When Everything Went Dark in a Blink

 Fourteen hours without electricity might not sound like much on paper. But when you actually live through it; no power, no internet, no mobile signal, not even emergency access to 112; it hits differently. The whole city had gone silent; as if someone had just switched off life itself.

At first, I thought it was just a regular power cut. It happens. But as the hours went by and nothing changed, the anxiety kicked in. So I decided to hop on my bicycle and ride through the city; maybe I could find someone who knew what was going on.

The streets were eerily quiet. But underneath that silence, there was a strange kind of invisible chaos. Traffic lights were down. Cars were stuck at intersections. Some were honking, others just frozen in place. People weren’t really walking; they were standing, looking around, unsure of their next move. It felt like we were all waiting for something; but no one knew what exactly.

It reminded me of scenes from The Day After Tomorrow or Contagion; not because it was the end of the world, but because it felt like the pause right before everything either collapses or transforms. That surreal, cinematic moment of “what now?”

But the worst part? The silence from the outside world.
No calls. No signal. No internet. No TV. Just rumors floating in the dark. Some people said it was a cyberattack; others believed it was a war, or a total infrastructure failure; even an EMP attack. Anything seemed possible because there was no official word. And in that moment, not knowing became more terrifying than the event itself.

It instantly took me back to the early days of the COVID lockdowns; that familiar confusion, fear, and floating in uncertainty.
Only this time, we didn’t even know if the world outside still existed.

Just a few weeks earlier, the European Union had officially recommended that all citizens prepare a 72-hour emergency kit; water, food, flashlight, batteries, essentials. I remember reading that and thinking, “Well, that’s dramatic.” But standing in that darkness, disconnected and uninformed, the message felt hauntingly real.

And then... there were the prepared ones.
People who clearly had thought this through long before the rest of us. They had bottled water, portable generators, canned food, solar-powered radios, fully charged power banks. I used to see those types in survivalist YouTube videos or post-apocalyptic movies and think, “Come on, it's not that serious.” But that night, I started seeing them differently. They weren’t paranoid; they were simply ready.

They reminded me of those characters in I Am Legend or World War Z; the ones who somehow manage to survive because they were thinking a few steps ahead, even when it made them seem odd.

Those 14 hours were more than just a blackout. They were a reminder of how deeply dependent we’ve become on invisible systems: electricity, communication, navigation, connection. When they disappear, so does our sense of control; and in many ways, our sense of self.

When the power finally came back, I felt something strange. I was relieved, of course; but I also knew something had changed in me. I no longer felt the quiet confidence that things would “just work.” That feeling of everything being under control? Gone.

So I made a list.
Not out of fear, but to avoid being caught off guard again. That night was a wake-up call; not just to be physically prepared, but to be mentally aware that things can change quickly, without warning, and without explanation.

But maybe the most important thing I realized was this: human connection doesn’t rely on signal, wires, or screens.

In the absence of everything, kindness filled the gap.
A neighbor knocked on the door just to check in. A stranger helped guide people with a flashlight. Someone at the gas station gave up their turn to a family who needed it more.

Right there, in the middle of the most tech-advanced era of human history; where we walk around with artificial intelligence in our pockets; human nature went back to its purest form.

We had no apps, no messages, no news.
And yet, we were already planning what to do if this situation dragged on for days. What to buy. Where to go. How to stay in touch. How to help each other.

Here in Spain, thanks to the warm-hearted and very calm people, everything is quickly forgotten. Things move on peacefully; Tranquilo!

That night reminded me that sometimes, everything has to shut down…
so that something deeper can switch back on.