One day, it suddenly struck me: we didn’t really lose culture, we replaced, one by one, the things that used to carry it.

Coffee no longer needs a cup, only something you can hold while walking. Wine no longer needs time to breathe, only to be strong enough. Meals no longer need bowls, only to photograph well.

The world feels more efficient. Yet somewhere along the way, I stopped remembering the taste of what I drink.

When coffee was poured into a ceramic cup, the cup was warm, sometimes too warm and we had to hold it with both hands. We slowed down naturally. Not because we wanted to, but because the cup didn’t allow us to rush.

Now paper cups are considerate: light, thin, insulated, with a lid. Everything is designed just right, so right that we can drink while walking, so right that we don’t have to be present at all.

Containers are not meant to hold things. They are meant to restrain people. They restrain us from finishing too quickly. From drifting away. From turning a moment that deserves gratitude into background noise.

We think we’re pursuing convenience, but what we’re really doing is outsourcing sensation, bit by bit.

Wine glasses didn’t become disposable because wine lost its worth, but because we no longer have time to be worthy of it.

Some cultures weren’t eliminated, they were replaced for being too slow.

Too slow to be profitable. Too slow to manage. Too slow to replicate. So capital swapped them for efficiency, processes, standardized answers.

What no one told us is this, when the container disappears, what’s inside quietly degrades with it.

We’re still drinking coffee, but we’re no longer truly drinking. We’re still celebrating, but without real ritual.

The world hasn’t become empty. We’ve simply stopped giving anything a shape worth lingering in.



—— XC Scribbles · 陸拾貳 LXII 🪐