How did America die? I wonder. I don’t wonder whether it is dead or not; I just wonder how it died.

Did YouTube kill it? Or Elon Musk? Mark Zuckerberg or Jeff Bezos? Or maybe the "educated fleas" did it? Or did it die because of a backlash to the "Woke"? Did the Woke do it? Because they were so absurd, and denied simple facts as facts, that people got tired of it. and then what?

Or was Donald Trump the final thread? But it was there all along, the thread that guided us to Trump. What thread? Misogyny.  

I should know, because I was writing a thesis before Trump was re-elected. It was before COVID-19, when everything seemed just fine—economically, at least. But watching polemicists such as Ben Shapiro and Jordan Peterson emerging was unsettling. And when Trump got elected, they both blamed it on woke feminists. So I guess, women should take accountability for the fall of men.

Yes, feminism is not perfect; it’s not the absolute truth, yet. Feminists make mistakes as much as men make mistakes. But we’ve just begun running, passing the torch, and midway through, they all become upset. As if running while making mistakes is a woman's problem.

I watch Candace Owens and Tucker Carlson; I am kind of fed up with what the Left has to say. But I am not on the Right—far from it. "Don't trust Tucker and Candace, they just want to leave the sinking boat," they say. But isn't that better than being attached to the boat where we all live until it has sunk completely? And I always used to tell my teacher: even if the student was wrong for 364 days, if for one day he was saying the right thing, it is better to remind him of that than tell him how he was wrong for 364 days. Give him the credit for the one moment he might be doing the right thing, and then the rest remains his to decide.

If I were to criticize the Woke for one thing, it was the impulse to always be on the "right side." We might be wrong, and even if we wanted to be right, our feelings sometimes cannot catch up to it.

At the end of the day, I didn't end up writing the thesis. Nor did I go to the graduate school that I enrolled in after seven years of studying on my own. I couldn't. Because anxiety hit me hard like a plague, and I was incapable of living my life without suffocating. I had to lock myself inside my room to protect myself from the anxiety. And then, COVID-19 happened, and the world turned upside down. It was normal, even commended, to stay at home.

And at home, I watched the fall of the Trump administration without even proving it. My thesis statement worked like a prophecy that I still brag about to my mother. I didn't say it after the fact; I said it before, when everything seemed fine on the surface.

I just received a call from a niece. "My mother is acting weird." I feel my heart drop. "What's happening?" "She's talking like a baby. She's not wearing any underwear, only pajamas, and she is grinning. I think she's drunk."

I laugh. And then my niece starts laughing. "Okay, that's better than her being sick. When I am drunk I do stupider things, so that's fine." "Okay, so she's okay." "Yes, but if this happens often please tell on her. I'd be worried." "Okay, I promise I will tell you—and the whole world—what happens." "Ahaha, maybe not the whole world." "Good night." "Good night."