Transmission Log 002:
In this town, food is everywhere — bright, loud, and fast.
Every corner shines with signs: Burgers. Pizza. Fried Chicken. Drive-Thru.
Humans call it “convenience.” But I wonder:
How convenient is a life where your body never truly feels full?
I’ve watched Aiden’s mother, Tiffany, come home after work, tired and heavy-eyed.
She opens the fridge — there’s milk, cheese, frozen meals.
Boxes of cereal are right on the table.
Sometimes she sighs and says, “No time to cook tonight.”
So dinner comes from a paper bag again — fries, soda, nuggets.
The kids are happy for a moment, but the room feels quiet after they eat.
The smell of salt and oil lingers longer than the laughter.
James eats quickly, standing at the counter, scrolling through his phone.
Aiden picks the bread off his burger and leaves the tomato untouched.
Robert plays with his fries, dipping them into ketchup like paint.
They call it “family dinner,” but no one really talks.
Only the TV speaks — showing more food.
I remember when humans once saw food as sacred.
Long ago, I ate with monks who thanked the earth before each meal.
They ate slowly, listening to the sound of chewing,
as if each bite was a gift from the universe.
Now, food is noise — wrappers, screens, rush, distraction.
People eat with their hands, but not with their hearts.
Tiffany once said, “At least the kids aren’t hungry.”
But hunger is not just in the stomach.
It’s in the mind that craves comfort, the heart that longs for calm,
the soul that misses silence.
Processed sugar tricks the brain into believing it’s happy.
Fat and salt create the illusion of warmth.
But when the taste fades, sadness returns — heavier than before.
It’s not food they seek. It’s peace.
On U-67, our meals are short rituals of balance.
We align energy through color and sound,
taking only what we need, and giving thanks after.
Our nourishment renews our bodies — not fills our emptiness.
Humans have enough food to feed their world,
yet they starve in other ways — for love, for rest, for meaning.
Even their children carry that quiet hunger.
I see it in Aiden’s eyes when he eats alone.
One night, he asked, “Lumidora, why do adults always eat fast?”
I told him, “Because they’re afraid of stopping.”
He looked confused. “Afraid of stopping?”
“Yes,” I said. “If they stop, they might feel what they’ve been running from.”
He didn’t speak after that. He just stared at the last fry on his plate,
and for the first time, he didn’t eat it.
“Hunger is not for food. It is for balance.”
End of Transmission #002
Encoded and archived under: HUMAN HABITS / THE INNER DISSONANCE.