UYal's blog

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about assets and the structure of our economy.
There’s a well-known phrase:
“Inflation is a silent tax.”
At first glance, it seems like a simple economic truth.
But when I reflect more deeply, I begin to see how it reveals the mechanisms of power and the architecture of control that shape our lives.

Of course, capitalism remains the only viable system we have.
It is, after all, the system that “won” over socialism.
The belief that hard work leads to reward has driven many to persevere,
and that belief still powers much of human effort today.

And yet—
Today, I find myself standing on the edge of something else:
That strange space where we know what’s happening, but accept it anyway.

Inflation, as a structural phenomenon, affects most of us not as a “policy issue” but as something far more personal.
It influences how we live, how we feel.
It doesn’t come with a tax notice.
It doesn’t appear on any contract.
But it quietly erodes our purchasing power—and with it, a portion of our hope.

And yet, in the midst of all this, I find myself in a rare state of calm.

The one-room apartment I currently live in has stayed the same for seven years.
Same deposit. Same rent.
While others are forced to move every few years due to rising costs,
my elderly landlady has never once raised the rent.

In this age of inflation, a fixed number is more than just a number.
It’s kindness. It’s thoughtfulness. It’s quiet welfare.

I know this is a temporary situation.
An exception.
And that makes me even more grateful—and more reflective.

Even in an unfair system,
not everyone becomes an agent of that system.
Some people quietly hold on to their values,
offering moments of humanity within the machine.

This post doesn’t offer any solutions.
No policy proposals. No moral conclusions.
It’s simply a pause—a space to examine the structure,
to locate myself within it,
and to acknowledge how someone’s quiet generosity helped me endure.

This is a comma.
Not a period.
There are no clear answers.
But when new thoughts arise,
I’ll pick up the pen again.

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