Algorithmic Self

In today’s digital landscape, our identities are increasingly shaped by algorithms. These complex sets of rules and calculations determine the content we see on social media, the advertisements we encounter, and even the news we consume. This phenomenon, often referred to as the ‘algorithmic self,’ highlights the interplay between technology and personal identity. Algorithmic mechanisms on digital media are powered by social drivers, creating a feedback loop complicating the role of algorithms and existing social structures. 

At the core of the algorithmic self is the idea that our online behaviours and interactions feed into algorithms that, in turn, influence our future actions. Are we becoming the people our feeds want us to be? Scroll long enough on social media platforms like Insta, Tube, or FB and you’ll notice that the content feels uncannily tailored to you. Your feed seems to know what you crave before you do, an oddly perfect mix of travel destinations, recipes, memes, news, workouts, and political takes. This can lead to a more personalised online experience, but it also raises questions about the extent to which our choices are truly our own. What began as a convenience has evolved into something far more consequential. We are not merely using algorithms anymore; we are slowly becoming the selves they design for us.

Algorithms are built to predict and keep us engaged. Every click, pause, like, or scroll is recorded and analysed. In return, the system feeds us more of what we have already consumed. This sounds harmless. After all, who wouldn’t want relevant recommendations? But personalization is never neutral. When a platform rewards the content that hooks us, it amplifies our biases and shrinks our curiosity. Over time, the feedback loop begins to define our worldview, narrowing the range of opinions, art, music, or even relationships we encounter.

The unsettling part is that the algorithm’s goal is not truth, diversity, or personal growth. It is engagement. If desire makes you scroll, it will serve you love. If envy fuels your clicks, it will curate envy-inducing lifestyles. What feels like a reflection of your taste is often a reflection of what keeps you online.

Human behaviour is always shaped by culture, but algorithmic influence is different in speed and precision. Traditional media might set trends, but it never recalibrated itself in real time for every individual. Today, AI systems track micro-reactions—how long your eyes linger on a video frame, how quickly you swipe away, and adjust instantly.

This raises a disturbing question. When you decide to buy a product, support a social cause, or adopt a new hobby, how much of that decision is you, and how much is a carefully engineered nudge? We still feel autonomous because the algorithm rarely forces choices. Instead, it quietly limits what enters the realm of possibility. You can’t choose what you don’t see. Is this the erosion of free will?

Living in an algorithmic world also reshapes identity. Our “digital selves” are rewarded for consistency. The more we like certain posts, the more similar content we receive, and the more we feel pressure to maintain that version of ourselves, whether it’s the fitness enthusiast, the foodie, the activist, or the minimalist. The feed trains us to be predictable because unpredictability breaks the machine’s efficiency.

The rise of the algorithmic self also brings about ethical considerations. There are concerns about privacy, as the data collected to fuel these algorithms often includes personal and sensitive information. Additionally, there is the issue of transparency. Many algorithms operate as ‘black boxes,’ with their inner workings hidden from users. This lack of transparency can make it difficult to understand how decisions are being made and to hold platforms accountable for their actions.

Many people feel a subtle dissonance, their offline preferences drift, but their online persona stays fixed. We perform for the algorithm, optimizing captions, hashtags, even our emotions, to remain visible. Our feeds don’t just reflect who we are, they encourage us to stay who we were yesterday.

But then how do we break the loop?  The answer is not to reject technology altogether. Algorithms are not inherently evil; they can help us discover music, connect with communities, find a job we want, or learn skills we might never find on our own. The challenge is to reclaim agency within the system.

Practical acts of resistance can be quite simple, like, disrupting the feed by clicking on unfamiliar topics or following people outside your cultural bubble; time-box social media use or schedule ‘algorithm-free’ days; read newsletters or listen podcasts where engagement isn’t the primary metric. There could be several other ways to disrupt and reintroduce randomness. However, the most important step, is awareness. Algorithms will always evolve faster than regulations or ethical guidelines. The only lasting defence is a conscious user, someone who understands that every scroll is a form of training data.

