Most argued that the issue had to do with social media apps like Instagram and TikTok causing irreversible damage to our attention spans (the broader context of the conversation was on whether cell phones should be banned from schools). In their view, individuals and their brains get so used to short-form content that they become unable to stick to something that requires a more disciplined attention.

Although I believe that social media has played a key role in the rise of this phenomenon, I think it is mistaken to hold that its role has been a damaging one. Instead, I believe exposure to short-form content has opened many people’s eyes to the many alternative ways in which they could productively use their time (and contrary to popular belief, their creativity).

That said, I do not intend this blog to become a defense of social media apps. All I wish to do is present an argument as to why it is not only acceptable, but perhaps even desireable, to not always finish the books we start reading.

Why do we read?

A good first question to ask is why we read.

Whenever we pick a book at the library, a bookstore, or a friend’s bookshelf, there is always a reason behind our choice. Maybe the cover looked pretty, the title was catchy, or perhaps it was recommended by a love interest. It could also be that we recognize our favorite artist as the author, or the topic is one that seems intriguing.

Whatever caused our choices, we can generalize them into one all-encompassing reason: We choose books and start reading them because we guess that they will solve some problem for us.

Why buy a pretty book? Because it will look good on your coffee table. Why read a popsci book? Because maybe (and just maybe) the author will actually help you understand some complex scientific topic. Why open that old copy of Meditations that has been on your shelf since freshman year? Because some finance bro on a podcast told you that book changed his outlook of life - and who knows? He could have a point.

Of course, what problem is exactly solved is not always explicitly clear to us. Sometimes we choose books based on some intuition, a vibe. Nevertheless, whether explicit or not, there is always a reason - no one just mindlessly walks to a bookstore, stochastically gets a book, and proceeds to read it without ever taking a guess as to what the book would offer.

Why do people stop reading?

The second question to ask is what causes people to stop reading.

Given that we get books with the hope that they will solve some problem we have (whether explicitly or implicitly); naturally, we will stop reading them when one of the following things happens:

1. The book solves the problem we had

2. It becomes clear that the book will not solve the problem we had

The first scenario is perfectly illustrated by cases in which we check out a book from the library to exclusively read one chapter that is relevant to the research paper we are writing. For example, a few weeks ago, I got the Many Worlds? book in order to read the essay Chance in the Everett Interpretation by Simon Saunders. Once I finished reading the book, I did not bother looking at the other 19 chapters, for I had no problem that I thought could be solved by doing so (note that being bored can also be considered a problem).

The second reason why people stop reading books is because they arrive at the conclusion that the book will not offer them what they wanted. For instance, back in February, I started reading Imre Lakatos’ book Proofs and Refutations, in which he argues that even knowledge in mathematics is conjectural. I started reading it because I thought Lakatos would defend his thesis by pointing out that the process of proving mathematical statements is always physical - meaning their reliability depends on whether we know what the actual laws of physics are. However, after reading several chapters, I came to the conclusion that his arguments for the fallibility of mathematical knowledge primarily revolved around pointing out that proofs might contain previously unoticed assumptions or gaps, which put their reliability into question. Although the dialogues and examples Lakatos presented in the book were fascinating, I was not particularly interested in that line of argument - so I stopped reading, and have not opened the book since.

Can addictions to short-form content prevent us from finishing books?

If people stop reading books because their problems have been solved, or because it appears that the book in question won’t solve the issue it was meant to solve, it seems to follow that abandoning books is unproblematic.

Critics, however, will argue that there is one more reason why people leave books unfinished: addictions to short-form content.

Fortunately, there is no such thing as becoming addicted to short-form content.

I am not denying that addictions are real: one can very tangibly become addicted to substances like alcohol. Addictions like this happen via chemical processes in which the body develops a higher tolerance for a particular substance, requiring higher doses in order to enjoy the same subjective experience. This, in turn, causes the brain to get adapted to functioning in the presence of the substance - which is why severe withdrawal symptoms are experienced when consumption is lowered or cut.

That said, when it comes to short-form content, there is no directly analogous chemical process. Yes, the joy one experiences from scrolling through Instagram Reels comes through the chemical release of dopamine; however, there is no difference between the dopamine released while watching TikToks and the dopamine released when hanging out with friends. All dopamine molecules are the same - so if one can become ‘addicted’ to dopamine via TikToks, one can also become ‘addicted’ to dopamine via reading feminist literature, listening to music, talking to loved ones, and enjoying a day with good weather.

To this, critics reply by saying that addictions to short-form content might not be chemical addictions, but they are behavioral addictions. Behavioral addictions are of the form:

1. Individual performs Action A

2. Action A releases dopamine

3. Individual associates Action A with the pleasurable release of dopamine

4. Individual repeats Action A to get the same pleasure

5. When individual stops Action A, the lack of pleasure makes them irritable

Phrased this way, it seems to be the case that watching TikToks can be legitimately considered an addiction. However, upon closer inspection, it becomes clear that such a diagnosis is mistaken. The crucial point to understand is that Action A is not the only thing that can lead to the release of dopamine; hence, the individual’s ‘addiction’ can be addressed by performing some Action B that equally satisfies the individual’s need for pleasure. In other words, individuals become irritable not because they cannot carry out Action A, but because they have no action that gives them the pleasure they seek. Thus, if avoiding irritability does not depend on Action A, it follows that one is not really addicted to Action A.

Let us move on to the question of whether short-form content can prevent us from finishing books: the short answer is yes. However, it is not because short-form content has rewired our brain into craving short-term pleasure. Instead, the reason lies on the fact that through short-form content, we have become increasingly aware that it is possible to be entertained without having to endure intermediate periods of boredom.

For instance, scrolling through Instagram Reels has made us aware that it is possible to experience a novel and captivating story in less than 15 seconds. So, whenever we read a book filled with unentertaining portions, we become increasingly aware of its defficiencies and quickly lose interest - thereby leading us to close it and never open it again.

Letting the Book Go

Skeptics will of course argue that abandoning books because they have unentertaining portions is a big disservice to ourselves, for it will prevent us from experiencing masterpieces that require us to have a discplined attention span. Additionally, they will argue that the very act of developing a disciplined attention span by sticking to books we have started reading is also important.

I must disagree with such a view.

There is nothing noble about coercing ourselves to finish books we are not enjoying - even if others tell us that it is worth going through the boring passages to experience the brilliance of the work in its totality. There is no secret insight that is available only to those who read all the works of Shakespeare, or the entire Harry Potter series. Of course, these works are an important part of the history of ideas and of popular culture; however, if one finds their style unappealing, there are more interesting and time-efficient ways to learn and enjoy what they have to offer.

