eudaimonia being human

Eudaimonia: When Being Human Was Enough”

From Laraib Zahra

Once upon a time, far from Earth, beyond the reach of our skies, there existed a planet called the Worthlands.

In the Worthlands, there was an equal proportion of humans and ghosts. Whenever a human was born, a little ghost was born by their side. These little ghosts were called Hounds. Every Hound possessed a superpower: it could know exactly what its human companion was thinking. The entire planet was ruled by three powerful ghosts, commonly known by humans and Hounds as the Great 3Gs. Each of the three had a separate kingdom. They were the Ghost of Guilt, the Ghost of Productivity, and the Ghost of Fear.

The Ghost of Guilt was the eldest of the three. He controlled the capital of the Worthlands. He had his own Guilt Police and Guilt Pumps. Guilt was a magical liquid found inside these pumps. The Guilt Police, along with the Hounds, kept a constant check on the behaviour of the people in the capital. Their job was to make sure that nobody ever ran out of fuel—the fuel of guilt.

Whenever a person was caught running out of guilt, the Hounds immediately reported them to the Guilt Police. They were then provided with more guilt fuel to make sure that nobody went “insane.” The biggest crime in the capital was the Rest Crime.

As soon as a person became exhausted and decided to take some rest, the Hounds would begin fiercely whispering in their ears:

“Strong people don’t stop.”

They would tell them not to rest until they reached somewhere. But where exactly this “somewhere” was, nobody really knew.

Sometimes, when a person was genuinely unable to work any further because of an overwhelming workload, the Hounds would call specialised therapists known as the Fear Feeders from the Kingdom of Failure for counselling—a kingdom I shall discuss in greater detail later.

On the other hand, the entire north of the Worthlands was ruled by the second Great Ghost: the Ghost of Productivity. Unlike the Guilt Police, who were actually in charge of the capital, there was no such police force in the north. Instead, there was a ministry known as the Ministry of Merit.

The humans there were never supposed to sit idle. Instead, they were expected to work harder and harder to make sure that they remained at the top of the list maintained by the Ministry of Merit. Every year, there was a grand ceremony known as the Annual Worth Ceremony. The humans who earned the highest number of merit points received a golden star carved with their names in the Worth Register of the Ministry of Merit.

Every time a human refused to rest in order to increase their productivity, the Hounds would greet them by saying:

“Congratulations! You have earned three merit points.”

Humans were comparatively happier in the north than in the other two kingdoms because here, they were rewarded with golden stars bearing their names. The more golden stars a human had beside their name in the Worth Register, the more likely they were to become part of the Hounds—the most respected position in the Worthlands.

After all, the Hounds had the superpower to read human minds, and they could even fly.

Their slogan was:

“You could be doing more.”

To the south lay the third kingdom—the Kingdom of Failure, ruled by the Great Ghost of Fear. This kingdom was the most terrible of them all. The humans there were weak and diseased. Every second person was a victim of anaemia. They looked as though they had been starving for days, perhaps even weeks.

On the contrary, the Great Ghost of Fear was the fattest of the three ghosts.

The reason for this strange contrast was hidden in the Hounds.

Unlike the Hounds in the north and the capital, the Hounds in the south had a distinct name. They were called Fear Feeders.

The Fear Feeders had one duty: to sense fear-bearing thoughts in human minds and suck them out, because the Great Ghost of Fear fed on those thoughts.

There were many kinds of fears that humans carried in that kingdom:

The fear of not doing enough.

The fear of getting left behind.

The fear of failure.

And many more.

The Fear Feeders collected these thoughts and presented them to their master. The Great Ghost of Failure had one dish that was especially dear to him. It was his favourite dish of all:

“What If” Spaghetti.

“What If” Spaghetti was a special dish found in all three kingdoms, but it was particularly abundant in the Kingdom of Failure. The humans looked starved because they had to constantly produce fear in their minds so that they could feed it to the Fear Feeders.

These fears were produced through a process called whispering, carried out by Hounds that were not themselves Fear Feeders.

Then, one day, something unexpected happened.

A few Hounds disappeared.