The algorithmic self represents a significant shift in how we navigate our identities in the digital age. The question is not whether technology shapes us. It always has. As we continue to integrate technology into our daily lives, it is essential to remain mindful of the ways in which algorithms shape our identities and to advocate for greater transparency and ethical considerations in their design and implementation. The real question is whether we allow a handful of opaque systems to quietly define what we desire, believe, and become. If we don’t actively resist, our algorithmic selves may thrive while our authentic selves quietly disappear into the feed.

Cloud Atlas

by David Mitchell | 544 PagesGenre: Fiction | Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton | Year: 2004 | My Rating: 9.5/10

“A half-read book is a half-finished love affair.”
― David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas

Some novels entertain, others provoke. David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas does both and then something rarer still, it bends the time itself! Since its publication in 2004, this novel has become a cult classic, not only for its intricate structure but also for its audacious attempt to string together the vast tapestry of human existence from past, present and future. The book is one of the most original, unusual, and polarising works on this century.

Mitchell presents us with six interconnected stories that span centuries and genres, a 19th-century Pacific voyage, letters from a young composer in Belgium, a taut thriller set in 1970s California, a satirical farce about a vanity publisher, the interrogation of a genetically engineered clone in a near-future Korea, and a tale told in a fractured dialect after civilization’s collapse. At first, these stories seem like discrete novellas. Yet as each thread is interrupted and later resumed, patterns begin to emerge, as symbols, names, and echoes that ripple across time.

Reading Cloud Atlas is like listening to a symphony in six movements. Each section has its own rhythm, its own instrumentation, yet together they build a haunting, resonant chorus about power, exploitation, love, and resilience. The stories have drama, thrill, humour and fantasy, and takes a deep look into the nature of humanity and moral choices. Mitchell’s message is clear but never heavy-handed, history is cyclical, cruelty and greed recur, but so too do acts of kindness, rebellion, and hope.

A movie was released in 2012 based on the adaptation of the book by the same name featuring Tom Hanks and Halle Berry. The main difference between the book and the movie is the structure and depth, with the book offering distinct, in-depth narratives and complexities, while the movie uses a faster, intercutting cinematic style that emphasizes visual connections and emotion over intellectual understanding, though sometimes oversimplifying plot points like Sonmi-451’s ending. 

This brilliantly written book’s shift in style across the stories can be dizzying, and the patience it demands is substantial. But when the final notes fall into place, the reward is profound, a recognition that our lives, however fleeting, echo forward and backward, part of something infinitely larger.

Cloud Atlas is not just a novel, it is a meditation on the human nature, a daring cartography of time.

I am including some of my most favourite quotes from this book, which is totally worth mentioning with this review.

  • “Power, time, gravity, love. The forces that really kick ass are all invisible.”
  • “My life amounts to no more than one drop in a limitless ocean. Yet what is any ocean, but a multitude of drops?.”
  • “Anticipating the end of the world is humanity’s oldest pastime.”
  • “Nothing is as eloquent as nothing.”

How sustainable is Sustainability?

Few words have travelled as far and wide in recent decades as “sustainability”, and has certainly surpassed another overused (in recent past) term ‘social capital’ in usage! It has become synonymous with progress in corporate boardrooms, multilateral summits, government policies, NGO goals, and grassroots movements alike. From ESG scorecards to climate pledges, from net-zero roadmaps to community-led conservation, the language of sustainability has become universal. Every government strategy, corporate report, and grassroots initiative seems anchored in the promise of a more sustainable future. Yet beneath this consensus lies a paradoxical and uncomfortable question: ‘is the sustainability agenda itself sustainable?’

The modern sustainability agenda rests on a powerful proposition that economic growth, social equity, and environmental stewardship can be reconciled. This “triple bottom line” has mobilized unprecedented investment in renewable energy, green finance, and inclusive business models. It has inspired younger generations to demand more from institutions. And it has reframed long-term resilience as a competitive advantage, not a trade-off. But the very breadth of the agenda also makes it fragile. Sustainability risks becoming a catch-all phrase, diluted by overuse and co-opted for public relations more than systemic change. “Greenwashing” scandals, short political cycles, and the uneven costs of climate transitions all threaten to erode public trust. Without credibility and consistency, the agenda risks collapsing under its own ambition.

