Wow. Look at me — in an era where everyone’s obsessed with writing about hot, trendy topics just to rank higher on Google, here I am writing about the forgotten one: the metaverse.

You know why? Because I don’t give a damn about ranking.
I write to put my thoughts on record — to capture a moment, a feeling, before it fades.

And something is boiling again.

I feel the same strange pressure I felt a few years ago when I first heard about OpenAI and this weird thing called ChatGPT — back when nobody outside the tech bubble cared yet. I couldn’t sleep then, and I can’t now.

Because this time, that same quiet revolution feeling is back.When Facebook changed its name to Meta, I remember thinking: Zuckerberg has finally lost it.

A trillion-dollar company betting everything on a headset that looks like a toaster glued to your face? It sounded like the worst idea ever.

Even my kids could tell. They tried one of those VR headsets once and lasted maybe ten minutes before giving it back. “It’s too hot,” they said. “And it smells weird.”

And that’s when something clicked in my head. How could the smartest engineers in the world, sitting on more behavioral data than most governments, miss something so obvious that even an eight-year-old could see?

For a while, I convinced myself they were just wrong. Another case of Silicon Valley arrogance — rich geniuses trying to build science fiction instead of fixing reality.

But then one night I couldn’t sleep. I kept turning over this thought in my mind: What if they weren’t wrong… just early?

We always laugh at the first version of anything. The first computer filled a room. The first mobile phone was heavier than a brick. The first electric car looked like a golf cart.

The metaverse, I realized, didn’t fail because people didn’t want it. It failed because the door was too big.

Nobody wants to live with a scuba mask on their face. But what if the “headset” eventually disappears? What if the interface becomes a pair of glasses? Or contact lenses? Or—one day—a tiny chip that connects directly to our brain?

That’s when everything starts to make sense.

Because I look at my kids, and I see that they already live in the metaverse — just not the one Zuckerberg built. Their digital life isn’t separate from reality. It is reality.

Their Roblox skins matter more than their sneakers.
Their status comes from followers, ranks, digital trophies.
Their friendships exist in worlds made of pixels, but the emotions are completely real.

They don’t draw a line between the physical and the digital — only adults do that. For them, both are real.

And maybe that’s the point.

We grew up believing that “real” meant physical — the things you could touch, build, buy. But this new generation believes something else entirely: real is whatever other people see and respond to.

And that’s where things start to connect for me — especially thinking about what we’re building at SuitesFlow.

Because we’re already digitalizing physical real estate — creating digital twins of buildings that people can explore, tour, and even design before the walls exist. Today, it feels like a productivity tool. Tomorrow, it could be something else entirely.

Imagine this: in twenty years, people won’t buy homes because of where they are, but because of how they feel inside digital space. The “dream home” might exist half in reality and half in code.

People could live in small, efficient physical units but own vast digital properties — with views of Mars or Manhattan or something completely impossible.

And for me, coming from this field, that image feels completely natural.

I can easily imagine a world where the physical home becomes nothing more than a box — clean, minimal, almost empty — because everything meaningful happens through augmented reality.

You put on your lightweight AR glasses, or maybe you don’t even need them anymore, and that same white box turns into anything.

One moment it’s the Louvre.
The next, it’s a beach house in Bali.
A minute later, you’re floating above the Moon in a glass capsule watching the Earth rise.

The walls don’t change — the experience does.

That’s the real revolution. It’s not about escaping reality like VR tries to do. It’s about expanding it.
It’s about layering endless dimensions of meaning, design, and identity over the simplest physical structure.

When you think about it that way, the future of housing stops being about location or square footage. It becomes about bandwidth. About the quality of your digital layer — your personal world.

And the limits? They’re already gone.

We used to say “the only limit is human creativity.” But now we live in a world where AI can generate worlds, architecture, even emotions. So maybe the limit isn’t creativity anymore — it’s imagination speed. How fast we can dream, design, and render new realities into being.

And that’s exactly where SuitesFlow fits. Because if the “box” becomes universal — a neutral container for infinite digital worlds — then our job is to make that container intelligent, connected, and ready for transformation.

Real estate, in this new context, becomes software infrastructure. A living, adaptive surface for human experience.

And it won’t feel fake. It’ll feel personal.

The same way a social media profile became an extension of identity, digital property could become an extension of belonging.

That’s when I stopped laughing at Meta. Because maybe Zuckerberg wasn’t betting on VR headsets — maybe he was betting on human evolution.

Think about it. In the 1960s, computers were the size of basketball courts. Today, they fit in our pockets. The next logical step is that they’ll live in our minds. The only question is when.

So maybe the metaverse isn’t a joke — maybe it’s just waiting for the right generation, and the right interface.

And that realization changed how I see what we’re doing at SuitesFlow. When we build digital twins today, we’re not just creating marketing tools. We’re laying the foundation for a future where every physical property has a living digital counterpart — a space that can be experienced, modified, or even lived in through new kinds of interfaces.

One day, those digital properties could be more valuable than the physical ones. Not because they replace reality, but because they expand it.

And when that happens, we won’t talk about “virtual tours” anymore. We’ll talk about places that exist in two worlds at once.

That’s why I think the metaverse didn’t fail. It’s just waiting for its hardware to catch up — and for its generation to grow up.

Because while we’re still joking about clunky headsets, kids are already spending their childhoods building universes online. They’re the new garage inventors. And one of them will wake up one day and create a digital world so compelling that reality itself starts to feel optional.

And when that happens, people will look back at Meta’s big gamble and realize: maybe they weren’t wrong. Just early.

Maybe that’s why I can’t stop thinking about all this. The metaverse, AR, AI, digital twins — they’re not fantasies anymore. They’re drafts of the next human chapter, the quiet beginning of a world where imagination becomes architecture.

Sometimes I think about writers like Asimov and Orwell — how they didn’t just predict the future, they warned it. They wrote not because they knew, but because they sensed the current shifting under their feet.

So maybe this essay isn’t a prediction either. Maybe it’s just a note in a bottle, drifting toward the next generation.

If someone finds it fifty years from now — maybe my grandson — I hope he smiles and says, “He wasn’t completely crazy.”

Because maybe, just maybe, I could be right this time.