Seven Hounds.

Everyone in the Worthlands was deeply concerned about their sudden disappearance.

The Guilt Police, along with other investigation departments, launched a search operation. But not even a single missing Hound was found. The humans whose Hounds were missing were arrested and questioned. The results of the investigation shocked everyone in the Worthlands.

The Hounds could only exist if their humans obeyed them.

This was something that neither the Hounds nor the humans had ever known before. The humans whose Hounds had disappeared were, surprisingly, close friends. During the investigation, they confessed that one day, they had decided to step back from their usual exhausting routines and take a break to rest their tired and ruptured nerves.

All of a sudden, seven Hounds appeared and began whispering their usual slogans:

“Strong people don’t stop.”

“What if you get left behind?”

And their most favourite:

“You could be doing more.”

The humans became lost in their thoughts once again and decided to give up on their plan to rest. But then, suddenly, a voice echoed through the room:

“But we are more than what we produce.”

Everyone was shocked. For the very first time in the history of the Worthlands, a human had questioned a Hound. They noticed something strange. The Hound had become slightly smaller. Watching this whole scenario, another friend spoke in a low voice:

“Our worth needs no marks.”

The Hound became even smaller. And then, suddenly, it disappeared. The circle of friends had broken the code. They now understood the truth. The Hounds had been monitoring their thoughts all along.

Their only duty was to inspect and inject thoughts of guilt, productivity, and failure into human minds. If there were no negative and overpowering thoughts—thoughts that distorted the true meaning of productivity and merit—there would be no Hounds.

A flow of words that had the power to tear the Hounds apart began echoing through the room:

“Our worth needs no marks.”

“We are humans, not machines.”

“Rest is not rebellion.”

And many more.

One by one, they witnessed all seven Hounds disappear. The confession sparked a huge controversy across the Worthlands. Every human was now aware of their actual worth.

They finally realised that having a golden star beside their name could never be compared with the value of their health, their peace, and their well-being.

Days passed.

Then weeks.

And eventually, there was not a single Hound left in the Worthlands.

The Great 3Gs were no longer great.

The humans had thrown them out of the Worthlands with a huge catapult, sending them far beyond the reach of their planet. The Worthlands was finally ghost-free. And the humans gave their planet a new name:

Eudaimonia.

A life well lived.

Perhaps that was the greatest victory of all. They finally understood that they had never been machines in need of repair, nor workers in need of constant direction. They were simply human. And that had always been enough.

By: Laraib Zahra Sial

About the author: Author is a student of International Relations at Department of Political Science, University of the Punjab. It’s her first effort and she really is enthusiastic to do more. 

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It is crucial to mention here that water forms the basis of all sorts of social and economic development, and we must learn to manage water sustainably to ensure a resilient Pakistan for all. We must invest heavily in constructing dams of all sizes to increase surface water availability and to enhance per-capita water in Pakistan. Here is an example. Do you know that Sweden has roughly 10,000 dams to manage surface water. It is quite simple, the

