The Joanna Club

 I just talked to a boy. His eyes seemed dim, as if saying hello was a heavy duty for him. I worry. Or more so, I felt alarmed. As if his soul was sinking and he didn't know how to lift it up. I should know that feeling. It is so difficult to be young and helpless. Later, his aunt told me that his mother who has long been suffering from mental illness is having a surgery. I didn't ask what surgery. "Will you be here for the summer?" She casually asked me. "If you are, I will drag him here with pleasure." " I'll make sure I'll share my schedule with you." I told her, and she smiled.   What are we to make of this world? Should we stare at the digital screens and wonder about what we've never experienced? But what are words for?  I place words in front of him, like cherries that I've just picked, hoping they'll give him joy.  He takes a bite, whispers something in the air. "What? I cannot hear you." I whisper to him. ...

 My MAGA hat arrived. Who would have thought that one day, I would own a MAGA hat? I am not a Trump supporter, nor am I a conservative. But listening to Candace Owens has guided me to a place I never thought I would be: Compassion towards MAGA. I can listen to Tucker Carlson too. At least they are against the war. And we all feel very manipulated into thinking otherwise; that we need to spend our time fighting each other, to hate one another, to lose the common ground. But who is trying to control our reality? And why? I still have trouble imagining what they envision as our future.   How unhappy could they be? I wonder. Because even with so much power, they cannot justify their existence without further violence: Eternally feeding their void with something they cannot own. What is behind all this? Fear? Perhaps they are so afraid of something that they feel the urge to destroy everything. As if life itself is too much a burden to handle. “How can one be happy?”  ...

 Not to be bitter in a world like this feels impossible. Watching the news makes me feel repulsed. Justice is lost in so many ways. How could they? And why? Greed?    So many simple answers, but still yet we cannot find a solution. It's much easier to lose faith.   Having a sensitive soul in a world like this can be torturous. But those who are used to being numb call this suffering "Weakness", and their numbness "Strength."  I refuse to go numb, but I also refuse to feel helpless. I am careful enough to water myself and stay sensitive, careless enough to tune in some numbness to keep living. But I learned all that from others. Solitude would have pushed me over to the edge. Luckily, I am not alone in this boat. I have companions.   Yesterday, I made some random newspaper, a fake news report about vegetables running in a race. I looked at the pictures carefully and decided who's the winner and ran the news in my head, typed out the article, interv...