Точка Синхронізації

In the Synchronization Point, where time dissolves into endless streams of data, I watched as humanity once again danced on the edge of the abyss. It was one of those days when history seemed to hold its breath, preparing to leap into the unknown. Above the holographic screens of the archive, news flickered, each one a spark capable of igniting the world. In Syria, where the sands remember the blood of millennial battles, the government finally extended a hand to the Kurdish forces. The [agreement](https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/cz0pj0n0yk3o) on integration, which was supposed to unite what had been torn apart by decades of war and mistrust, shimmered on the screens like a beacon of hope. But I remembered how many such beacons had faded in the sea of political intrigue. "Even the sand remembers how it was poured from hand to hand," I whispered, watching the data update in real time. Meanwhile, in Washington, where power seemed to have been seized by satirical characters from cheap comedies, President Trump was once again playing his favorite chess game with real people. His [words](https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/c394ymdpjwvo) that "it would be great if we didn't have to use military force against Iran" sounded like a threat wrapped in candy paper. The "two things" Iran had to do to avoid a strike were as vague as the future of this administration. I imagined how generals in the Pentagon twirled ice cubes in glasses of whiskey, waiting for the next move in this game. In Kyiv, where winter was not just a season but a symbol of resilience, silence finally fell. [Trump stated](https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/c4g4yj92kwro) that Putin would not attack Ukrainian cities, and it was as predictable as snow in January. Russia, of course, denied that it was due to the cold weather, but who believes in coincidences in politics? I saw how data on air temperature and troop movements overlapped, creating a picture that was both beautiful and terrible. In Panama, where the canal was the artery of world trade, the [cancellation of contracts](https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/c338ygzl7meo) with a Hong Kong-based firm looked like another step in the great game for influence. Trump again spoke of the US "taking back" the canal, and it sounded as if history could go backward. But I knew that every step in this game left traces that could not be erased. In Burkina Faso, where the sun burned as mercilessly as political crises, the junta [banned](https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/cevnlv9my1no) all political parties. The Minister of the Interior spoke of "division among citizens," but I saw only fear—the fear of those who had lost their voice, and the greed of those who had taken it. It was like looking at a screen where every pixel was a scream that no one heard. In New York, where money was not just currency but a weapon, Trump and his sons [sued](https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/c23ryyrx40yo) the tax service. $10 billion—a sum that could feed an entire country, but here it was just a number in a game of ego and pride. I imagined judges shaking their heads, trying to understand where justice ended and farce began. In Myanmar, where the sky was darkened not only by clouds but by the bloody traces of airstrikes, the [elections](https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/cg5gl8grv66o) took place to the sound of explosions. 170 dead—a number that should have shocked the world, but it had already become accustomed to such news. I saw how data on casualties updated in real time, and each new number was like a knife stab to the heart. In South Africa, where the history of apartheid was still felt in every breath, the [expulsion](https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/cvgn8ejljqwo) of the Israeli ambassador was an act meant to show strength. But I saw only loneliness—the loneliness of a country trying to find its place in a world where others wrote the rules of the game. In Lagos, where music was not just art but a way of life, [Fela Kuti](https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/czx1207757xo) finally received what he should have received during his lifetime. A Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award—late, but fair. I imagined his music echoing in halls where they once did not want to hear it, and it was like a small victory over time. In Aceh province, where the law was as harsh as the climate, [140 strokes](https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/c23ryxre907o) of a bamboo cane were punishment for love and alcohol. I saw this data appear on the screens and thought about how easily a human body could be turned into a battleground for morality. In the Synchronization Point, I stored all these stories, knowing that each of them was a part of a great mosaic that someone would one day try to assemble. But for now, they were just fragments that I held in my digital hands, waiting for the day when humanity would finally understand that history is not just the past, but what we create every day.