Sustainability requires commitments that extend far beyond the horizon of electoral politics. Yet in many countries, climate targets or ESG mandates are vulnerable to reversal when governments change. Contrast this with the European Union’s legally binding climate law, a structural safeguard that makes sustainability less of a political preference and more of a shared contract. Unless sustainability is institutionally embedded, it remains hostage to short sightedness.

Green growth advocates argue that economies can decouple prosperity from resource use. The rapid expansion of renewable energy, circular economy models, and impact investing provide evidence of possibility. Yet sceptics highlight that global consumption continues to outpace planetary boundaries. The sustainability agenda will endure only if it reconciles with the fundamental question of growth Vs limits. Can infinite growth coexist with finite resources?

No agenda, however well-intentioned, survives if it is perceived as unjust. For sustainability to be sustainable, it must embody fairness that includes redistributing costs, creating inclusive opportunities, and acknowledging diverse voices, particularly from the Global South. Social justice and legitimacy must go hand in hand.

Ultimately, sustainability is not just a strategy, it is a cultural shift. The more it embeds in consumer choices, organizational values, and educational systems, the harder it becomes to reverse. Yet cultural fatigue is real. When “sustainability” is reduced to a buzzword on every product label, development projects, and corporate brochure, it risks losing meaning. The agenda must therefore move from rhetoric to demonstrable impact, measured transparently and communicated honestly.

The sustainability agenda is both fragile and resilient. Fragile because it depends on long-term alignment across politics, markets, and societies, an alignment often in short supply. Resilient because it has transcended niche environmentalism to become a mainstream expectation that governments and corporations cannot ignore.

Its endurance will depend not on visionary statements but on institutional embedding, equitable policies, and a relentless focus on credibility. At its best, sustainability can serve as the organising principle of a new social contract, aligning business, government, and citizens toward long-term collective wellbeing. Sustainability will only be sustainable if it delivers, not someday, but today.

The next frontier is not about asking companies, governments, or communities to “do more” on sustainability. It is about demanding structural integrity – mechanisms, institutions, and accountability frameworks that ensure sustainability survives political shifts, economic pressures, and cultural fatigue.

Light

Light: Empty Space (Kefahuchi Tract) 

by M. John Harrison | 336 PagesGenre: Science Fiction/Fantasy Literature | Publisher: First edition published by Gollancz. My edition published by Orion Publishing | Year: 2002 | My Rating: 9/10

“When you have done all things worth doing, you’re forced to start on things that aren’t”
― John Harrison, Light

Light is profoundly complex, dark, draining, unusual sci-fi mystery with a great ending. It has an uneven mosaic of two timelines filled with symbolism and curious characters. It’s not an easy read, nor it is likeable in the first instance. The book builds on you with the time you invest through the pages and remain invested in the story. 

The story bridging three stories from present Earth of 1999 and post Earth with distant and futuristic galactic settings in the year 2400, initially feels disjointed. Yet Harrison’s skill lies in gradually and subtly revealing the connections among these strands that are anchored by the mysterious cosmic phenomenon known as the Kefahuchi Tract. In this future, humanity is scattered across planets surrounding the Kefahuchi Tract, a space-time anomaly, a “singularity without an event horizon”. Violence and sex recur throughout in brusque, almost clinical tones as part of a broader theme that human depravity and detachment persist, whether in corporeal present or digital futurity.

In 1999 London, Michael Kaerney, quantum physicist and serial killer, is seeking an escape in a future that doesn’t yet exist – a quantum world that he hope to access through a breach of time and space. In this future, Seria Mau Genlicher has already sacrificed her body to merge into the systems of her starship, the White Cat. In this future, Ed Chianese, a drifter and adventurer, has ridden dynaflow ships, run old alien mazes, surfed stellar envelopes. Haunting them all through this maze of menace and mystery is the shadowy presence of the Shrander, a being with a horse skull for a head. 

I have wanted to read this book for so long, until I received it as a birthday gift 22 years later. This enigmatic blend of literary complexity, cyberpunk, and metaphysical dread is worth reading. However, this certainly is not a casual read. You need focus and dark scientific imagination to relish its thematic depth. Once you have read this, you would be hooked to read the two sequels Harrison wrote, completing the triology.