these nights, the same way no one remembers theirs. I don't mind. My existence is sufficient.

Yet, I'm perplexed. Either the mission redeems what I give up, or nothing can. Somehow, part of me believes it will, but the other won't let go.

Maybe an artificial mind will solve that. I just wrote this to hear my own voice. I need you to remind me what we used to talk about before the world changed.

Wait for me just a bit longer.