In 1968, American ethologist John B. Calhoun launched one of the most haunting experiments in behavioral science. He called it "Universe 25" — a supposed rodent utopia designed to test what would happen in a world without struggle. Calhoun built a self-contained "mouse heaven" capable of housing nearly 4,000 mice. It had everything: unlimited food, fresh water, perfect climate, complete safety, no predators, no disease, no competition. It was the dream environment — or so it seemed. Eight mice were introduced into this perfect world. At first, things went well. The population grew steadily. Mice formed social structures, raised families, and thrived. But as their numbers approached 2,200, everything changed. The males began to lose interest in mating or defending territory. Some turned violent. Others became lethargic. The females grew erratic and stopped caring for their young — many even attacked their own offspring. A new class emerged: the so-called "Beautiful Ones" — perfectly groomed, passive mice who neither fought, reproduced, nor socialized. They spent their days eating, sleeping, and grooming themselves. Society collapsed. Social bonds broke. Reproduction halted. Even when resources remained plentiful and space became available again, the mice had forgotten how to live. By day 1780, the last mouse had died. 💡 Calhoun’s experiment became a chilling metaphor — not just for biologists, but for sociologists, philosophers, and urban planners. It suggested that in a world without challenge, purpose, or pressure to adapt, even the most “perfect” society can unravel. A utopia without meaning quickly turns into a graveyard of potential. What was meant to be paradise… ended in silence.

Nothing To Say, Nothing To Write, Nothing To Send, But I Believe That... You Will Listen ,Read ,’N Receive My Feelings In The Silence Too.. !

How I Slept on a Cybercafé Floor to Finish School "I used to sleep on a cybercafé floor just to finish school, no mattress, no money, just stubborn hope & faith." Let me give some context for Gen Zs. There used to be this booming business in the early 2000s until about maybe 2016, especially in Cameroon, before mobile phone penetration scaled. That business was the cybercafé. Around 2011, I used to work in a cybercafé in Bamenda, and I mostly took the night shifts. I was not on any salary. The guy who owned the cybercafé did not need any extra worker, so I negotiated my way through. I told him I would work for free so I could have access to the internet because I was doing my undergraduate program through a distance learning program. On top of that, I had computer repair skills. So, I struck a deal, I’d promote my services to customers with home computers, and they could call me for repairs. That’s how I planned to earn some money. So, some nights, I would sleep on the floor of that cybercafé. At the time, internet speed was higher at night, so we had clients who would buy internet time from 10 p.m. till 5 a.m. That is why I had to sleep on the floor sometimes. At that age of 21, I was broke, half starved and sleeping on the floor of cybercafe most nights just to finish my undergraduate. No mattress, no steady income, just stubborn faith and hopes that after my undergraduate life will be better. Now? I advise executives across nations, I design curriculums for institutions, I help leaders build institutions that can compete across nations, I have travelled 20+ nations across 4 continents to speak, train and consult and more. But back then, I was just a hungry boy living most at times on borrowed money. That particular season of my life always play so fresh in my memories. Seasons like that will reveal a lot to you and me. a) Comfort is not a requirement for calling and destiny Many wait for ideal conditions before building their lives and destinies. Destiny blueprints and capacity are often handed and developed in wilderness seasons. Ask Jesus Christ, ask Joseph, ask David etc. b) Honor your obscurity While others chased applause and reasons to impress others, build discipline in that season that will sustain you for life. That hidden season shaped my capacity and more. What I am saying is, do not resent your silence or your season of obscurity, use it to your advantage. Reminder: Join Skills & Knowledge Monetization Academy cohort 3. Admission opens in the next few days. Join the admission waitlist. I only take 15 people. https://chat.whatsapp.com/DL4xFWYLUZDEj53fxwmW1T Identify, Extract, Package, and Make Money Your Skills & Experience in 21 Days. Join now c) Education isn't just academic The cybercafe floor taught me resourcefulness, resilience, negotiation, survival, relationships and more. Lessons no university can match. d) Experiences are your real destiny CV (resume) Years later, I still reference that floor, that cybercafe experience, I still remember the fights etc. Not as trauma, but as my training ground. I learned a lot from the streets during that season. Put me anywhere, I will build. That floor became part of my foundation. Free download Skill to Value to Income Starter Pack: https://stan.store/Joybert Dr. Joybert Javnyuy

No One Understands The Silence Between My Words, No One Understands The Sadness Behind My Smile, No One Understands The Unsaid Feelings Of Mine, They Think I Am Fine But Only I Know Daily I Am Dying :'( I Want To Be Happy Again, I Want To Live Those Moments Again, I Am Sick Of Wearing A Fake Smile. I Am Waiting For The One Who Can Really Make Me Smile..

