Carrots Are Just in Soup!

And if you think I’m crazy, just wait and read this story.

I gave up fighting a system that doesn’t want me—or my freedom.

I know I’m too American and too wild. And being American and wild in a socialist-controlled country means you’re “bad.”

Bad for not obeying.
Bad for doing things your own way.
Bad for auditing everything, for keeping things in check—just to keep yourself and your family safe—when socialism wants to do it for you.

Damn it—but NO!

So I’m “bad”… without ever being bad.

The system wants you down.
Colleagues want you down to please the system.
Even family wants you down to please some key corrupt official and enjoy a few socialist perks.


And you keep saying:
NO. NO.

It’s my freedom.
My choices.
My life.

And this is how it should be—not dirty persuasion, manipulation, control, and mind games to break me down.


And the CARROT! LOL.


You know me—I said it a long time ago:
F you and your dirty intelligence service games—and your dirty style of interviews.

How many have I had by now? HUNDREDS.


I’m guilty of what?
For being part of a system that messed me up?
Not “socialist enough”?
So I’m just a “dirty American nurse”?


Same answer every time:
F you and your tactics.
Mind games. Intimidation.

Organized crime uses the same tactics.
No big difference.


I’ve had enough of their crazy minds.

And the CARROT—oh, the carrot dressed itself up again, like always.

What can you do with a carrot that plays the art of deception—gangstalking people, messing around?

And me—at my age and with my teeth—I only eat carrots in soup!
Ha ha ha!

Maybe I should start a new career—as a coach.

Coaching intelligence agents, police officers, CI operatives, gangs, cartels, and organized crime members on how to behave properly and how not to be STUPID.


Because stupid can hurt.
Stupid can hurt themselves—and others.
Stupid and crazy!


Lesson 1:
NEVER—and I mean NEVER—stop a conversation when someone walks by you.
NEVER.

Especially if you’re in “action” (whatever kind of action that may be, bros—good or bad).
Keep talking. Keep that damn conversation going.

Because if you stop?
I’ll count the pause in seconds.
I’ll analyze it in real time.
And you’re burned. Cooked. Screwed.
(No more words left for that. LOL.)

What’s wrong with these people?
Are they that confident in themselves doing this?
Or are they just batshit crazy?

Because if they’re crazy and messing around, I can call the police.

Well—at least the ones I already trained. LOL.


Because I don’t even like carrots.
Even in soup, I take them out!
Didn’t they write that in my big “intelligence file”?
“The crazy wild U.S. RN doesn’t like carrots!” LOL.


We can’t protect everyone, and we can’t teach everyone.
But when you meet—within 500 meters—two organized crime members, one intelligence agent, and a dozen cars doing surveillance?

That’s too much.


Are they insane?
What do they expect to find?
Baba Vanga? Mata Hari? Pablo Escobar in a thong?


These people are insane!


And as I walk among them, I keep asking myself:
“Dear God, what did I do wrong to be part of this?
Who did I meet?
Why me, God?”


And He didn’t answer.
And maybe He never will.


So I’ll keep living this overprotected life—on the edge of craziness and normality—still hoping that one day, I’ll have a normal life.

Because I am normal.

I’m not part of anyone’s game.
I’m just different. I was born this way.

It’s my gift. My ability.

So keep your games and your mess out of my life.

The Story of a Normal Life in a Twisted World

Two different forms of intelligence, two different forms of understanding life, two different forms of action: intelligence and spirituality.

Between the two, we can either build or destroy.

We can protect life or play games that mess with it.

War and punishment justified emotionally through God, or peace and development supported by good rational intelligence?

Because the real danger isn’t just having too little of one or the other.

It’s not realizing that there’s more beyond our own values.

That there’s a depth to life, to human dignity, to the meaning of freedom—beyond control, beyond superiority.

And now, the story.
The same pattern, like always.

More meetings. More spies. More crazies. More corruption. Less respect.

Maybe he was right—I probably should have taken that spy class, just to understand the rules of the twisted game I was forced into.

But truly?

I’m not interested in using intelligence to take advantage of life. I don’t want to manipulate people. I don’t want power games.

I just want to live normally.

Just me, a registered nurse, in a modest life—So stupid as I am, so crazy as I might be, but honest. A small house. A little garden. A healthy, happy family.

Not low, like they want me to be, stepped on and humiliated.
Not top, like they expect their life to unfold, so they can put me in a box.

Just normal.

But back to the story.

The stalker didn’t give up.

He became more and more aggressive, more calculated, more present.

I changed my shifts, I changed my walking routes, I rearranged my entire life to avoid him.

But somehow, he still knew. He could monitor me—even from across the building.


Yesterday, I left home at 7 p.m., a time I almost never use.

He was right there, in front of my building.

I let him pass first. I wanted to avoid him, change my path, and I did. But at the next intersection, he entered my usual coffee shop—used every time I leave the house. He knew my routine, even the new one.

So I passed it. I picked a different coffee shop.
And then, five minutes later—I saw him again. Exiting my old coffee shop and walking past my new one, right where I was.
Fifteen minutes I waited, praying he had gone. But no.
He appeared again, sitting across my bus stop, eating.
He sat there until my bus came. He left only then.

Pictures made. Patterns documented. Coincidences piling up.

What kind of life is this?

A crazy, socialist existence.

Low income. Profession blocked. Hated for values. No freedom. A gang-controlled area drenched in corruption.

This is not paranoia—it’s real, seen, experienced.

So tell me—intelligence or spirituality?

You want to know what’s more dangerous?
It’s not lacking one or the other.
It’s misusing them both.

Intelligence without compassion turns into surveillance, manipulation, and power games.
Spirituality without truth turns into silence, guilt, and control.
And in both, there’s always a twisted, evil side if the heart behind them is sick.


People think spies are brilliant.

I’ll tell you why they get exposed:
Because they’re stupid, entitled, and reckless.
They forget the humanity in the game.
They think they’re above life.


So how to trust intelligence when it’s playing stupid games?

How to trust spirituality when it’s twisted into slogans, or used to crush the human spirit?

God is the true power.
That is God’s word—punishment and rebuilding.


Today, craziness rules.

Woke twists, corrupted values, fake empowerment—it’s all dangerous.

It destroys people’s lives, undoes families, shames the soul.

We are no longer fighting ignorance.

We are fighting twisted versions of wisdom—spiritual and intellectual—that have become monsters.


So again, the question:

What can spirituality offer to a poor, uneducated soul trapped in a freedom-restrictive, corrupt country?

Here’s the truth:

  • If it’s fake spirituality: Nothing.
  • If it’s real:
    It gives you strength to survive when everything is against you.
    It teaches you to not become the darkness that surrounds you.
    It reminds you of your worth when they try to erase it.
    It gives you the courage to keep your humanity, even when others lose theirs.


And intelligence?

Used the right way, it could free people.
Used the wrong way, it becomes the jail of freedom.



I’m not crazy.

I’m tired. I’m alert.

I’m surviving.

And I’m not ashamed of wanting a simple, normal life, where I can walk safely, work freely, love deeply, and never have to play games just to exist.


That’s not stupidity.

That’s clarity.