I’m not an influencer. I don’t wave my hands on the internet, I don’t have fans, I don’t wear sunglasses in clubs, and I couldn’t care less about the FaceBook / Instagram algorithm. Or TikTok. Or Youtube Shorts. I’m not a public figure either. No one dreams about me at night, and no TV station invites me to share my opinion on how to run a country that even those in charge no longer understand.
I’m a regular citizen. A Romanian from the trenches. From that part of the population that stares at the Lidl receipt and wonders whether they accidentally bought a studio apartment at that price. I’m European—on paper. In reality, I feel more like a tolerated guest at a feast where the kings dine lavishly, while I get the leftovers, served with a fake smile and a “that’s how it is, sir, it’s the same for everyone else.” It’s not.
I don’t chant slogans. I don’t march just because someone posted about it on Facebook. I use my brain. I rinse it from time to time to clean off the media garbage, I dry it out from the propaganda dripping from the TV, and I put it to work. I analyze. I compare. I draw conclusions. And no, I don’t make decisions based on what’s “in fashion.” I don’t need political trends—I need decency. And normalcy. But in this country, normalcy has become an act of rebellion.
I’m tired. Not from work—that I carry on my back like everyone else. I’m tired of lies, of necktie-wearing thieves, of promises delivered through gritted teeth and starving eyes during election season. I’m sick of being robbed legally and told it’s for my own good. I feel like I’m living in a bad movie, but with a massive budget—funded, of course, from my taxes.
And maybe that’s exactly why, in 2025—the year when stupidity is packaged with catchy music and goofy filters on TikTok, Instagram, and YouTube Shorts—I started writing a blog. Yes, you read that right. A blog. Like in the old days, when ideas needed words, not just facial expressions synced to a two-second beat.
Resist the temptation to be a stylish idiot. Read.
In a world where everything has to be short, fast, and easy to digest, I chose to do the exact opposite. To write. Not to entertain. To provoke. Not to deliver “content,” but thoughts. Not to hand out 7-second life hacks, but questions that might gnaw at your brain for days.
Why?
Because scrolling only trains your finger, not your mind.
Because a 15-second clip promises everything and delivers nothing.
Because when you read, something happens that no “short” will ever be able to do: you start to think.
Reading isn’t trendy anymore. It’s outdated. It’s slow. It’s… suspicious. And yet, nothing arms you better against manipulation than a mind that knows how to ask “why?”
I no longer believe in saviors sent from above—I’ve seen them all, and they all got tangled in their own lies. I only believe in people who don’t sell their spine for a cushy job and who know how to say “no” even when it’s hard. Rare, but they still exist.
That’s who I am. A Romanian who understood that if you stay silent and swallow it all, they’ll shove the gag deeper down your throat. And in the end, change doesn’t start with “that’s just how it is here,” but with “this doesn’t work anymore.”