You will read only what you want anyways

 Nobody Cares About Being From Finland (Outside Finland)

“Maybe in Finland it means something.”
That kind of humility is almost dumb.

A bus driver, I overheard today say to a tourist from New York that he hates Finland. I get it — the crisp, clean air doesn’t feel that fresh when it’s dark all day. He was dark-skinned; maybe the cold bites deeper when the stares do too. Depressed alcoholics denying eight months of winter, insisting we have four seasons. Sure.

I’m not a historian, or even part of the Finnish news bubble. I don’t follow Finnish celebrities, musicians, or YouTubers. Maybe that’s why I don’t share the national self-image. I don’t think I have confirmation bias — though maybe that’s what people with confirmation bias say. But honestly, having no reputation, or a bad one, feels like the national hobby. Everyone pretends to cry for others while secretly wanting to vomit on them. Land of the bullies.

Contempt for Tears

You think your crying matters more than mine?
Try seven hours a day, eyes swollen, laughing myself to sleep at 1 a.m. from exhaustion after school. Not some poetic melancholy — just the sound of nobody loving me. Never has, never will.

If Jesus loved me, He’d have let me cry myself to sleep for real, not choke on the silence.
And my ex’s crocodile tears? Don’t make me laugh.
It’s like a Buddhist competition on who can suffer the most.

Online “Wit” and Real-Life Cruelty

Apparently, I’m witty online — until someone photoshops my face onto animals.
On Tumblr I once read Finns fuck reindeer. I don’t post anonymous hate. That’s for teenage boys, giggling girls, or nurses trying to get a belly laugh on night shift.

By the way, nurses are the most protected species in Finland — at least when it comes to corruption.
If Finland isn’t corrupted, maybe we just don’t see what corruption is.
Nobody cares about “human rights” when psychiatry is your legal execution. You can’t refuse the drugs. They’re legal, so they must be right — even when they kill better than any street drug.

When a doctor asked if I take any drugs, I said,
“Just the legal ones you see on my record.”
Boom. That’s Finland through my eyes.

Native Experience

I couldn’t finish my matriculation exams — the writing tasks were too hard.
Didn’t care about a driver’s license either.
Apparently, I was “just in my room online writing.”
Now they’d call that a content creator.

Back then I had a Nokia Sport and actually did sports.
A psychiatrist said I lied about how much I worked out — even though I was at a healthy weight right in front of her. My effort didn’t count because it didn’t fit her story.
Maybe I had acne. Maybe I was shy. Maybe I’d lost my voice from the flu.
Psychotic? No. Timid? Maybe. But not broken.

Ideas, Theft, and Naivety

My nonsense — my wit — was never meant for anyone.
Always taken. Always twisted.
People steal ideas all the time, and it drives me insane.
Now there’s even a band called Kaj.
That’s literally my joke — from Kajsa.
I should trademark myself, but I’m too naive.
Too innocent for a world that feeds on originality like it’s free lunch.

“Will write for food.”
Except I don’t get paid at all.
Taxpayers just keep me barely alive.

No problem, right?

(Wish people stole “xstianity” and “bday” more often from me. Oh well.)