I write because I really does be trying to understand.

That is the truth.

Plenty things people accept as normal just don’t make sense to me. And when I ask about them, people does either laugh, brush me off, or say, “That’s just how it is.” But I not satisfied with that. I never really was.

Because how something could be normal and still make no sense?

I not writing because I feel smarter than anybody. I writing because I genuinely confused half the time by the things people defend, repeat, excuse, and live with like it supposed to be so.

I does watch how people move, and I keep ending up with questions.

Why everybody complaining, but nobody changing nothing?
Why disrespect does become culture so fast?
Why inefficiency got so many protectors?
Why people does act like suffering is some kind of tradition?

I not understanding.

So I write because asking the question out loud does reveal plenty. Sometimes I say something simple, and people laugh — but not because it’s a joke. They laugh because they realizing it sound ridiculous once somebody finally say it plain.

That is why I keep writing.

I write because maybe confusion is not always foolishness. Sometimes confusion is the clearest reaction to something that really upside down.

And if I asking what everybody else stop asking, then good. Somebody has to.