Morever, there will always be good books that manage to fully capture your attention at every turn, capable of keeping you glued from start to finish. Additionally, as time passes, and new life experiences are collected, books that previously seemed boring might come back to be appreciated under a new light. The important thing to remember is that at any given time, we have different problem-situations - hence, it is of no use to force a book on ourselves when there is no problem that we believe could be solved by it… it would be a disservice to ourselves (and the book!) to do so. Instead, one ought to wait until the time is right, and focus on those books that do address our current interests.

To the argument stating that developing a disciplined attention span and learning to be bored are important skills that one ought to master in life, I must reply with a similar line of argument: there is nothing intrinsically valuable about being ok with feeling bored. They are mere tools to help us overcome moments in life where the boredom is inevitable. This does not mean that we ought to subject ourselves to books or movies that we find unappealing in order to ‘discipline’ ourselves; instead, it is a skill that must organically arise when our problem-situation requires it. As mentioned above: there is nothing noble about making yourself suffer without need. As stated in the book of Matthew: “Each day has enough trouble of its own”.

In conclusion, short-term content and attention spans are never to blame for our inability to finish a book. If the book (or movie, or any piece of media) in question adequately embodies knowledge about our current problem-situation, then no amounts of TikTok will be able to keep us from finishing it. We owe it to ourselves (and to the books!) to take into account our own interests and how compatible they are with whatever it is that the book has to offer when making the choice of whether to keep reading.

Constructor theory is a research program holding that it is possible to formulate all scientific theories as statements about which physical transformations are possible, which are impossible, and why. At the core, it introduces a new mode of explanation to the natural sciences, aiming to do away with the 'prevailing view', which expresses everything in terms of initial conditions and deterministic laws of motion. 

The research program has provided some promising results, with the most remarkable ones (in my opinion) being the unification of quantum and classical information, as well as the formulation of an exact and scale-independent second law of thermodynamics. 

That said, I want to bring attention to the notion of 'possible' that constructor theory invokes, for I suspect that the way it has been presented could lead to some confusion. More precisely, I wish to clarify that the constructor-theoretic notion of ‘possible’ comes with a very substantial philosophical assumption.

Two Sources of Impossibility

To understand why, two sources of limits on what is possible must be recognized:

1. The laws of physics

2. Initial conditions

Under constructor theory, there are two types of physical laws: the traditional laws that we are familiar with, and constructor-theoretic principles. Examples of the former include the laws postulated by quantum mechanics and general relativity. Under the constructor-theoretic framework, the theories under which laws of this kind can be found are called ‘subsidiary theories’.

Constructor-theoretic principles, on the other hand, are meta-laws that place constraints on what the subsidiary theories can be. An example of a constructor-theoretic principle is the ‘principle of the computability of nature’, which translates into a requirement stating that all laws of physics must be friendly to being faithfully represented by a universal computer.

Evidently, both types of physical laws can forbid some tasks from being possible. For example, according to quantum mechanics, tasks embodying non-unitary processes are forbidden regardless of the initial conditions of the universe. Similarly, the principle of the computability of nature prohibits any physical object from enacting behaviors that could not be modeled by a universal computer.

The second source of actual constraints on realizability comes from initial conditions. That initial conditions can forbid certain processes from ever happening follows straightforwardly from the fact that in quantum theory, the evolution of the initial state is restricted by the Hamiltonian and conserved quantities, so only those states connected to the initial one by the allowed unitary dynamics can ever occur; states outside this reachable subspace are genuinely forbidden.

Constructor-Theoretic ‘Possibility’

Constructor theory seems to imply that transformations not forbidden by the laws of physics are genuinely possible. The paper introducing the theory states that “when they [constructor-theoretic principles] call a task possible, that rules out the existence of insuperable obstacles to performing it”.

This definition of possibility, however, seems to ignore the second source of impossibility: initial conditions. In my view, constructor theory’s way of avoiding this issue is where the ambiguity on what ‘possible’ actually means arises.

The seminal paper seems to suggest that constructor theory resolves this conflict by postulating that initial conditions are not fundamental - meaning the laws of physics place “draconian constraints on the initial state [of the universe]”. This in turn implies that if the laws of physics specify that some task X is possible, then the initial state of the universe must be capable of evolving into a future state that includes task X.

That said, a more detailed reading reveals that under constructor theory, it might be the case that some tasks remain impossible due to the initial conditions. For instance, Section 3.2 of the paper states that nothing ever performing task A is not incompatible with the assertion that A is a possible task. Given the staggering multiplicity of timelines implied by unitary quantum theory (note that David Deutsch, the proponent of constructor theory, is also an avid defender of unitarity), the previous assertion can be interpreted in one of two ways:

1. A is not performed in any timeline: This is equivalent to saying that no time-evolution of the initial state will ever lead to A being performed. In other words, it grants initial conditions the ability to forbid some tasks from ever happening - even if the laws of physics do not prohibit them.

2. A is not performed in some timelines: This interpretation holds that when Section 3.2 talks about nothing ever performing task A, it is talking about a particular timeline. In other words, if the laws of physics do not forbid A from being possible, A must be performed in some timeline.

Given that for tasks deemed to be ‘possible’ under constructor theory, no insuperable obstacle to perform it could exist (as explicitly stated above), the correct interpretation seems to be the second one: task A must be performed in some timeline.

In short, constructor theory requires all tasks not forbidden by the laws of physics to be genuinely possible, which amounts to an assertion that the initial state must be such that everything not forbidden by these laws actually happens.

(Note: Those skeptical of whether that is what Deutsch means with ‘possible’ are invited to read Chapter 14 of his book The Fabric of Reality, where he asserts that the Turing Principle - the assertion that it is possible to build a Universal Turing Machine - requires the machine to actually be built in some timeline).

The Philosophical Assumption

As I expressed at the beginning, I believe the constructor-theoretic notion of ‘possibility’ comes with a substantial philosophical assumption. In what follows, I want to make this assumption explicit.

The constructor-theoretic assumption: The observation of regularities in nature is better explained by laws both causing the regularity and necessitating their observation than by laws causing the regularity while merely allowing their observation.

The question now is: Why does constructor theory adopt such an assumption? Does it resolve some previously problematic controversy?

Deutsch, in the light of this skepticism, seems to have provided a line of argument in defense of the assumption. In what follows, I will try to sketch my interpretation of his view. As always, errors (which will most likely plague the rest of this blog) are my own.

