satire
Workplace satire, comedy, and all things satirical in the Journal corporate culture digital space.
The Gate We All Walk Through
I didn’t realize I’d disappeared until I saw my reflection and didn’t recognize myself. It wasn’t sudden. It was slow—a word silenced here, an opinion softened there, a laugh forced to match the room. I traded pieces of myself for acceptance, like coins dropped into a vending machine that never gave back what I paid for.
By KAMRAN AHMAD3 days ago in Journal
The Keeper of Secrets
I didn’t go in for a book. I went in to escape the rain. It was a gray Tuesday in March, the kind of day that presses down on your chest like a wet blanket. I’d just received news I wasn’t ready for—a job lost, a relationship frayed, the quiet unraveling of plans I’d spent years building. I walked without direction, shoulders hunched, until I saw it: a narrow storefront with a flickering “Open” sign and a window full of leaning paperbacks.
By KAMRAN AHMAD3 days ago in Journal
The Last Game of the Season
I didn’t go for the win. I went because it was the last game. The gym was packed—folding chairs lined the walls, parents stood in the back, and the buzz of nervous energy hung thick in the air. Two rival high schools, decades of history, one championship on the line. But I wasn’t there for the trophy. I was there for my nephew, who’d spent all season riding the bench.
By KAMRAN AHMAD3 days ago in Journal
The Man Who Fixed the Clock
I didn’t notice the clock was broken until it stopped. It sat on the corner shelf of my grandparents’ living room for as long as I could remember—brass, ornate, with Roman numerals and a soft, steady tick that marked the rhythm of every visit. My grandfather wound it every Sunday without fail, even in his nineties, even when his hands shook.
By KAMRAN AHMAD3 days ago in Journal
The Boy Who Carried the Ball Home
I didn’t go to the game for the score. I went because my nephew asked me to. He’s twelve, wears his hair in a messy bun, and talks about basketball like it’s a secret language only he and the ball understand. “It’s not about winning,” he’d said, eyes bright. “It’s about who shows up when it matters.”
By KAMRAN AHMAD3 days ago in Journal
Why We Watch the Fall
I’ve never worn gloves. But I’ve stood in my own ring. It was a rainy Tuesday in March. I sat across from a hiring panel, my résumé trembling in my hand, reciting answers I’d rehearsed for weeks. I’d been unemployed for eight months. My savings were gone. That job wasn’t just a paycheck—it was my lifeline. When they said, “We’ll be in touch,” I knew. The silence that followed wasn’t neutral. It was final.
By KAMRAN AHMAD9 days ago in Journal
The Boy Who Didn’t Look Away
I was seventeen the first time I saw someone truly lose—and not just lose, but lose in front of everyone. It was a school assembly. A poetry contest. My friend Mateo had spent weeks writing a piece about his mother’s hands—how they cracked from cleaning other people’s houses, how they still braided his little sister’s hair every morning before dawn. He stood at the mic, voice trembling at first, then rising like a song. For three minutes, the gym was silent. Then he finished. And no one clapped.
By KAMRAN AHMAD9 days ago in Journal
The Night Football Felt Like Church
I’d never been to Lambeau Field. I wasn’t a diehard fan. I didn’t own a jersey. I couldn’t name the starting quarterback. But when my brother called in late November—voice hoarse from crying—he didn’t ask for advice. He just said, “Come with me to the game. I can’t go alone.”
By KAMRAN AHMAD9 days ago in Journal
The Year I Watched the Light Fall
I didn’t plan to watch the countdown that year. 2025 had worn me thin—layoffs, loss, the kind of loneliness that makes even your own voice feel like a stranger. By December, I’d stopped believing in fresh starts. New Year’s Eve felt like a cruel joke: a world celebrating while I was just trying to survive the night.
By KAMRAN AHMAD9 days ago in Journal
The Night I Learned to Hope Again
I never believed in New Year’s Eve. For years, I called it a corporate fantasy—a glittery distraction sold to people who needed to believe time could be reset like a clock. I rolled my eyes at the countdowns, the fireworks, the forced resolutions. Hope, I thought, wasn’t something you found on a screen. It was something you earned in silence, alone.
By KAMRAN AHMAD9 days ago in Journal
New Year Countdown 2026
Introduction I’ve never been to Times Square on New Year’s Eve. I’ve never stood in the cold, shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers, breath visible in the winter air. But for as long as I can remember, I’ve been there in spirit—on my couch, wrapped in a blanket, eyes fixed on a glowing orb descending through the New York night.
By KAMRAN AHMAD9 days ago in Journal
Happy New Year to the World
Introduction As the clock winds down on 2025, a quiet miracle unfolds: nearly 8 billion people, across 195 countries, pause to honor the same moment. From Sydney’s harbor to New York’s Times Square, from Lagos streets to Reykjavik homes, the world unites—not in language or politics, but in hope.
By KAMRAN AHMAD10 days ago in Journal
