Engineering of the Soul vs. Digital Costume Jewelry

Today, the system pushed a profile of one of those “successful” women into my feed. You know them—the ones who breakfast in Bangkok, shimmer on Dubai rooftops, and sell “freedom guides” for tens of thousands of dollars. I look at those photos, those artificial lips, those practiced poses, and that “scream” for attention, and I don’t feel envy. I feel nausea. As a mineralogy engineer, I learned one thing: the rock does not lie. The earth does not forgive poor construction.

In my world, the old-school world, everything has a plan, a beginning, a duration, and an end. Whether you are building a bridge, mining ore, cooking a meal, or washing clothes—behind it all lies work, planning, and time. Nothing of value is created by blowing kisses at a camera. Today, I see a generation that cannot even make their own bed in the morning, yet they dare to put on makeup for TikTok and sell “wisdom” to people who have worked their entire lives.

That isn’t intelligence. That is pure insolence.

Their mouths are full of “million-dollar contracts” and “the laptop lifestyle,” yet they haven’t even opened a book. They aren’t selling knowledge because they don’t have any—they are selling their own bodies, images of fake breasts, lips, and noses, wrapped in the shiny cellophane of digital success. And what’s worst, they believe that because of that money—taken from the sky or from those they’ve “fleeced”—they have become the elite. They think they have the right to look down on those of us who followed the law, order, and peace.

My scars from surviving breast cancer, my tectonic shifts after difficult divorces, my working days spent in engineering calculations—that is my authority. That is my Malachite Peace. That is a peace that no Stripe transfer can buy. These people are empty inside; their pockets are full of zeros, but those zeros only sum up their internal nothingness.

My message to these “high-ticket” smoke-and-mirror sellers is simple: If you’ve already robbed someone, hide. Don’t wave your expensive cars in our faces. Don’t laugh at us. It is foul and heartless. It is a moment where losers who didn’t even run the race claim the gold medal, while those of us who trained, bled, and struggled watch their fake glow from the dust.

But remember, when the market collapses—and every market eventually does—only the bare earth and character will remain. And on your land, there is no foundation. There is nothing there but plastic and wind.

We, the people of work and knowledge, might not scream from the rooftops of Bangkok, but we know how to survive a tectonic shift. We are the rock. You are just costume jewelry that shines only as long as your phone battery lasts.

Magma Star Geologist of the Soul