Expectedly, his argument is philosophical in nature, and it goes as follows: Stating that initial conditions conspire to prevent some class of tasks not explicitly forbidden by any law of nature (for instance, the task of building planet-size busts of Napoleon) from being realizable is equivalent to identifying a regularity in nature. Thus, if we are to assert that initial conditions indeed forbid a particular class of tasks that are not prohibited by any known law or principle, we must be ready to point at some problem that gets solved by postulating the existence of such a regularity.

Embedded in Deutsch’s line of argument is an additional assumption that I shall refer to as the regularity assumption: our ability to observe regularities is a regularity in itself that needs to be explained.

I believe we should view Deutsch as holding this assumption because doing so would explain why he believes it is necessary for all things not explicitly forbidden by the laws of physics to be genuinely possible: If the observation of regularities was indeed an unexplained regularity in itself, then it follows that some physical law is behind this - and given that such a physical ‘law’ cannot be a fundamental law about what the initial state had to be (for that would imply that initial conditions conspire, leading to an insertion of an accidental law by fiat), it must be the case that actual physical laws mandate possibility - in the not forbidden by any law of nature sense - to mean actuality in at least one timeline.

Admittedly, I am skeptical of the regularity assumption. I believe I am missing some fundamental insight on why we should consider our ability to observe regularities as a regularity in itself. I wonder if there is any way to introduce a notion of expectations of observability that could reveal whether this ability is in fact crying for an explanation, or if it is simply an unremarkable accident.

My absence has not been due to a decline in philosophical interests – quite the opposite in fact. Thus, the purpose of this entry is to simply provide an update on the philosophical problems that I am currently working on, and the way I expect the research to go:

1. Leibniz, Everettian Quantum Theory, and Free Will

In this paper, I aim to show that the philosophy of Leibniz (particularly, his idea of the complete notion of individual substances) might be capable of illuminating, alongside Everettian quantum theory, a way of making free will possible under fully deterministic laws of physics. The paper focuses on the possibility of formulating 'emergent' laws of physics (that is, laws of physics at level of macroscopic entities) that refer to entities with general intelligence capable of making choices. The approach is similar in spirit to Deutsch and Marletto's constructor theory program, for it seeks to formulate laws of physics in terms other than mere initial conditions and deterministic laws of motion. 

As of March 2025, progress on this topic has been minimal. 

2. Calibration of Betting Markets and its Epistemological Implications         

This is probably the paper where I have made the most progress. It aims to show that betting markets are not calibrated. To say that betting markets are calibrated is to say that if we take all markets stating that an event has an x% chance of happening, and we calculate the proportion of them in which the event happened, the proportion will be close to x%. 

Intellectuals persuaded by Bayesian epistemology have presented several reports in which betting markets are indeed calibrated, leading them to assert that if prediction markets state that a certain event has an 80% chance of happening, our subjective strength of belief that the event will take place should also be set to 80%. Given that I adhere to a view of epistemology that focuses on good explanations, rather than subjective degrees of belief, I am skeptical of these reports. 

My findings, for now, suggest that all these reports follow a very flawed methodology. I am currently in the process of preparing a report of my own based on what I hold to be the correct methodology – but given the size of the datasets, it is taking longer than I initially anticipated. Nevertheless, some preliminary results seem to reveal that betting markets are indeed not calibrated. 

3. Mathematical Proofs Under Different Laws of Physics

Another research project I am undertaking is that of describing universes in which different laws of physics hold. The purpose of this task is to find universes in which certain mathematical propositions that we find very easy to prove become unprovable. This research is inspired in David Detusch's formulation of an environment with different laws of physics in which the twin primes conjecture could easily be proved/disproven.

As of now, my progress has been almost non-existent. I managed to find some additional conjectures that could be easily examined in the environment Deutsch proposed, but environments where easily-provable theorems become impossible to prove keep eluding me. 

4. An Everettian Account of the Delayed-Choice Quantum Eraser

This is my newest reserch project. After spending over a week trying to understand the famous delayed-choice quantum eraser (which is often claimed to prove that retrocausality – the present affecting the past – is possible), and failing to find even one explanation that made sense, I concluded that a fully Everettian explanation of the experiment is needed. Everettian quantum theory is simply quantum theory without the collapse postulate, and is also known as unitary quantum theory. 

This research began two days ago, so the only progress I have made is that of modeling the experiment in quantum flytrap: a virtual lab that allows users to create experimental setups to learn more about quantum theory. I believe describing the experiment without collapse will present no major challenges, and I expect that the final product will reveal that the claims of retrocausality are simply misguided. 

With questions like Does the nothing noth? and Does our subjective consciousness really exist? being non-ironically entertained, it is no wonder that people have developed an averse attitude against it. Many critics have gone as far as saying that philosophy is all made up nonsense (you might be able to guess which word they actually use in their complaints). 

Although I share their disappointment in the lack of rigor that is sometimes displayed, I ultimately disagree with their conclusion that philosophy should thus not be taken seriously.

To argue a case in defense of philosophy, today’s post will focus on showing how the discipline has profound and unignorable implications in all areas of academia and life–including those that seem immune from its reach.

Art

Perhaps the area of knowledge that is most evidently dependent on philosophy is art. The very concept of art depends on inexplicit philosophical assumptions. Yes, people might have an intuitive understanding of what they mean when they refer to art–but whenever people try to explicitly formulate an explanation of the concept, they run into an unavoidable philosophical wall.

Why? Because the two approaches to explaining what art is are inseparable from philosophy.

One can either provide a discriminatory account of art, or an all-encompassing one. Either some things cannot be art, or everything can be art. If one is to defend the former notion, reasons why these exclusions take place must be provided; and any such argument will, by definition, be a metaphysical one–for nothing in nature can tell us whether such criteria is correct or not. 

On the other hand, if one was to defend the all-inclusive notion of art (i.e., that everything can be art), then a new type of argument must be offered: the defender of all-inclusive art must explain why the concept of art should not be eliminated. After all, if everything can be art, then there is no point in using the word art, because it could refer to anything! A museum of art would simply be a museum of everything. Of course, defenders of such view could reply by explaining that everything can be art, but not everything is art because there are conditions for this ‘transformation into art‘ to take place. Evidently, defending the legitimacy of these conditions would lead us right back to philosophy.

Science

A lot of the critiques against philosophy come from scientists, who stand proud of the certainty conferred by their sophisticated experiments and empirical evidence. While science enjoys the fruits of its tangible evidence, philosophy is forever stuck with its abstract arguments… or so the idea goes.

