It's a shimmering soap bubble that looks beautiful in the sunlight.
But we all know how a soap bubble behaves.

Sooner or later… it bursts.

This is my storytelling-driven observation about that bubble — and about the moment it finally bursts.

Scene 1: The Woman With 14 Minutes

I once visited an elderly woman living alone. She received home-care services every day. She would always say:

“What I need most isn’t the help. It’s that someone has time to say hello.”

Then the company running the home care was bought by an investment firm. Overnight, everything changed. Not in the uniforms. Not in the routines. But in the eyes of the staff. Because they no longer had time to be human.

“Maximum 14 minutes,” they were told.

It didn’t matter that she needed 20.
Or 40.
The margin had become more important than the moment.

Standing there in her small apartment, with a cup of cold coffee on the table, it struck me:

We have built a system where human beings risk becoming a rounding error.

Scene 2: Children Who Became a Business Model

Years later, I found myself in a school corridor. Kids were running, laughing, arguing — just being kids. A normal day in a normal school.

Except this was a for-profit school.

I overheard a principal explain:

“We need more low-resource students; otherwise we’ll run a deficit.”

Run a deficit.
As if children were stocks.
As if their brains were assets on a balance sheet.
As if their difficulties were bad investments.

It hit me hard:
We have normalized something we should never have accepted.

We treat children like customers.
Even though children are the only future we actually have.

Scene 3: The Municipality That Couldn’t Afford Stability

I once sat in a municipal meeting where they debated whether they could afford to hire more social workers.

“It’s too expensive,” they said.
“We must cut costs.”

Meanwhile, the same municipality spent millions on external consultants — from stock-listed firms — hired to “optimize” the system.

They couldn’t afford stability.
But they could afford chaos, as long as it came in a PowerPoint.

It was then I realized that our compass isn’t broken.
We’ve simply replaced it with a calculator.

The Slow Creep of a Broken Logic

It didn’t happen overnight.

Bit by bit, the idea spread:

• First, schools became a market.

• Then healthcare became an investment opportunity.

• Then elderly care became a “growth sector.”

• Then housing became speculation.

• Even public transport became a customer flow model.

Every step was sold to us as efficiency.
A smarter system.
More choices.

But beneath the slogans, something began to creak.
Like a ship filling slowly with water while everyone insists it’s sailing better than ever.

When Society Forgets What Is Valuable

Standing on mountain peaks, on ship decks, backstage at concerts, or in offices, I’ve often asked myself:

What are we actually trying to create here?

Because somewhere along the way, we mixed up two completely different things:

Company prosperity
and
societal well-being.

A company can show perfect results on paper while the people inside it break down.

A school can deliver beautiful financial reports while students fall behind.

A healthcare unit can reduce its costs while patients wait months for help.

Profit does not equal progress.
Profit does not equal stability.
Profit does not equal life.

The Story of the Broken Compass

I once worked on a large project filled with glossy presentations, growth forecasts and “scalable opportunities.” Everything looked perfect — until you entered the room.

It had no soul.
No purpose beyond numbers.
It was a beautifully wrapped vacuum.

And I walked away.
Not because the job was too hard, but because the emptiness was.

When profit becomes bigger than purpose, you lose your direction.
It’s like navigating without a compass.
You move.
You measure.
You accelerate.

But you have no idea where you’re going.

Society as a Body

I often think of society as a human body.

The heart doesn’t make money.
The lungs don’t deliver quarterly reports.
The liver doesn’t optimize profit margins.
The kidneys don’t outsource their responsibilities.

They simply do what they are supposed to do — for the whole to function.

But we have built a system where someone says:

• “The lungs must be more efficient.”

• “The heart must be profitable.”

• “Let’s privatize the skeleton.”

• “Outsource the immune system.”

And then we’re surprised when the body collapses.

The Big Question: When Does the Bubble Burst?

Here’s the question no one dares to ask out loud:

When does the bubble burst?
Which year?

People imagine bubbles bursting like stock-market crashes — suddenly, dramatically, overnight.

But societal bubbles don’t work like that.
They burst slowly.
Silently.
Through thousands of small cracks.

And we already see the cracks:

• children not getting the support they need

• healthcare queues stretching into years

• municipalities running deficits

• teachers leaving the profession

• a mental health crisis with no end

• aging populations without care

• social systems too empty to catch anyone

These are not statistics.
They are fracture lines.

If I were forced to name a year — the year when the illusion finally collapses, when we can no longer pretend everything works — then my answer is clear:

2030.

2030 is when three lines intersect:

1. The demographic wave
Huge numbers retire; too few replace them in the workforce.

2. Decades of underfunded welfare hit the wall
Small annual cuts accumulate into a massive structural deficit.

3. The market-driven welfare model reaches its breaking point
For 25–30 years it has extracted value instead of adding it.
There is nothing left to squeeze.

2030 won’t be an explosion.
It will be a realization.
A collective awakening.

People will ask:

“Who is this system actually built for?”

And why does the society itself receive so little in return?

What Happens When the Bubble Bursts?

It won’t be dramatic.

It will be quiet.
Like frost settling over a field.

• More health clinics will shut down.

• More schools will collapse under pressure.

• More municipalities will raise taxes and cut services simultaneously.

• More elderly will be left isolated.

• More young people will leave — mentally or physically.

• More professions will crumble under workload.

• More people will break before the system does.

But we will finally see the truth:
We designed everything around profitability — not humanity.

And a society designed around profit… will eventually produce social poverty.

But There Is Also Light

When bubbles burst, something else happens:
You see clearly again.

Illusions disappear.
Reality steps forward.

And I have a strong feeling that after 2030, we will start rebuilding — not backwards, but forwards — with realism instead of ideology.

We will say:

• “Schools should serve children, not shareholders.”

• “Healthcare must be care, not a business model.”

• “A human being is not a cost.”

• “Welfare must reinvest in itself.”

• “Market logic cannot govern essential services.”

And we will finally ask:

What is the purpose of a society?
And who is it meant to serve?

Through the cracks, light enters.

Final Scene

I picture myself sitting at a table with others in 2030, opening the news on a phone or a screen. Headlines about crisis. Decline. Shortages.

But we won’t be surprised.
We knew the bubble would burst.

And we’ll also know that broken things can be rebuilt.
That collapse is not only an ending — but also a beginning.

Because when a bubble bursts…

air flows in, vision sharpens, and we finally see what truly matters.