Journal

Nobody gets spared. Not the wicked, not the decent, not even the child. And still there is this God who is supposed to know them all, love them all. I don't know what is harder to accept, that suffering may have no reason, or that we keep trying to give it one.

And I LOVE to romanticize the confusion.
It simply makes me feel myself, rather than pushing me into the right corners of cruel truths.

And the funniest part? The same people who keep saying football is scripted and FIFA decides everything are now happily congratulating Spain. The irony writes itself.

Why does Raskolnikov still occupy my mind? Why does Sofya? Why does Dostoevsky's understanding of guilt feel more real than every psychological explanation I've read?

It took me far too long to realize that we can simply breathe and live our lives without poking our noses into places where we'd only end up forcing others to stop breathing.

I would light any lamp.

Because it's light.

And if a god dislikes light, I don't think I'd find much hope there anyway.

there's a difference between understanding something and finding a way to describe it.

currently investigating..

Just finished Crime and Punishment. Dostoevsky somehow makes you uncomfortable with your own thoughts more than with the actual murderer..

Very hard to believe democracy ended up like this honestly. Every political party now feels less like “we stand for this” and more like “how do we stay in power for another 5 years.” The moment a party starts depending too much on groups and vote banks everything becomes acting after that. Nobody can even speak normally anymore without calculating who gets offended and who stays happy. Whole thing just feels fake sometimes. I genuinely keep thinking how hard can it actually be to run a state with some basic standards and common sense but then again maybe every person says that before becoming the exact same thing later lol.

I know too much about human nature for someone who still loses to his own impulses. My mind has collected philosophies like trophies, yet my emotions still behave like untamed street dogs.

Awareness is a strange curse, to recognize your own stupidity while repeating it with full consciousness.