What scientists might not realize is that their theories are ampliative: their statements about reality extend beyond what their empirical evidence has allowed them to observe. For them to explain why their laws are actual laws that will continue holding, and why their experiments ‘support’ their theories, they can only turn to philosophy. 

The discussion of how scientists use evidence and what that evidence implies about the world is one of the main practical tasks that philosophy is concerned with–and of course, this applies not only to the natural sciences, but to social sciences as well. The latter is of course plagued with countless additional assumptions that stem from its reduced exactness and its often unpredictable subject matter: humans.

Interestingly, there is more philosophy can do for science. 

Metaphysics is the branch of philosophy focused on untestable theories that describe reality. Thus, if there are aspects about the world that we currently find untestable, they stop being science (for empirical evidence can tell us nothing about them), and they fall into the domains of philosophy. This is the case of theories like the cosmological multiverse and string theory, which tend to be mistakenly categorized as scientific. 

Religion and Faith

Despite the numerous similarities between religion and philosophy, religious people tend to be particularly skeptical of the latter. This can be seen even in the Bible itself, for Colossians 2:8 tells us to “Beware lest any man spoil you through philosophy and vain deceit…” Although the warning is not without merit (one could argue that no words better describe the Hegelian school than vain deceit), it will soon become clear that religion is closely intertwined with philosophy.

For instance, the truth value of the proposition that the Bible is the word of God necessarily depends on a philosophical argument. As the stereotype goes, an uncritical Christian will reply to the question of how they know the Bible to be the word of God with a simple because the Bible says so, probably citing 2 Timothy 3:16-17. This is clearly circular, for it begs the question. Thus, the legitimacy of the Bible depends on the philosophical concept of inference to the best explanation–i.e., believing in the Bible makes sense because it is the best explanation for the available evidence (with available evidence possibly ranging from archeological to self-referential explananda). Whether the Bible being legitimate is indeed the best explanation for these explananda cannot be determined by refering to the Bible, for again, that would be circular–thus, even the most devout and unquestioning Christians will find themselves relying on philosophical tools, showing once more that no area of knowledge is free from its reach. 

Mathematics

All that said, it seems that there is one field where philosophy might not have a lot of influence: Mathematics. Indeed, math enjoys an air of superiority over other disciplines for the certainty that its rigorous proofs provide. Unlike in science, once a proof is found, it cannot be overturned–it’s settled. Of course, questions about the nature of Mathematics might arise–particularly those wondering whether Mathematical entities exist (and if so, in what sense)–however, they seem unimportant for mathematicians to carry out their duties. 

Or do they?

Interestingly, the work of David Deutsch reveals that even the work of mathematicians depends on a philosophical assumption that might not be self-evident to most. In his book The Fabric of Reality, Deutsch explains that although the subject matter of math is absolutely necessary truths, the reward we get from doing Mathematics is not certainty. Proofs are reliable only if the physical entities they employ (i.e., symbols and computers) have the properties of the abstract entities they claim to represent. 

Thus, if a critic argues that the symbols and the machines the mathematician employs will not lead to an adequate proof, the mathematician will have to reply with a combination of scientific and philosophical arguments of why he believes the critic to be mistaken. As mentioned above, all scientific argument stems from philosophical assumptions, so once again, the dependence on philosophy becomes evident. 

Conclusion

I hope this brief reflection has shown that the dependence of all areas of knowledge in philosophy requires everyone to take philosophy seriously. Of course, not all philosophy will be coherent–in fact, most of it will probably continue being the nonsense that many perceive it to be–but as long as these fields rely on philosophy to remain coherent, dismissing its virtues can only lead to contradiction. 

What if an evil demon is deceiving us into thinking the world and everything around us exists, and it’s all really a hallucination? 

It was French philosopher and mathematician René Descartes who first introduced this idea in his book Meditations on First Philosophy. In this philosophical exploration, he invites readers to participate in a thought experiment that questions the reliability of our senses and perceptions, making us question if what we call reality really exists.

If I said I was never unsettled by the idea, I would be lying - I was quite disturbed when I first read the passage. A fear that was only furthered when I watched The Matrix for the first time, and read about the more modern version of the evil demon: the brain in a vat theory (which holds that we are just brains in a jar, being fed electrical pulses that deceive us into thinking external reality is the way we perceive it). 

I think the core of the fear lies on the fact that we cannot conclusively prove that we are not brains in vats, humans in The Matrix, or victims of the Cartesian Demon. 

However, these fears disappeared after I was introduced to epistemology as conceived by philosophers Karl Popper and David Deutsch. Hence, today, my aim is to show how a better understanding of the nature of knowledge allows us to be liberated from these fears (which I will call explanationless fears).

The first step is to acknowledge that what is feared (in this case, being brains in a jar) can be logically and physically possible. If it was the case that we were humans in the Matrix (and it seems that it could be the case), it is a reasonable thing to fear. After all, it would imply that all we have been living and experiencing is an elaborate lie.

That being said, let me now introduce the main claim of today’s entry: In the absence of an explanation of how they will come to be realized, physical and logical possibilities provide insufficient reason for us to entertain them.

This means that when a fear is grounded on nothing but a mere physical or logical possibility, there is no reason for us to keep that fear: after all, it’s an explanationless fear. In our example of the Cartesian Demon, it means that although it could be the case that we are brains in a vat, unless we experience or observe anything suggesting that to be the case, the fear is irrational. 

Some might object saying that rather than dismissing the fear, we should simply stay neutral: there is no reason to prefer the idea that reality exists over the idea that reality is an illusion. 

This I also disagree with, for there are reasons to prefer the former over the latter. 

The former idea (that reality is not an illusion) explains all the phenomena we experience in the world without leaving any residue. However, the latter idea (that it is all an illusion) needs to invoke the presence of entities whose existence we have zero reasons to even suggest in the first place (let alone believe in!). For instance, it requires invoking an evil demon or an evil scientist deceiving us (not to mention that the idea also raises many questions such as why they are tricking us, etc.). 

In a way, the rejection of the explanationless fear is grounded on Occam’s Razor: we should not multiply extra entities unless necessary–there is no reason to bring up a theory invoking an evil demon if there is nothing suggesting that such an entity exists. 

This can, of course, be extended to many other explanationless fears that plague people’s minds. It can dispose of solipsism, because although it could be the case that I’m the only person with a mind, there is nothing suggesting that to be the case. It can also dispose of fears about AI scientists being “on the verge” of creating AGI (artificial general intelligence, capable of everything a human being is capable of, including consciousness)–we don’t even have a theory of how consciousness arises in humans, meaning there is nothing in the world that could suggest we’re getting ‘closer’ to AGI. Finally, it can also help with emotional fears such as the fear that someone who loves us has suddenly stopped loving us–in the absence of observations that indicate the love has ceased, a mere physical or logical possibility is not enough to ground a fear. 

