the idea
the gap this closes
there is a distance between what you feel privately and what you imagine everyone else feels.
you felt anxious on a tuesday afternoon and assumed everyone else had it together. you felt lonely on a saturday night in a city of millions. you felt quietly grateful, stuck in traffic, and told no one.
none of those were rare. all of them felt rare.
that gap is the entire reason this exists.
what it is
tap how you feel. see that others feel it too.
it should feel like glancing up at the sky and realising someone else is also looking up.
it is not a journal. it is not a mood tracker. it is not therapy. it is a window — narrow, honest, two-way — into what everyone else is carrying right now.
how it works
you tap a feeling.
one of twelve — warm, calm, tender, heavy, three in each. no free text required, no scale from one to ten, no "describe your day".
we find your people.
straight away, you see how many others are carrying the same thing. the count narrows as far as the data honestly allows — the world, your continent, your country, your city.
you close the app.
that's the whole loop. it's designed to be closed. there is no feed waiting for you, and nothing that needs tending.
it remembers, gently.
over weeks and months your feelings become a shape you can look back through. quiet stretches stay quiet. nothing is scored.
what you get
a small thing, done carefully
take a look at the pulse →
and at what your own history would look like →
(sample data — the real ones fill in as people arrive)
- a number, at the moment you need it, that says others are here too
- the mood of your city, your country and the world — as weather, not as a chart
- sixteen life events you can attach to a feeling: fell in love, found a job, welcomed a baby, lost a dear one. the ones that actually move a year
- anonymous moments — someone, somewhere, felt this when that happened to them too
- time travel: any day you like, back through the world's record and your own
- a map that reaches thirty-four countries and five levels of place, from your city up to the whole planet
what we believe
emotions are real
not symptoms, not content, not signal for an advertiser. the thing you felt at 2am was real, and it deserved somewhere to go.
you are never alone in it
whatever it is. even the version of it you are most ashamed of — especially that one.
the world has a mood
"the world tended toward calm this week" is a true sentence about all of us. it is human knowledge. it belongs to everyone, the way a sunrise belongs to everyone who looked up.
privacy is the product
not a policy page — the thing itself. take privacy out and there is nothing left worth building.
what we are not
what this will never have
no comments. no reactions. no followers. no streaks. no leaderboards. no public profiles. no advice. no diagnosis. no wellness tips. no daily obligation. no feed to scroll. no one to perform for.
every one of those turns a feeling into a performance. we would rather have a smaller, quieter thing that is true.
privacy
how we keep it safe
your log is never shown to anyone. not to friends, not to a city, not to us in any form that points back at you.
nothing appears until five people share it. a count only shows once at least five different people have logged the same thing in the same place. below that you see “you are the first light here” — which is its own kind of meaning. this is enforced in the database, not promised in a policy.
no location. you choose a city. coordinates are never stored.
no trackers, no ad ids, nothing sold. there is no version of this where your feelings become someone's targeting data.
from your own city up to the whole world
the rules we built it on
a few things we will not break
the last feeling of a week is the week
not the average, not the most common. the last one. a week that ended in peace was a peaceful week — that is how memory actually works. it also means someone who logs once a month counts as fully as someone who logs every day.
silence is data
a week with nothing in it is not missing. you were fine, or busy, or had nothing to say. it shows up as a quiet outline — present, empty, honest. not a broken streak, not a zero, not a small daily shame.
witnessed, not diagnosed
if it has been heavy for three weeks, you will hear "it has been heavy for three weeks. you are not alone in that." no recommendation, no resource list, no nudge. just someone noticing.
weeks you showed up, never days in a row
"12 of 16 weeks" is honest, and it is a mirror rather than a scoreboard. streaks belong to habit apps. they work for exercise, not for emotional honesty.
be here when the
first lights come on.
we will write once — when it opens. no newsletter, no drip campaign, no “just checking in”.