How many times did you hear someone saying their life should be a novel? I should write it down one day, they tell you. You can only nod, maybe smile, as you cannot tell them it wouldn’t be much of a novel. A novella at best, but in far too many cases a life could fit in a short story, as there’s only so much you can write about standard lives spent in tedious jobs and conventional marriages. Yet, everyone is entitled to their own novel, as this is how it feels to them. As Jung used to say, people need meaning in their lives and each one of us finds meaning in what we believe to be our life story.

Today I spent a rather long tram ride staring out the window. At nothing in particular, just a drab neighborhood that hasn’t changed much in decades. Just so I wouldn’t be on the phone, scrolling through my newsfeed. (Doom scrolling, as my son calls it.) I will no longer waste time on local news because as of yesterday we have a new president, a liberal globalist puppet. The MAGA wave spluttered and died before reaching our shores. Brussels won the battle for Romania. Soros won. For the moment, only Poland is left in play and, in case you haven’t heard, Obama and Alex Soros visited the country in recent days. Nothing to do with the elections there, of course.

It lies with the proles. This is one of the most memorable quotes from "1984". It may well be that Winston is deluded when he says that, but, at this point, I don’t see other hope for my country and for the West. Trump may have won the American elections, but the war between globalists and conservatives is far from over. Romania is just one of the battlegrounds. Other countries are at play, most notably Poland, going to the polls in a few weeks. Or Germany, where only today the AfD right-wing party was officially declared an extremist organization and some are calling for the party to be banned. The party won 20.8% in the federal elections last February. One fifth of German voters are to be discarded should AfD be banned. Their votes don’t count.

Pope Francis’ time as head of the Catholic Church can be summed up in one image. Easter Vigil 2020 in a ghostly Saint Peter’s Square where no Christian was allowed to set foot. His flock, millions of Christians were prisoners in their houses and the Pope turned a blind eye to the horror. He didn’t say a word, at a time when lowly parish priests across the world risked fines and jail time demanding that their parishioners be allowed to practice their faith freely, a right enshrined in the Constitution all over the so-called free world.

The waiting is killing me, thinks the old man. A dry cackle is forming in his throat, but it wouldn’t do to let it out. What would all the people in the main room think? To distract himself from the inappropriate mirth he goes over his looks once again. His suit isn’t new, but it will have to do. Haven’t worn it in - what? Five years? No, three. Greta’s funeral was three years ago. And Bart said the coat was too tight, better leave it unbuttoned. Who even cares what an old geezer like you looks like? I’m sure Bart will have a laugh when he sees me today, all buttoned up, handkerchief in the right pocket and shoes polished enough to reflect the light bulb above. (What kind of moron came up with the idea of putting a blinding light in white-tiled room, so barren it makes your heart ache. Not to mention the eyes. Should’ve brought sun-glasses.) Bart be damned. I cannot screw up today. Must be dressed to the nines. My chance to be in the spotlight.

Last Christmas, a niece invited us to hear her singing carols with her church choir. Latin, Romanian and a few English carols, among which one I found very intriguing - ‘Mary Did You Know?’ The song goes through all the good things baby Jesus will bring to this world, how the child will rule the world and so on. Not a word about the price Mary will pay for all that. Yes, Jesus pays the ultimate price, but that’s his choice and he can take it up with his heavenly father. In this story, Mary doesn’t have a choice. Mothers in general don’t have much of a choice. Mary is the archetype of the mother who is bound to suffer for the infant she cradles in her arms. This struck me as odd, listening to those joyful carols. Christians have every reason to rejoice at the news of the divine child, but hardly anyone spares a thought for the poor mother.