Humanity

The Taste of Science: Why We Desire Some Flavors More Than Others and How It Impacts Our Health
Introduction: The Power of Taste and What We Consume We have all been there with those spontaneous cravings that pop up—whether it's something sweet, salty, or even savory. But have you ever taken a moment to question why you desire some flavors more than others, and how these cravings influence your entire health? Taste is not merely a survival issue, but also a choice of what we prefer to eat and what we like to eat. Although we associate taste with pure joy, taste is a complex biological and psychological phenomenon grounded in evolution, culture, and emotions.
By The Chaos Cabinet4 months ago in Earth
A Man Who Can’t Be Owned By Anything
There’s a certain peace that comes when you stop wanting so damn much. Not because you’ve transcended desire like some bald monk humming in a cave, but because you’ve finally realised most of your wants aren’t even yours. They were installed — whispered by adverts, culture, convenience. You were trained to want.
By Secrets & Shadows4 months ago in Earth
Exchanging Africa for America.
I’ve always been a city boy, born in Southern Rhodesia, in 1959, I lived in a very beautiful city, Bulawayo, a colonial city with broad streets, clean, the 2nd largest in the country. Under populated by the white settlers of mostly British descent, and surrounded by suburbs and townships of of local blacks, mostly Ndebele tribe, but also other smaller tribes from the whole country and surrounding countries like South Africa, Northern Rhodesia, Nyasaland, Mozambique, Botswana, SouthWest Africa.They would commute into the business district in busses, called chicken busses, overloaded with passengers and livestock like chickens, pigs, goats, hence the name. And also East Indians who moved up from South Africa and Uganda when they were forced to leave because of the persecution of Idi Amin. The city had very few stop lights, in the local vernacular robots. On other major intersections there would be a smartly uniformed traffic constable with a whistle, white gloves, and performing crisp hand signals to control traffic flow. Then I lived in Durban, KwaZuluNatal, South Africa, a very big city, sprawling, noisy, teeming with people, when my father divorced my mother and basically kidnapped me.Not because he wanted me, but to piss off my mother. For a while I moved around to small beachside towns and villages down the South Coast from Durban, where I haunted the beaches surfing and volunteering as a life guard., during my high school years. It was the 1970s, during the apartheid era. Blacks had their own schools, lived in their own towns, there was no intermingling of races. Where I lived was in Zululand, and south of there were the Xhosa tribe. East of there was the Ndebele. So I grew up around all these tribes, and I didn’t know how wonderful and amazing they were until I was gone from there.But then my life changed once I graduated, I joined the merchant marines, sailing in big container ships docking at harbor cities all around Around South Africa, East London, Port Elizabeth, Cape Town, until it was discovered by my recruiter that I was an illegal resident of South Africa. My father never registered me to live in South Africa.Then back to Rhodesia, to fight in the civil war, defending my country of birth from the nationalist terrorists who wanted independence from the British settlers. I spent 3 1/2 years in the bush, fighting and seeing parts of Africa I had never seen before. Binga, probably the most isolated territory of Rhodesia, bordering Zambia to the west, separated by the Zambezi River and Lake Kariba. The biggest man made dam at that time. It was where the war first started, with terrorists infiltrated the country after being trained in camps in Zambia by Russian military personal and equipped by the Soviets. Mostly Ndebele men, but at the same time the Shona tribe was being enflamed by nationalism and stoked by the communist Chinese to rise up. They left Rhodesia for training in Russia, but were equipped by the Chinese. When in 1975 Mozambique became independent from from Portugal, the border to the east of Rhodesia became easy crossing point for terrorists. We lost the war, and Rhodesia was gone forever, it became Zimbabwe. I emigrated to America, settled in San Francisco Bay Area, living in and working