**The Kindness Filter: A Dream That Needs to Happen**
“Sasha, remember how you asked me to tell you if I ever came across someone’s unspoken need—something they hadn’t even realised yet? Well, I’ve got one,” Emily paused in the doorway of her husband’s office, looking at him with quiet hope.
“Colour me intrigued, Emmy. Go on.”
“You know what’s painfully missing from all this online chatter?” She sat beside him, lowering her voice. “A kindness filter. Like a ‘light translator’ that turns rudeness, snark, and spite into something respectful and sane. So when you’re scrolling through comments or work emails, you don’t feel the urge to dive under the duvet.”
“Em, has someone upset you?”
“No, love, not one person. But lately, scrolling through socials, forums, work chats—it’s like getting buckets of anger, frustration, and aggression dumped on me. People don’t hold back anymore. They lash out, mock, belittle. As if all the brakes have failed.”
She paused, glancing down.
“Sometimes I wonder if it’s just me—maybe my nerves are shot. But then again, is it really normal that we’ve started treating rudeness like background noise?”
Sasha sighed. He’d seen her reading hundreds of messages daily, analysing public reactions for her job as an analyst at a big agency.
“Problem is, the loudest voices are often the angriest. There’ve always been a few, but the internet’s their perfect playground. Anonymity means no consequences, just raw emotion. But you’re right—the world’s getting toxic. And your idea? Bloody brilliant. Tell me more. How do you see it?”
“I’d want an app or extension. Say you’re reading YouTube comments—they’d automatically transform. Instead of ‘idiot,’ you’d see ‘I don’t follow your logic.’ Instead of ‘shut up,’ it’d say ‘maybe consider another angle?’ Imagine that.”
“Wait, so you’re not suggesting blocking, just… rewriting?”
“Exactly! But opt-in. The user turns on the filter and picks where it works—certain sites, work chats where civility matters.”
“What if it worked both ways? Softening your own messages before you hit send?”
“That’d be perfect! We’re not saints either, especially on bad days. Sometimes you just want to vent—then later, you cringe at what you typed. But here, the filter nudges you: ‘Could this be gentler? Maybe phrase it like this?’”
“Sounds like an in-built therapist with auto-censorship. Minus the lectures.”
“Precisely! And it’s got to be seamless—no copying text into separate apps. Just there, on the screen. Peace of mind’s a resource these days, worth its weight in gold.”
Sasha went quiet for a moment. Working in IT, he knew Emily’s idea wasn’t just clever—it could shift how people experience digital communication.
“We’ll discuss this with the team. Tomorrow. Definitely. It’s not just genius—it’s necessary. People need clean air. Without the poison.”
Emily exhaled, smiling properly for the first time that day.
“Thanks, Sasha. Really. I was starting to think I’d lost the plot—dreaming up something impossible. But maybe kindness is just… something we forgot. And it’s time to bring it back.”
He stood, pulling her into a hug.
“Right, that’s enough doomscrolling for today. Time for our personal kindness filter: quiet, cuddles, tea, and love. No conditions. No arguments. No filters required.”
She laughed, burying her face in his shoulder.
Outside, keyboards still clattered—someone typing a furious comment, another arguing till they were blue. But in that room, an idea was taking shape. Small, maybe, but enough to make the world a little warmer.
