There you are, in the heart of an endless desert. The ground is dry, cracked, empty. The heat fills everything. But you, enclosed in that cube of yellow water, cling to your small refuge. A space created by yourself, a bubble that seems to keep you safe from the hostility outside.

But are you truly safe? Look closely. That cube is a boundary. It's the place you've chosen to stay, believing the water is enough, that you can't face the desert. Meanwhile, outside, the world goes on. The sky keeps shining, the wind keeps blowing, but you remain still, motionless, trapped in something that is not life, but a pause.

You've grown accustomed to the warm water, to the helmet that protects you from breathing too deeply, to the limited space that gives you security. But deep down you know: this is not freedom. This is not living. It's holding onto the bare minimum, in what barely keeps you standing, while the vastness of the desert calls you to come out.

The water is not your salvation, it's your excuse. You tell yourself it's okay to stay there because it's easier, because it's less painful. But I ask you: Until when? How much longer will you settle for a cage disguised as a refuge?

The desert is not your enemy. It's your challenge. Because there, in the inhospitable, is where you truly understand who you are. Out there, in that terrain that seems impossible, is where growth happens. The cube is not your home. It's your boundary. And you weren't born to stay within a boundary. You were born to break it.