in small and large cities for 25 years, then moved up to the Sierra Nevada mountains where I live now, rural, wild, isolated, the nearest shopping town Marysville 1 hour away. It is the gateway to the historic gold fields of California, and still a part of the Wild West. There are abandoned gold mines scattered around, some are open for tourists to tour, some are just fenced off. None are working mines. The ravages of hydraulic mining 100 hundred years ago can still be seen on hillsides, erosion in the riverbanks, made impassible for paddle boats that used to ply their way from the gold fields of Nevada City, Grass Valley to Marysville. Indians (Native Americans) still live here, on reservations, and in private houses, still participate in gatherings and ceremonies like pow wow events. my wife and I participate in those events, selling beads and jewelry components that the dancers wear on their clothing. Pow Wows attract tribes (called nations) from all over North America (USA, Canada, Mexico, and sometimes a rare appearance by Central American tribes) I love it here, it is so like Africa but different. Nothing is like Africa. Now, instead of African tribes, there are Native American tribes like the Maidu who live all around the county, fish for salmon in the Yuba River, and now mostly live in the reservation in Oroville. Or Miwok tribe, who are scattered all over Northern California, from Yosemite to Mount Shasta. Instead of elephant, giraffe, lion and kudu, we have bear, mountain lion and wolves. Coyote and deer. It is just as wild as Rhodesia was, but with an American touch. Big cities are close by, within driving distance, like Reno, Nevada, Sacramento , San Francisco, and 6 hours away, Las Vegas, Nevada, and Los Angeles. I couldn’t have picked a better place to live.
By Guy lynn4 months ago in Earth
The Silent Pandemic: One in Six Infections Now Untreatable
I. The Crisis We Can’t See — Yet Imagine getting a simple cut, taking a routine antibiotic, and realizing it doesn’t work.
By arsalan ahmad4 months ago in Earth
The oldest known stalagmite, which dates back 289 million years, was discovered in rocks in Oklahoma.
Did you know that troglobites are organisms that only inhabit caves? Although it's not the most attractive name in the world, it seems appropriate. evokes visions of damp, chilly, and shadowy spaces where unidentified liquids, some of which have been found to be the oldest water on Earth—and people drank it!—drip from the roof.
By Francis Dami4 months ago in Earth
"Carter Catastrophe": The Math Formula That Foretells Human Demise
Humanity has been on a lengthy road to discover that we are not the centre of the universe, the galaxy, or even the Solar System since we evolved into a (semi) sentient species and began studying the cosmos.
By Francis Dami4 months ago in Earth
A–Z OF THE EARTH
A — ATMOSPHERE The invisible shield that keeps us alive. Layers of air dance above our heads — protecting, breathing, and whispering the story of our survival. Without it, there’d be no sound, no sky, no life.
By OWOYELE JEREMIAH4 months ago in Earth
Light of the Horizon
Nestled between rolling green hills and the edge of a crystal-blue lake lay the village of Liora—a place so quiet, many maps forgot it existed. Yet, for those who found it, Liora was unforgettable. ‎ ‎No one rushed in Liora. Morning began not with alarms but with the sound of birdsong and the smell of warm bread baking. Children played barefoot in dewy fields, their laughter echoing through the valley. The sky always seemed a little bluer, and the air carried the scent of lavender and hope. ‎ ‎It was in this village that Maren arrived one autumn morning, a traveler in search of something she couldn’t quite name. She had left the noise of the city behind—its honking cars, endless screens, and hurried footsteps—and followed a hand-drawn map given to her by an old woman on a train. “Go there,” the woman had whispered. “They still remember how to live.” ‎ ‎Maren didn’t expect much. Perhaps a quaint stop, a few photo opportunities, maybe some fresh bread. But as she stepped off the small bus that only came twice a week, something shifted. The air seemed lighter here, the kind that made you breathe a little deeper without realizing it. ‎ ‎An elderly man named Elias greeted her at the village square. He had a beard like soft wool and eyes that had seen decades of peace. “Welcome