As I sit down and put pen to paper—or rather, fingers to the keyboard—I find myself deeply immersed in my thoughts about the possibility of life and the contributions made by brilliant, selfless individuals who are now forgotten and buried deep in the earth's crust. I reflect that in 100 years, most of the people alive today will be gone and forgotten, with only those who chose to put their thoughts into writing remembered for their dedication to sharing their insights on how they think and solve problems in life.

We often read about the greatest inventions, but how many more great ideas were never executed, existing only in the minds of their creators? Most writers have shelves of unwritten books in their brains, and many scientists have thousands of written manuscripts that never see the light of day. If we all made an effort to be selfless and grant others the opportunity to experience our thoughts, ideas, and perspectives on life, we would cultivate a world rich with ideas and strong memories of writers.

Today, as I write this, I am sitting in the city of Jinka, Ethiopia, at Engocha Café. I feel fortunate to be here at this very moment. The thought of space and the possibility of life inspires me to open the windows of my mind and allow others to look in. While we can engage in deep, meaningful conversations with only a handful of people, writing allows us to transcend territorial boundaries, cross oceans and seas, and live on beyond our time.

I often ponder how best to preserve my thoughts. Although this writing may not seem relevant to the current world, I believe that if someone were to read it in 2124, they might find it interesting to understand what Jinka was like at this time, the location of the café, and how I appeared. For the curious, here are the coordinates of the café: (5.78457250231298, 36.56453449747867). I know that by then, there could be something entirely different constructed in this place.