Dhvani

Dear Diary,

Not sure why I’m doing this. Mom gave me this journal after the camping trip and said, “Write about it—it’ll help you reflect.” I don’t even know what that means. Reflect? Can’t I just think about stuff? But fine. She’s always saying how writing things down helps her “process,” so I’ll try. Plus, this thing doesn’t auto-save to the cloud, and there’s something weirdly satisfying about not having some AI analyzing my thoughts as I write. It’s like these pages are actually... mine.

So, about the trip. First of all, no devices allowed? That was wild. At first, I felt naked without my VR headset or my smart glasses. It was like the world got way quieter, but not in a bad way. More like... I could hear my own thoughts for once.

And then there was the wardrobe situation. At home, my self-designing closet would scan me every morning and project outfit suggestions based on my mood, the weather, and, let’s be honest, the algorithm’s idea of what’s “trending.” Out there? It was just me and a duffle bag. I had to—gasp—choose my own clothes. Day one, I ended up with mismatched socks and a shirt that was way too bright for a forest setting. By the third day, though, I actually liked deciding for myself. It felt weirdly... personal? Like my outfit actually said something about me and not some algorithm’s preferences.

We took an actual bus to the campsite. Like, a real yellow school bus. That alone felt like stepping into one of those nostalgic AI-rendered movies Mom loves. Everyone complained about the lack of seatbelts. Someone said, “This would never pass compliance in the metaverse,” and I cracked up. I think I might’ve scared them because, apparently, not everyone laughs in real life anymore.

The first night was rough. I didn’t realize how much I relied on Siri for literally everything. When I forgot how to set up the tent, I couldn’t just ask, “Hey Siri, what’s the next step?” I had to actually think. And, okay, yeah, I panicked a bit. But then I remembered the camping trips Mom and Dad used to drag me on when I was little. I set up that tent without a single tutorial. Felt good, like maybe I wasn’t as useless as I thought.

The other kids, though? Some of them were hopeless. One guy tried to use his smartwatch to start a fire. It was kind of sad but also kind of hilarious. I ended up showing everyone how to use flint and steel, and you know what? It felt amazing. For once, I was the one teaching, not some AI bot.

Oh, and no auto-translation earbuds either. That made conversations interesting, especially when one of the kids with a strong Quebecois accent tried to explain a hiking route. We had to actually listen and ask questions instead of relying on tech to smooth everything out. At first, it felt clunky, but by the end, it was nice to realize we could communicate without the AI “fixing” things for us

By the second day, things started to click. We hiked, cooked over a fire, and even played this game where we had to navigate the woods using only a map and compass. I thought it would be boring, but it wasn’t. There was something cool about figuring things out with your hands instead of your voice.

Mom always says I need to be “grounded.” I think I finally get what she means. Being out there—away from the constant hum of tech—felt... real. Like, I could breathe again.

Anyway, now that I’m back home, I’m not sure what to do with this. I feel like I should keep writing, but I’m also pretty sure no one keeps journals anymore. Even if I did, it’s not like my friends would care. They’re already back to posting about some new AI skin pack for our favorite VR game.

Still, part of me misses the quiet. Maybe I’ll sneak outside later and light a fire—just to prove to myself I can still do it. And who knows? Maybe tomorrow I’ll try picking out my own outfit again, just for fun.

Maybe Mom’s onto something with this whole “reflecting” thing.