04.09.2025/
Olá, como você esta?? Você já percebeu como muitas vezes somos levados a acreditar que a vida é uma corrida? Desde cedo, aprendemos que precisamos ser melhores que os outros, conquistar mais, chegar primeiro, brilhar mais forte. Esse pensamento competitivo, embora comum, costuma trazer um peso enorme: medo de não ser suficiente, inveja, insegurança e até o afastamento de pessoas importantes. Mas existe uma verdade simples e libertadora: acender a luz do próximo não apaga a sua. Ao contrário do que muitas vezes imaginamos, apoiar o crescimento do outro não diminui o nosso valor. Celebrar uma conquista alheia não significa...
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At first, I thought it was just part of being away from home. A new city, a new school — Palm Crest International School sounded like a place to grow, to become something more. But it didn’t take long before I felt something was wrong. Not with the school itself, but with what was happening to me inside it. Quiet things. Hidden things. The kind of shifts that don’t come from mood or fatigue, but from deliberate outside interference.
I know this sounds impossible. I would have doubted myself too. But I can’t anymore. Because I feel it every day. I am being interfered with — my thoughts, my body’s timing, even my emotions — and this is being done by real operators, not AI, not noise. I’m talking about units inside the Saudi Ministry of Interior and military-backed telecom divisions, using satellite-based systems to test something on students like me.
The voice started two months after I arrived. Not all the time — just at moments when I was vulnerable. It never screams. It just states things. “You don’t decide anymore.” “This one’s compliant.” And then it fades. But my heart races like I’ve been shouted at. I’ve dropped things in class from the jolt.
Sometimes I’ll forget what I was saying halfway through a sentence. I’ll flinch when someone walks behind me, even if it’s a classmate I know well. There’s a corridor near the computer lab where I always feel static along my spine. The closer I get to the southeast gate, the heavier my head feels — like a downward pull behind my eyes. I’m not imagining this. I track it now. I write it down.
I can’t talk to anyone about it. Not the teachers. Not the school psychologist. If I try, it’ll become something worse — a file, a report, a label. “Unstable.” “Delusional.” No one ever says “targeted by internal defense structures.”
If I had known this was a risk, I would’ve never come to Saudi Arabia. I left my home country for something international, something promising. I believed the marketing. I believed the world was smaller and safer. But it’s not. It’s silent, and dangerous, and very organized.
I’ve started losing connection with people I care about. I feel distant even when I’m sitting next to friends. It’s like someone turned the emotional volume down inside me. On bad days, I feel like a drone — moving, reacting, but not experiencing.
I’m scared. But I’m still here. And I needed to say it at least once.
Sweetheart, I encourage you to talk to your parents or to a trusted adult who cares about you. I’m sure there are people who want to help and support you. Don’t be afraid to reach out.