I admit the line is not always clear of what constitutes observations that pave the way for a physical or logical possibility to be realized. However, I strongly believe that once we realize that possibilities are not enough, we will start to examine our fears more critically–allowing us to get rid of those explanationless ones that don’t deserve our attention. 

K.B.

Perhaps one thing most people can agree with is the idea that art is subjective: the value lies in the eye of the beholder. 

This is the reason why not everyone has the same opinion when you go to an art museum–some will say Rothko’s art is ridiculous, while others will praise it as sublime. The same thing happens with music and film: believe it or not, some people genuinely thought The Rise of Skywalker was good….

However, today, I’d like to argue that it is possible to objectively evaluate art. 

Yes, prima facie, this does sound like a very controversial claim to make, but I’m confident that if properly understood, most will be able to agree with it. 

To uncover how objectivity is possible, it’s important to understand the opposing view. Those sticking to a purely subjective stance on art believe that objectivity is not possible, because objectivity requires measurable and identifiable standards (or as the word suggests, objectives). They argue that any attempt to set a set of standards is an end with no means–which is certainly reasonable: there’s no denying that it would be extremely hard for Scorsese fans and MCU fans to find common ground without feeling that they are just compromising. 

Objectivity seems to be best defined as the requirement for standards to be universalizable. 

Although critics are certain that standards in art cannot meet this criterion, I believe we can find a reasonable way to universalize them. To do this, it’s essential to understand that standards are meant as benchmarks–for something to meet a standard, it has to meet a clear and specific goal or objective. 

But how do we determine the objective?

I argue that we can reasonably say that the objective that matters is the one set by the artist. What I mean with this is that the artist is the one who gets to choose which benchmark to aim for. The goal can be to please one’s own taste, to please a specific person’s taste, to please a specific group’s taste, to please everyone in the world, or a combination of the above. 

For instance, if the goal J.J. Abrams set for Star Wars VII was to please his own taste, and at the time of completion, he was satisfied with his work and indeed pleased his own taste, then although Star Wars VII is a horrible film for my standards, the film is objectively good because it met the standard that it was made for (aka, J.J. Abrams’ taste). 

Three problems seem to arise from what I just suggested.

The first one is that it seems to be an absurd framework. If everyone gets to choose the standards they want to meet, does that mean that if I’m satisfied with a banana taped on my wall, it gets to be objectively good art? My response to such objection is that people are getting confused about semantics and what objectivity means. Objectivity is about meeting specific goals–and in art, the goal of the art piece is chosen by the person who creates the piece of art: it’s made with that objective in mind. 

The goal can also be something like “becoming the highest-grossing film of all time” or “getting a reaction from sensitive people”, which falls into the category of personal taste (i.e., what the artist finds good or desirable). Of course, I’m not trying to say that all standards set by artists should be enshrined and applauded. We can (and should) criticize artists when they choose inappropriate or irrational standards–for instance, if they are creating the final film of a cinematic universe that many people care about (like Star Wars, Marvel, or Indiana Jones), setting the goal of the film to “personal taste” would reflect poor decision-making skills. Nevertheless, if the film was made to meet the standard of the director’s personal taste, then that’s the benchmark that it should reasonably be judged by. 

The second problem is regarding the ephemeral nature of taste. Our preferences change all the time, so it is reasonable to think that the taste of artists changes as well. But if this is the case, can a piece of art that was objectively good according to the standards set by the artist become objectively not good if the artist’s preferences shift? The concern is a very valid one, but the simple answer is no. 

The standard that matters is the one that the artist set when working on the piece of art. To be more specific, the benchmark the artist was aiming for at the moment when the art work was finalized (because tastes could have shifted while the work was in progress). This means that if the artist was satisfied with the piece of art the moment it was finished, then it seals its status as objectively good. Of course, if the goal is based on meeting others’ taste, then the artist has to wait until the art is viewed and experienced by the intended audience to determine if the objective was met. The important thing to understand is that the goal that matters is the one that was set up to the point of completion. The standards that the artist will set for themselves in the future will not affect the objective status of works of art that have already been completed. 

The third and final problem is that the framework seems to be pointless. Who benefits from this idea of objective art? This is a very relatable sentiment, especially considering that even if a piece of art meets the standards to become objectively good, it won’t change the way I perceive it or rate it with my own taste. My response to such skepticism is that I believe that the framework is useful not so much for the audience, but for the artist. 

Artists can be influenced by what others think about their art, even to unhealthy extents. What the objectively good art framework offers is a solution to this phenomenon. While the standards that the artist will use in the future might change due to outside pressure or the reception from the audience, they will be able to look back at their past art with a rational lens. If the art work met the standard you set when you finished it, then it’s irrational to expect more from your past self. Of course, you can cringe at the objectives you set for your art in the past, but back then, meeting those benchmarks was the reasonable thing to do in other to make what you considered to be good art. 

This was certainly a longer blog post than usual, but I hope that readers will be able to reflect on the possibility of judging art with objective criteria. Next time you look at a piece of art and you cringe, stop for a second to think if you were part of the intended audience: chances are that your personal taste was not what the artist had in mind when setting their objectives…

Indeed, it’s very easy to assume some problems are relatively insignificant. Having slow WI-FI, being served bad food, not being able to buy Taylor Swift tickets —all these first world problems seem to be inconveniences at best. Whenever someone argues the opposite, it’s very instinctive to judge them, and perhaps even call them out for being too detached from reality. 

But, would that be accurate?

The reality is that comparing people’s problems, or trying to objectively evaluate them is an impossible task. Yes, it does seem absurd to claim that getting rejected from your dream college is more painful than to be run over by a car... but how can we prove it? It’s simply an intuition. There is no way to quantify suffering or joy—that’s the fundamental weakness of ethical theories like utilitarianism that aim to ‘maximize happiness’. 

If someone genuinely feels that Tony Stark’s death in Avengers: Endgame is more moving than the suffering of human beings in the actual world, who am I to say that’s not true? Feelings and their strength are a completely subjective experience. 

Understanding this can certainly alleviate those who think they should feel bad or guilty for caring too much about their first world problems. Of course, there are some aspects of problems that might make them more tragic than others (with irreversibility being one of them), but that doesn’t mean everyone’s scale of emotional perception is going to be the same. Again, as weird as it sounds, it’s totally possible that the subjective suffering someone experiences from failing a class is exactly equivalent to the subjective suffering other people experience when their relatives die. 