  • Self-Inflicted: How Pakistan’s Energy Regula…

    Pakistan does not need an external adversary to explain its economic decline. It has one at home, operating out of two regulatory buildings in Islamabad: the National Electric Power Regulatory Authority and the Oil and Gas Regulatory Authority, backstopped by a Ministry of Power and a Ministry of Petroleum that have spent two decades signing contracts, indexing tariffs, and deferring hard decisions in ways that now function less like national stewardship and more like a slow, self-administered dismantling of the country’s own industrial base. There is an old Urdu instinct for this kind of failure — “apne pairon par khud kulhari maarna,” to swing the axe onto your own foot — and it captures the pattern better than any conspiracy theory could. Nobody needs to have plotted Pakistan’s energy collapse. Two regulators simply kept striking the same foot, quarter after quarter, determination after determination, until there was nothing left to stand on. Start with NEPRA, and start with the number that should embarrass every member of its board. On August 10, 2026, the Authority approved a 30-year, 9.4-US-cent tariff for the 102 MW Gulpur hydropower project — a project whose tariff history is itself a case study in regulatory drift, having been revised in 2015, modified again in 2021 for exchange-rate relief, and delayed by force majeure claims for the better part of a decade before finally being settled this month, over the recorded dissent of one of NEPRA’s own members. Three weeks earlier, the same regulator had approved a tariff of just 3.0899 US cents for a 269 MW hybrid wind-and-solar project at Dhabeji.  A regulator capable of holding both of those numbers in its hands in the same month and treating them as equally acceptable outcomes is not pricing risk. It has simply stopped asking what things should cost. Then, in February 2026, NEPRA turned the same instinct on ordinary citizens. Its Prosumer Regulations 2026 dismantled the one-to-one net metering framework that had made rooftop solar a rational household investment, replacing it with net billing: excess power sold back to the grid at the National Average Energy Purchase Price of roughly Rs 10–13 per unit, while the same household buys grid electricity back minutes later at full retail rates. A citizen who financed their own panels, took on their own installation risk, and asked nothing from the state now effectively subsidizes the grid every time the sun shines. Compare that to Gulpur’s sponsors, who face none of that asymmetry and are guaranteed indexed returns for three decades. The Ministry of Power approved this framework and let it stand, even after the Prime Minister was reported to have ordered a NEPRA appeal to protect existing solar users — an appeal that, months later, has changed remarkably little for new applicants. OGRA, the sister regulator for oil and gas, has been just as busy inflicting damage of its own kind, and its failures deserve equal billing, because it is the gas sector, not electricity, that has produced Pakistan’s most persistent circular debt crisis. By July 2026, Pakistan’s gas circular debt had reached roughly Rs 3.44 trillion, and the country had missed an IMF deadline for a gas tariff notification that the Fund treats as a structural benchmark for the entire bailout program. OGRA’s own determinations tell the story: SNGPL and SSGC continue to report system losses well above the “unaccounted-for-gas” allowances built into their tariffs — 8.8 % actual against a roughly 7 % allowance for SNGPL, and a startling 13.6 % actual against an 8.2 % allowance for SSGC — with the gap simply passed through to consumers as cost rather than treated as the operational failure it is. In July 2026, when OGRA’s own recalculated prescribed prices should have lowered consumer gas bills, the federal government instead chose to keep tariffs unchanged and let SNGPL bank a projected Rs 44 billion surplus and SSGC a smaller one, rather than pass relief to the households and factories paying the bill. This is not regulation. It is bookkeeping in service of institutional convenience, dressed up as prudence. The consequence of all this — NEPRA’s mispriced generation contracts, its punitive treatment of rooftop solar, OGRA’s tolerance of chronic system losses, and both ministries’ shared unwillingness to force a reckoning — is a business environment where foreign direct investors cannot model their own electricity or gas costs five years out, let alone thirty. Industrial production stalls not because Pakistani manufacturers lack skill or ambition, but because no factory can plan around a power bill and a gas bill set by regulators who reward legacy contracts over least-cost technology and who treat circular debt as something to defer rather than solve. Pakistan’s Interior Minister recently said publicly that “the system has collapsed” — a remark aimed at governance and security, but one that describes the energy sector with uncomfortable precision, and one the security establishment has been strangely slow to connect to its own economic consequences. A country cannot out-negotiate a debt crisis it keeps manufacturing at the regulator’s desk every single quarter. None of this requires believing anyone set out to sabotage the country. It requires recognizing that an institution can do a slow version of the same damage through nothing more than inertia, misaligned incentives, and a persistent unwillingness to price energy the way the rest of the world now prices it — cheaply, competitively, and honestly. NEPRA and OGRA do not need another IMF-mandated hearing or another quarterly adjustment. They need leadership willing to admit that thirty years of axe-swings at the country’s own foot is enough, and that the next tariff determination should finally start asking what things should cost, not merely what precedent allows. So who actually chooses the people who run NEPRA and OGRA? This is the part of the story that gets almost no scrutiny, and it should. Both chairmen are selected by the federal cabinet from shortlists assembled by selection committees chaired by a serving federal minister — for NEPRA, historically the Minister for

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