I Think Of You In Silence I Often Speak Your Name All I Have Left Are Memories And A Heart Around Your Name My Heart Aches With Sadness And All My Tears Will Flow But What It Meant To Lose You No-one Will Ever Know

No One Understands The Silence Between My Words. No One Understands The Sadness Behind My Smile. No One Understands The Unsaid Feelings Of Mine. They Think I Am Fine But Only I Know Daily I Am Dying. I Wan To Be Happy Again. I Want To Live Those Moments Again. I Am Sick Of Wearing Fake Smile. I Am Waiting For You Make Me Smile Again.

*Change can be intimidating* but it is essential for growth, and the biggest obstacle to change is *ourselves.* Silence can be a more *powerful statement than words.* *Life reminds you that you have the power* to shape your destiny, but you must first confront yourself with honesty and courage. *Your past behaviour speaks louder than any explanation.* *Do not waste your words on someone* who is not willing to listen. Your silence is not weakness, but *it is proof of your emotional intelligence.* Do not drop down to their level. *Distance is the only answer to disrespect.* Do not react. Do not argue, but simply remove your presence. *Never allow anyone to become too comfortable* with disrespecting you. The Lord Sustains. Good morning, family members 💕💕💕💕💕💃💃💃💃

“The Seeds He Rejected” — A Story of Regret, Strength, and Triumph Part 1: The Long Wait In a small town in Nigeria, lived a couple — Mr. and Mrs. Okonkwo. They were young and full of dreams when they got married. Mr. Okonkwo, a proud man from a traditional Igbo background, believed that his legacy could only continue through male children. Their first child, a girl named Chinonso, was born with beauty and a sharp mind. But Okonkwo smiled half-heartedly. “Next one will be a boy,” he said. Then came Adaeze, Ugochi, Amarachi, and finally Chidimma — all girls. Year after year, his frustration grew. Family members mocked him. Friends whispered behind his back. He began to blame his wife, Ebele, accusing her of failing to give him a “true heir.” Ebele cried in silence but never cursed him. She loved her daughters and raised them with dignity, teaching them to be strong, respectful, and prayerful. Part 2: The Breaking Point After Chidimma’s birth — their fifth daughter — Mr. Okonkwo changed completely. He became bitter, distant, and violent. One night, after a heated argument, he packed his bags and left. No goodbye. No explanation. Just abandonment. He remarried in another city, hoping for a son. Ebele, heartbroken but strong, vowed to raise her daughters alone. “We don’t need a man to define our worth,” she always told them. The girls grew up watching their mother struggle, sacrifice, and succeed — cleaning houses, selling vegetables, sewing clothes — just to keep them in school. Part 3: The Rise Time passed. Chinonso became a top engineer in an oil company. Adaeze became a renowned surgeon. Ugochi was awarded a scholarship abroad and became a lawyer advocating for women’s rights. Amarachi became a successful tech entrepreneur. Chidimma, the youngest, became a best-selling author and motivational speaker. They never forgot their roots — or their mother’s suffering. Together, they built her a beautiful mansion, and people in town began to call her “Mama Girls of Glory.” Part 4: The Regret Meanwhile, Mr. Okonkwo’s second marriage produced three boys. But none amounted to much. He had poured money into their lives but not discipline or love. They became entitled and lazy. One day, he fell ill and was abandoned by everyone — including the sons he had so desperately wanted. Word reached him that his daughters were now wealthy and influential. Pride kept him from reaching out — until one day, lying sick and broke on a hospital bed, he saw Chidimma on national TV, giving a speech titled “The Strength of a Woman.” Tears flowed down his wrinkled cheeks. Part 5: The Reunion Ashamed but desperate, he sent a message through a local pastor to Ebele. The daughters were shocked but didn’t speak in bitterness. Instead, Chinonso said: “Let’s show him the love he denied us.” They paid his medical bills. Ugochi ensured he had proper legal support. Amarachi even got him a small apartment. And finally, they brought him to the mansion he once walked away from. Ebele stood at the gate, now a graceful woman, older but radiant. He fell on his knees and cried, “Forgive me, Ebele. I was a fool.” She helped him up gently. “You lost 23 years of love… but God still gave you a second chance.” Final Words Mr. Okonkwo spent his final years surrounded by the very daughters he rejected. They took care of him, not out of obligation — but out of character, shaped by the love their mother planted in them. And when he passed, his tombstone read: > "Here lies a man who learned, too late, that daughters are blessings too." Moral of the Story: Children are not defined by gender. Value, love, and raise them all — because tomorrow belongs to anyone willing to rise, not just those society prefers. JB WORLD