Thus, instead of labeling other people’s problems as trivial or insignificant, we should be sympathetic and keep in mind that no problem is truly comparable. 

Assuming your pronunciation and pretending skills are good, the answer is no. 

The very same thing happens with artificial intelligence. With the rise of Chat GPT, an AI chatbot made by OpenAI, many people have started to wonder if we are a step closer to artificial consciousness like the one we see in sci-films such as Star Wars and Terminator. Having conversations with these chatbots, it does feel as if they were conscious, fully capable of human-like understanding.

However, this couldn’t be farther from the truth.

These chatbots, which are more accurately known as large language models, are doing the exact same thing you did a moment ago with the Chinese book: it perfectly pretends to understand, when in reality, it uses other methods to mimic understanding. Does this mean Chat GPT has memorized every single conversation possible? 

Not quite, but you could think about it that way. 

If we grossly simplify it, what Chat GPT does is to statistically predict the most appropriate next word given the context. This is done with the aid of transformer models. Below are the steps explaining the elements of transformer models and how they work:

Encoder: With the aid of the attention mechanism—which adds weight to the most important words from your input—the encoder turns text into vectors (vectors are like coordinates, but instead of describing locations, they describe your words)

Decoder: Using the vectors from the encoder, the decoder starts producing output. Each token of the output represents a word, and has its own weight (level of importance). The decoder simultaneously uses the following mechanisms to statistically predict the best next word until its response is completed:

• Attention mechanism: Takes into account the weights of each vector from the encoder, making sure the response addresses the key words from your text

• Self-attention mechanism: Takes into account the weight of the previous tokens, making sure the next word is coherently connected to the rest of the sentence

Language model: To ensure the output of the decoder is a coherent response, it is then analyzed by a language model that determines the probability of the output being a correct sentence (when it’s not, the process is repeated again for new output to be generated and subsequently analyzed). Once it’s considered very likely that the sentence is correct, it is made available to you as a response from the chatbot. 

This deconstruction of ChatGPT clearly shows how chatbots are different from us. Although our writings are probably indistinguishable from texts produced by artificial intelligence, the way we produce them is intrinsically dissimilar. We are able to produce coherent sentences because we consciously understand how language works. We learn how language works not by reading thousands of texts and deducing the correctness of sentences based on previous samples, but by grasping abstract concepts that serve as good explanations of the mechanisms regulating syntax. We don’t need to run any statistical analysis, nor take into consideration specific words to predict the best next word.

In all, while ChatGPT and other AI chatbots have become incredibly advanced and capable of holding complex human-like conversations, it is important to remember that being able to read a Chinese text does not imply an understanding of Chinese. 

During my trip, I've had the chance to talk about Shinto with other Japanese people, and I've come to realize that although traditions like visiting the shrines are still widely observed, not many of them hold these deities to be anything more than part of the country's mythology. Interestingly, I've also realized that they don't know much about Shinto to being with. They were surprised when I told them I'm familiar with most of the legends and lineages. I noticed they were shaken by the realization that someone who does not live in Japan knows more about the culture that engulfs their everyday lives.

This is not uncommon, it happens to everyone. It's easy to think that our proximity to our culture (and for that matter, to things we are familiar with) provides us with knowledge that outsiders cannot access or fully grasp. During my time in Tanzania, I realized that there were many people who knew more about the culture and history of my countries (Guatemala & Japan) than me – but I found myself constantly refusing to acknowledge it... 

Letting go of the notion that we have exclusive insight on topics closely connected to our identity is a very difficult thing to do. Of course, I'm not trying to say that our personal experiences cannot provide us with unique perspectives that outsiders would have a hard time understanding – what I mean is that even if we have those unique experiences, we can still be uninformed of many aspects of our own culture, for we are fallible and infinitely ignorant (click here for more on infinite ignorance). 

This applies not only to culture and religion, but to pretty much all types of knowledge. Although everyone is prone to error, everyone is also capable of knowledge: Guatemalans who have spent their entire lives in Latin America can learn about their own culture from Europeans; professors who have spent their entire lives doing philosophy can be proven wrong by freshmen; and priests who have preached for decades can be corrected on matters of the Bible by atheists. 

Anyone can know. To reject this is to regress to the intellectual elitism of the pre-enlightenment. Instead of denying this truth, whenever confronted by an outsider who is more knowledgeable than us, we should feel not insecure, but encouraged. Encouraged because it serves as a reminder that our ignorance has no end, and thus, our learning possibilities have no limit either, extending indefinitely to infinity. 

However, during my last visit to Japan, I realized that there is one aspect of life in which no comprehensive rule seems to exist: walking. 

In the U.S., everybody knows that you're supposed to stand right, walk left when using escalators. I am well aware that this is considered to be highly inefficient by many behavioral scientists, but at least it allows everyone to know how to behave. On the other hand, in Japan, it all becomes very confusing. Sometimes people stand left, sometimes they stand right–and sometimes they even stand on both sides. 

The problem is not only limited to escalators. Strolling in sidewalks and crosswalks faces the same challenge: people don't seem to know where to walk. I found myself multiple times in awkward situations where I didn't know which side to move towards when someone was heading my way. 

Thus, I decided to pay close attention to people's behavior to try to make some generalizations that could make life easier to those who visit Japan. I was able to come up with three of them, but keep in mind that they will not always apply (given that there is no walking "standard" in this country). 

1. In escalators, stand left. My observations indicated that most of the time, people will stand left when riding elevators, allowing those who are in a hurry walk on the right side. There is, however, one exception: when in Osaka, stand right, and walk left. For some reason, people in Osaka did not follow the same pattern as in other cities (Tokyo/Kyoto/Mie/Miyazaki), choosing to follow the same "rule" as in the U.S. With that being said, it is important to add that in the Osaka Airport, this exception did not apply–most likely because people from all over the country are the ones using the escalators. 

2. When walking, most of the time, try to stay on the left side. This definitely does not apply on crosswalks, but at least it does on crowded places such as theme parks (Universal Studios Japan and Tokyo Disney Resort) and shopping malls. You will have to sit down and observe the crowds for a couple minutes before you notice the tendency, given that there are still many individuals who simply walk where they want... but overall, I found that walking on the left was always a little bit more convenient. 

3. The golden rule is to follow the crowd. While the first two generalizations can be quite helpful, nothing beats following the people in front of you. At times, people will suddenly decide that they'll be walking on the right side, so the whole crowd slowly starts to shift to the other side. Similarly, as mentioned before with the example of Osaka, there are places where the rules are different (some Shinto and Buddhist Shrines will have specific indications regarding which side of the stairs to climb as well). Thus, my best advice is to pay attention to your surroundings when you walk–that way you'll be able to avoid awkward interactions while also occasionally saving time. 

