Writeabout

A person is handed a box of someone else's archived life — letters, photos, receipts, a journal — and told to decide what gets kept for a museum. Write the scene where they find something that makes the decision impossible

Plain text files outlast almost every proprietary format. What principles guide how you store the things that matter to you long-term?

Institutions preserve history on our behalf, but they choose what matters. What do you think gets left out, and does that concern you?

How much of your digital life would make sense to someone who found it in 100 years? Does it truly represent who you are as a person?

Describe your current system for deciding what stays and what goes — whether that's email, files, physical stuff, or something else entirely.

Digital archives are fragile in ways physical ones aren't. What have you lost to a dead platform, a deleted account, or a format no one can open anymore?

What's the one folder, notebook, or box you've never been able to throw away — and what does keeping it say about you?

In a future where every human decision is routed through a global AI to find the path of least resistance, one person begins making deliberately inefficient choices — and the system notices.

Gardens are often seen as a place of refuge, growth, and patience. What role does tending to something living — whether a garden, a plant, or anything that needs care — play in your life?

How has an event from the last twenty years quietly changed the way you live, work, or see the world today?