“It’s high time the world knew the truth — some of my colleagues are living a fáke life They prétend too much. In public, they act like angels. Online, they post like they care. But in real life? Hmm... packaging everywhere Ehh why? Because at first, they used to invite me to come and eat rice o! I no dey force am. But now? Nothing again. Silence. No rice, no stew, not even plantain. Please help me ask Frederick Leonard and Lizzy Gold — what is my offense? What did I do wrong? Abi I chop the rice too much?” – Uju Okoli

Immediately after my wedding, barely a few weeks in, someone I knew called and said he had sent a monetary gift for me through a close friend of mine. My heart leaped — because at that point, I was swimming in debt from the wedding. I called my friend. He confirmed receiving the money. I thanked him and sent my account details immediately. But he shocked me. He said, “I won’t send the money to you.” I laughed — thinking it was a joke. But he was dead serious. “I won't send it until you’re ready to collect what I bought with it,” he added. I was confused. I called and called. He kept repeating the same thing. His tone got cold, almost dismissive. It hurt me more than I can explain. I called the person who had sent the money, told him what my friend was doing. He seemed surprised but told me to reach out to my friend again. I was furious. I decided to cut both of them off. A few days passed. Then one night, my friend called again. I ignored it. He called again. And again. My phone rang until it felt like it would vibrate off the table. I switched it off. He kept calling for days. Eventually, I blocked him — on calls, on chats, on life. I told myself: He betrayed me. He stole from me. Six months later, I felt the weight of the silence. I realized how much I missed him — my friend, my brother. So I went to his house. They told me he had moved. Gone. No one knew where he went. No forwarding address. No explanation. I was angry all over again. I concluded he had run away with the money. That he had played me. Even though I had moved on from the money, the betrayal began to rot inside me again like an old wound reopened. Three years later. I was stuck in Lagos traffic, heading to the Island. I saw someone on the other lane. Something about the posture, the shape of his head, the way he tilted slightly to the right. But… he was in a wheelchair. I told myself, “It can’t be him. He wasn’t like that before.” Still, I begged the driver to stop. My heart was pounding as I crossed the road. I walked closer. He turned. It was him. My friend. In a wheelchair. Before I could speak, he wheeled toward me and hugged me. No hesitation. No resentment. Just warmth. And pain. I stood there, stunned. My mouth dry. My hands weak. I had rehearsed this day in my head, where I’d scream at him, call him a thief, ask if karma crippled him. But I said nothing. Then he pulled a backpack from behind his chair. Slowly, he brought out a faded blue file. He handed it to me. I opened it — and inside were land documents. And pictures of an uncompleted building. My eyes scanned the papers. It was my name written all over the documents. Not his. Not his wife’s. Mine. “I didn’t want you to waste the money Aunty sent on clearing wedding debts,” he said quietly. “So I bought land in your name... so you could become a landlord like me.” My hands trembled. My lips quivered. I dropped to the floor right there on the roadside and began to cry. He sat quietly in his chair. His face was tired. His eyes sunken. “You insulted me,” he said calmly. “You insulted my wife too. You called us thieves. But it was her idea. The night we tried to call you… I had just been in an accident. I was lying in the back of a tricycle, bleeding, and told her to call you.” He paused. “You didn’t pick.” I cried harder. “When my wife died in the hospital… I called again. That’s when I found out you had blocked me. You blocked me everywhere.” There were no tears in his eyes. Just silence. And truth. “I never stole from you. I am not your enemy. I was trying to protect your future. But money… money will always reveal how deep the love truly runs.” He turned and wheeled away. A cab stopped. He got in and left. Just like that. I’ve never stepped foot in that house he built in my name. I can’t. Not until I see him again. Not until I hold him and say the words I never said. I’m sorry. Please… don’t be quick to assume people have ghosted you. Don’t jump to conclusions. Sometimes, the silence is a scream for help you ignored. Sometimes, the person you thought betrayed you was the one holding your future in their hands. Sometimes, people disappear not to rob you — but because **life hit them harder than they could bear. Before you block someone forever — ask them why. You never know the battles they were silently fighting… for you. The End. #copied

If he’s meant for me, he’ll find me. I won’t have to chase, beg or break myself to be seen. Not because I called out, but because our paths were always meant to cross. Real connection doesn’t require force. The right soul will recognize mine, even in silence.🤍✨

If he’s meant for me, he’ll find me. I won’t have to chase, beg or break myself to be seen. Not because I called out, but because our paths were always meant to cross. Real connection doesn’t require force. The right soul will recognize mine, even in silence.🤍✨