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?”   

So, I endorse my hat, but would not wear it outside my bubble. Just for the sake of safety. What if I pair it with Tim Walz sweater? Would they understand, then?  But I do not have any "they" to understand me, so it's all fine. 

 Candace was attacking Emily Ratajkowski today. She said something along the lines of “Everything was handed over to her, because of her attractiveness.” Here goes the beauty myth: “She has it easy because she’s beautiful." I feel like that is a plot we take for granted too easily. When you are pretty, you are given everything on a silver platter. But what if that was not what they wanted? And they were offered the trophies despite their uncertainty? It’s like being shoved truffles in your mouth before asking for them. Although there is no way I could know it because I was never that woman, but I felt compassion when I read her book. Because all the pretty women I encountered seemed to be suffering underneath all the glory. Whereas, I , was guarded behind the glass wall. “Thanks God!” I say it ,sincerely, without any bitterness. 

I ask myself “How can I be happy?” quite a few times. But I am. That’s it. 

  I drank too much yesterday. I felt bubbly and happy, but now I feel bloated. Too much pleasure makes me feel like a lump of lard; soaking up all the nothing from this world. 

 Hopping between a saint and a turd, that's my life. I can be both, but I am neither.  Because sometimes Saints are as useless as turds, and turds are as valuable as gold. What have humans created??? A bunch of trash, lies, and fake news. But turds? They've been passing life without any trophy hand down to them. And we're fed up with all the mess we've created and are heading towards Mars, ready to ruin another land. I'm sure God would appreciate that.