Thus, in today's entry, I'll be ranking the popcorn flavors from worse to best. It's important to mention that there are usually 10 different flavors, but during my time in Tokyo, only 8 of them were available. 

There will be three aspects that I'll take into consideration when ranking the popcorn: originality, alignment with the park's theme, and the actual flavor (with the later obviously being the most important factor). This is a rather long post, so feel free to scroll all the way down for TLDR.

#8: Salted (Location – Mermaid Lagoon)

- Originality (poor): While many prefer the simplicity of salted popcorn, it's impossible to deny that there is zero originality in this flavor–after all, it's the most basic form of popcorn.

- Theme (very good): The stand is located in Mermaid Lagoon, an area in DisneySea dedicated to The Little Mermaid. In my opinion, this was the perfect location for salted popcorn, given how connected salt is with the sea. Of course, given that the park's name is DisneySEA, pretty much any location could have worked; nevertheless, I consider that it does align well with the area's theme. 

- Flavor (poor): Salted popcorn is a classic, I must say that I dislike it quite a lot. Salted popcorn was the only one that I could not finish eating. It was very dry, the flavor was boring, and it was a bit too salty.

#7: Matcha (Location – American Waterfront)

- Originality (good): The unique smell of matcha, combined with its vibrant green color makes the matcha popcorn one of the most original ones in the park. With that being said, those who are used to drinking matcha multiple times a week (aka, pretty much everyone in Japan), will find it not very original.

- Theme (poor): I was confused about why DisneySea chose to place this popcorn stand in American Waterfront. It was next to the Tower of Terror, in the New York area, and while I tried to think of any connection between matcha and NY, I could not find any. 

- Flavor (fair): The popcorn tastes exactly like matcha, and while the first couple of bites are really nice, it quickly becomes slightly cloying. 

#6: Soy Sauce and Butter (Location – Lost River Delta)

- Originality (excellent): Nothing about this popcorn flavor makes sense. How do you even come up it with such a bizarre idea? While popcorn with butter is another classic, adding soy sauce brings it to a whole different level. I'm sure even the Japanese did not see it coming. 

- Theme (poor): The soy sauce screams Asian, but for some reason, they placed it in front of the Indiana Jones ride, among ancient Aztect ruins. Terrible choice. 

- Flavor (fair): The flavor is weird, which is expected from such a unique combination. The popcorn flavor isn't bad, but the butter definitely overshadowed the soy sauce–at times, I felt I was just eating regular popcorn. It was overall, a kind of confusing experience. 

#5: Caramel (Location – Mediterranean Harbor)

- Originality (poor): Caramel popcorn can be found anywhere–from movie theaters to Walmart, it's pretty much everywhere. While I have nothing against it, I think the flavor lacks originality. 

- Theme (fair): The caramel popcorn stand is in Mediterranean Harbor (the Europe-themed area). At first, I couldn't find a connection, until I thought about caramel's place of origin–it's a highly debated topic, but most seem to agree that it was either created by the Arabs or somewhere in Europe (France/Spain/Britain). Definitely a stretch, but it still deserves credit.

- Flavor (very good): While caramel popcorn in other places is slightly salted, the one in DisneySea tends to be a bit sweeter. Nevertheless, it manages to stay balanced, remaining as one of my favorites in the park.

#4: Milk Chocolate (Location – American Waterfront) 

- Originality (good): Chocolate-flavored popcorn is not unheard of, so I was not too surprised to see this flavor. With that being said, the addition of milk makes it slightly more original.

- Theme (poor): The stand can be found in the section of American Waterfront that looks like Bar Harbor (even though they claim it's inspired in NY). I think DisneySea missed a big opportunity here–they could have placed milk chocolate in the Indiana Jones area, given that ancient Latin American civilizations were the first ones to turn cacao into chocolate.

- Flavor (very good): the flavor is like an better version of caramel popcorn. It's sweet in a balanced way, it was impossible to get tired of it, and noticing that it was milk chocolate-flavored and not only chocolate was easy. 

#3: Garlic Shrimp (Location – American Waterfront)

- Originality (excellent): It might not be as random as soy sauce and butter, but whomever came up with the idea of making garlic shrimp-flavored popcorn is a genius. 

- Theme (very good): This is the only popcorn flavor in American Waterfront that is aligned with the area theme. The stand is sitting between to a huge building with the sign "Liberty Fish Market" and a port with several fishing boats. Perfect location for garlic shrimp. 

- Flavor (very good): The flavor is exactly what you would expect–garlic shrimp, but in powder form. The great thing is that the garlic is not too strong, but it can become a bit salty (especially if you don't have any water). 

#2: Curry (Location – Arabian Coast)

- Originality (very good): Curry is already a spice, so it probably didn't require that much creativity to create this flavor. Nonetheless, I think it's very original–considering that I've never seen curry-flavored snacks. 

- Theme (good): The flavor blends in with the Arabian Coast area given that spices are an essential part of the Middle East. While curry was originated in India (which has the Arabian sea as one of its border), it is also a very common spice in Arab countries. 

- Flavor (very good): I think this flavor was very close to being #1. It is very difficult to explain the flavor, but the best I can say is that it tastes the way curry smells (IMO, there is a disconnection between the smell of curry and its actual flavor when served in dishes). I loved it, it was not too salty, the flavor was strong and accurate, and it had an amazing smell. 

#1: Black Pepper (Location – Mediterranean Harbor)

- Originality (fair): It's not uncommon to see black pepper popcorn in some online recipe books or limited-edition snacks, but I believe it's still a bit more rare than butter and caramel. Nothing crazy, but definitely not a cliche.  

- Theme (poor): The black pepper popcorn can be found in front of DisneySea's newest ride: Soaring, which is located in the Italy themed-area of Mediterranean Harbor. Italian spice usually comes from red chili pepper and not black pepper, making the location of this stand an interesting choice. It has nothing to do with the theme.

- Flavor (excellent): While the flavor is nothing out of this world, the reason why this is the only one with an "excellent" rating is that it keeps its consistency (resisting the economic theory of diminishing marginal returns) until the last bite. It's a slightly spicy flavor that doesn't get boring or too much–absolutely loved it!

More often than not, we find ourselves uttering those words. From a long question on a test, to boring movies, and our university degrees, the more time we spend on them, the more we feel we the urge to finish them–so that it was not all in vain.