to Liora,” he said, his voice like river stones. “Here, we live by the rhythm of kindness.” ‎ ‎Maren smiled politely, not yet understanding. But she stayed. ‎ ‎Each day, she watched. A child, no more than five, helped her grandmother water plants in mismatched pots. A group of teenagers repaired a neighbor’s broken fence without being asked. There were no locks on doors, no loudspeakers, no stress. When someone was ill, food appeared on their porch. When someone grieved, the village walked silently with them to the lake, candles in hand. ‎ ‎No one was rich in Liora—not in money. But in time, in community, in joy—they were wealthy beyond measure. ‎ ‎It wasn’t long before Maren began to change. She found herself waking with the sun, baking bread with the village baker, singing songs in languages she didn’t know. She painted for the first time in years, her fingers smudged with color. Her shoulders, once heavy with unspoken worries, relaxed. ‎ ‎One evening, she sat by the lake as the sun melted into the water. Next to her was Anya, a girl of about ten, drawing in the dirt with a stick. ‎ ‎“Do you like it here?” Anya asked, not looking up. ‎ ‎“I do,” Maren replied. “It’s… peaceful.” ‎ ‎Anya grinned. “That’s because we choose peace. Every day.” ‎ ‎Maren looked at her, surprised. “You choose it?” ‎ ‎“Of course,” Anya said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Kindness doesn’t just happen. We plant it, like seeds.” ‎ ‎That night, those words stayed with Maren. ‎ ‎Months passed. The villagers began calling her one of their own. She had found what she didn’t know she was seeking—not just peace, but a way of being. A reminder that goodness wasn’t a rare miracle, but a choice made in every small act. ‎ ‎When she finally left, she didn’t feel like she was leaving something behind—but carrying something forward. She knew the world outside Liora was louder, harder. But she also knew something else now: that goodness, once seen, can’t be unseen. That peace, once planted, can grow anywhere. ‎ ‎Even in the busiest cities. Even in the darkest times. ‎ ‎And so, Maren drew her own map—simple, hand-drawn, with a note on the bottom that read: ‎ ‎“Go here. They still remember how to live.”
By Muhammad Saad 4 months ago in Earth
Friends of Monarch Butterflies
The other day, my friend Shay came over, and after our usual chit-chat, I took him for a short walk around the neighborhood. As soon as we stepped outside, I pointed to the house next door and said, “That’s Alyssa’s place. She doesn’t live here anymore, but she visits sometimes. She taught me a lot about milkweed and monarch butterflies.” It was a mix of truth, joy, and sadness—I haven’t seen Alyssa in a long time since she moved out of her mom’s house(the house next door), but she visits sometimes. Yes, it’s true: she really did teach me about milkweed and monarch butterflies. This piece is about that, and my further research, I suppose.
By Homayra Adiba4 months ago in Earth
Nature / Travel. AI-Generated.
In a world where everything moves fast where noise, notifications, and endless responsibilities never stop finding peace often feels like a luxury. We spend so much time chasing happiness in crowded places, glowing screens, and material things that we forget where real calmness lives. Yet, peace has always been here, quietly resting in the soft rhythm of nature in the whisper of trees, in the warmth of sunlight, and in the endless shades of green and blue that color our earth.
By Zahid ali4 months ago in Earth
The Goat Who Waited in the Trap
The Trap in the Forest By Huma Baloch Ever since the forests began to disappear, our lives have become miserable. Once those green woods echoed with the chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves, but now — silence, emptiness, and danger fill the air. With the trees gone, the wild animals have lost their homes and food. The lions and wolves, starving and desperate, have started sneaking into our village.
By Ubaid 4 months ago in Earth
The Planetary Health Diet: How Eating for the Earth Can Save Both You and the Planet
I. The Fork in the Road Every bite we take shapes more than our health — it shapes our planet. From the farmlands that feed us to the forests cleared for livestock, the global food system is now one of the biggest drivers of climate change, biodiversity loss, and chronic disease.
By arsalan ahmad4 months ago in Earth