Date: February 2026
It’s quite hard to know what to write about when publishing your first
essay. I feel the need to make this sound smart, intellectual, even
academic, to show my position as a Marxist more than anything else, but
I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.
Because my writing stems from the need to express my love. My love for
art, tenderness, for care, for being HUMAN. But those are the same exact
things that make me a Marxist.
Interesting, as now at 21 years old, I’m choosing to pursue things that I wouldn’t have dared 10 years ago. I knit from time to time, for myself, not for others, not to sell my pieces, but to have something to do. I do it to honor a practice hundreds of years old, passed down from mother to daughter. I write, not to necessarily have this be my career, or to make money, but because I feel this strong urge to just get something out into the world. I live with this foolish hope that my writings can teach, can radicalize, can make YOU think about the world through another lens. I feel the need to preach about love, about dignity, things that can’t exist to their full potential under capitalism.
Art, in its many forms can be resistance, but it can also be rest from
the eternal and constant fatigue that capitalism places upon us. This
can be art, anything can be art, and as long as it’s not profitable the
bourgeoisie will not attempt to take it from me.
Literature and education are sacred, building blocks of any good
society, of any good Marxist (and the anti-intellectual idea that STEM
is the only good and viable career path that anyone should make just
gives rise to the disgusting people in power, but that’s for another
essay in the future maybe).
Care, for yourself and for others, is deeply political. It’s one of the
things that the ruling class is trying to make you think shouldn’t
happen. Care for yourself, things like taking time off, spending time
with your loved ones, doing the things you love are being taken away,
they don’t want you to have time to think and learn, and love, because
that’s dangerous. Care for others is dangerous too, they want you to
think that every person who does worse than you deserves it, it’s
because they haven’t worked hard enough, hustled, grinded more! And of
course, every person who does better than you on an economic level, they
do deserve it! They’re smarter, work harder than you, and they’ve been
good obedient dogs to the system.
Care for yourself is dangerous. Care for others is dangerous. To love is
dangerous.
It’s in our hands, to do all the things that make us human, that don’t
alienate us, that goes against the inhumane, cold and disgusting system
that only wants us when it can steal the value of what we produce. So, I
guess my first essay shall end (even though not planned) like my
favorite poem from Paunescu, with a plead for the people to love each
other, but doing it while reminding yourself that:
Politics without love becomes sterile.
Love without politics becomes naive.