This is the typical example of a sunk cost fallacy, a situation in which we “follow through an endeavor” if we’ve already invested on it (without considering if benefits outweigh costs). To better comprehend this type of fallacy, it’s important to understand that sunk costs are those that can no longer be recovered. Examples of this costs include time, money, and effort.

To avoid falling into the trap of the sunk cost fallacies, it’s essential to acknowledge that we, as human beings, suffer from irrational escalation of commitment–or an unexplainable commitment to our initial choices/behavior, even when being confronted by an adverse environment. Ultimately, the solution is to act as rational economic agents. This means that whenever we make decisions, we should aim to make them based not on our past attitude and actions in relation to the situation, but on the current conditions: if the benefits outweigh the downsides, we should go ahead with it.

A perfect example I was presented in class revolves around the production of a film. The case explained that if a movie is being produced, and $70 million are spent on a set that ends up literally sinking, the choice to continue making the movie should not be based on the fact that $70 million have already been invested on it. On the contrary, the decision should be based on whether the forecast revenue is higher than the additional money required to finish producing the film–if the expected revenue is more than the additional costs, then the production should be continued.

In other words, it does not matter if you’ve spent your entire freshman year taking Biology courses that you hate, a whole month watching a terrible TV show, or all of your income on a girl you don’t love... if you’re not happy (and the benefits outweigh the costs), don’t feel afraid to embrace change!

This is a repost from my previous blog.

My UWC journey is finally over. 

Just a couple months ago, I came back home after graduating from high school at UWC East Africa, Tanzania. It has been two wonderful years, and while I would like to share about the lessons I learned by living in the super-diverse environment of UWC, this entry is dedicated to things that I learned about Tanzania by living there.

To be specific, there are 5 things that I learned.

The first one of them is the "Pole Pole" culture, or the "Slowly, Slowly" or"Easy, Easy" culture. Basically, the Pole Pole culture is Tanzanians' way of life - a philosophy of life that revolves around not stressing about things and taking everything easy. While at first it was hard to adapt to this Pole Pole environment (especially because it would lead to people being slightly lazy or late for appointments), with time I came to realize that the Pole Pole culture also leads to a more peaceful and worry-free life. 

The second thing I learned is that they have a very funny and healthy rivalry with their neighbor Kenya. By living two years among Tanzanians (and some Kenyans), I came to learn that Tanzanians are constantly trying to emphasize how better they are compared to Kenyans (I once even heard a Tanzanian saying that their Swahili pronunciation is better). Of course, this always happens in a very friendly manner, with most of these instances taking place when a Tanzanian student or teacher is teasing a Kenyan one (or vice-versa). 

The next thing in my list has to be Tanzanian cuisine. I have a very contradictory opinion about Tanzanian food. Of course, I only had food from my school's dining hall, so I understand that this might not have been the most accurate representation of this country's food. Nevertheless, from what I got to eat, I must say that there are some really good-tasting plates, and others that are not that great. So, my favorite one is without a doubt, chipsi mayai. As Wikipedia puts it, chipsi mayai in its simplest form is a "potato-egg omelette". It's basically a mix between french fries and scrambled eggs. On the other hand, the Tanzanian food that I enjoyed the least was Ugali, which I like to call the tasteless dough (just google it, you'll understand what I mean). Overall, I'm not a huge fan of Tanzanian cuisine, but I'll certainly miss chipsi mayai. 

During my two years in Tanzania, I got to learn some Swahili words and phrases that are used in casual contexts. We havethe famous "Mambo" ("What's up?"), to which "poa" ("good") tends to be the answer; there is also "Habari" ("Any news?") and nzuri ("everything is fine"). A greeting to show respect is "Shikamoo" (usually employed by younger people to address elders), to which "Marahaba" is usually the response. Another important phrase (at least for tourists) is "Shingapi", which is the term used to ask for the price of something. Lastly, a very funny Swahili word I learned is "Mzungu". While the word literally translates to "white", the term is usually used by locals in Moshi, Tanzania (can't really speak for other parts of the country) to refer to tourists and foreigners. Other from that, most of the words I learned are just not that useful (eg: I know student is "mwanafunzi") - I know it's a bit embarrassing that in two years I only learned a handful of phrases, but don't blame me... it's harder than you think (I tried taking Swahili classes, but ended up dropping 'cause I had no idea what was going on)...

I would like the last point to be about Tanzania's social issues, but I must first confess that I lived in a very privileged sphere during my two years in Moshi. I lived in a place that had access to WI-FI, water, food, and electricity almost 24/7. So, I want to instead focus on one issue that I got to experience first-hand: the issue of government opression. During the rule of late President Dr. John Pombe Magufuli, social media was completely banned to silence the opposition during and after elections. We had no access to Instagram, Twitter, WhatsApp, the App Store, YouTube, nor any Google-related service. The first day of the ban I had to communicate with my family back in Guatemala by exchanging documents via Drop Box, and in the following weeks I had to purchase a VPN subscription to regain access to all the banned platforms. While the social media ban was a big shock, I was far more horrified by the prohibition to spread information about COVID-19. In 2020, the Tanzanian government passed The Electronic and Postal Communications (Online Content) Regulations. These regulations included a section addressing "Prohibited Content" - content that is simply banned, content that cannot be produced or shared online. The clause that caught my attention was the one that prohibited "content with information with regards to the outbreak of a deadly or contagious diseases in the country or elsewhere without the approval of the respective authorities". Given that Magufuli's government claimed that Tanzania was "free of COVID-19", the regulations implied that raising awareness about the risks of COVID-19 in Tanzania was against the law. This got even worse when a COVID-19 case was detected on campus, and we moved to online classes while quarantining in our rooms - the government came to investigate what was going on to ensure the school wasn't spreading any COVID-related message to the Moshi community. While I really don't know if there is a correlation, after Dr. Magufuli's sudden death, things have changed. Samia Hassan has become the first female president of Tanzania, and since her rise to power, the ban on social media has been lifted. I can now access all social media platforms without the need of a VPN. Moreover, Samiah  has also stated that Tanzania will take action in regards to COVID-19. While there is a lot that is hidden from civilians, it seems that Tanzania's future is a rather bright one with the new president. 

There are a lot of other things I learned about Tanzania during my two years there, but these five are the ones that I consider the most important. Overall, I must say that Tanzania is a very peaceful, happy, and beautiful country. Its nature is impressive, the people are kind, and there seems to be societal progress taking place. I will miss this place a lot, and I am very grateful with the Moshi community for having taken me under its wings during these amazing years. 

Until my next visit to Tanzania, I have nothing to say but Mungu ibariki Tanzania!