We used to know how to take care of ourselves.

Not long ago, humanity could grow food in its backyard, drink water it gathered from the sky, and feel the rhythm of the seasons in its own bones.

We didn’t outsource life to systems we couldn’t see or touch. We lived slower, yes—but we also lived closer.

Closer to the earth, to each other, and to what we actually needed.

Then progress came—and with it, a quiet forgetting.

We learned to make machines that think faster than us, built cities of glass and metal, wired the world with information.

But in the process, we forgot how to feed ourselves. We forgot how to feel safe in our own hands.

We optimized everything, but we lost our sovereignty.

We made convenience the highest god, and in doing so, we gave up the simplest form of freedom: being able to grow something and eat it, with no one in between.

My name is Mantas, and for me, it started with tomatoes.

Not the kind you find in supermarkets—uniform, tasteless, numb.

I’m talking about the tomatoes from my grandfather’s greenhouse in a small Lithuanian village called Selema.

These tomatoes didn’t need branding. They had a scent so real, so powerful, that you could smell them before you saw them.

They tasted like sunlight and soil. They tasted like home.

And though I didn’t know it at the time, they planted something in me too.

In that same village, long before I was born, a man named Kazys Grinius once walked.

He was a doctor, a president, a protector of dignity and truth.

There’s a monument to him in Selema—one I used to mow the grass around with my grandfather.

I didn’t understand what he stood for back then. I only knew I was helping. I only knew it felt right.

Now I know it was legacy.

Selema is not just a name. It’s not just where I come from. It’s a memory, a promise, a design principle.

And now, it’s a company—created to build a new kind of life system for the world.

Not software. Not gadgets. But intelligent, living structures that serve humanity the way nature once did—with grace, beauty, and care.

Our first creation is called Edena.

She is not a device. She is not a machine that needs your attention. She is not another app.

Edena is a self-sustaining, intelligent food biome. She runs on sunlight. She collects and purifies rainwater. She reuses her own nutrients.

She grows vegetables, fruits, herbs—with no effort from you. When the time is right, she harvests them with care.

She stores them in a naturally cooled compartment. And when you walk near her, she knows. She lights up. She opens. She gives.

You don’t command her. You don’t schedule her. You don’t tell her what to do.

You simply live, and she grows life around you.

You don’t have to understand how Edena works to know she matters.

You’ll feel it the first time you see her glow at night.

The first time your child picks strawberries from her drawer.

The first time you eat something that never knew plastic, shipping, or shelves.

You’ll feel it when the world outside feels uncertain—and Edena is still quietly growing.

Because in a world drowning in distraction, she is stillness.

In a system built on dependence, she is sovereignty.

And in a time when most companies want your attention, we want to give you something that asks for nothing—and offers everything.

We’re building Edena because we believe food should not be a luxury.

Because every home should be able to feed itself.

Because every neighborhood, every school, every outpost on Earth—or one day, on Mars—should have a place where life grows, without permission.

Edena is not just about food. She’s about dignity. She’s about remembering. She’s about freedom without rebellion, technology without noise, intelligence without ego.

She’s the first system that makes you feel like the future might actually be gentle.

This is what we’re building at Selema. Not another company. Not another startup.

We’re not trying to move fast. We’re trying to move right. With reverence, with precision, and with a kind of hope that’s hard to explain unless you’ve tasted tomatoes the way I did—warm, fragrant, and unforgettable.

Selema means "safe" in Arabic. It means "home" to me. And one day, I hope it means something to you too.

— Mantas Founder, Selema