DA BOIS A STRGL EDT

Another week, another brain dump. This time, I’m analyzing myself but in reverse order. I’m flipping my script—starting with who I am now, then who I want to be, then who I wanted to be. Why? Because I’m a walking mess—like running after the wind trying to catch it in my net. And please don’t think ill of me because I’m guessing you’ve got your own pile of dirt too.

How many things have I wanted to do in my life? How many meaningless dreams, wasted hours, and imagined scenarios that never played out the way I pictured them—not because I was trying to predict life, I had no real connection to reality while doing it. Ring any bells? Let’s be real.

If you missed the previous reflection—or you’re new and enjoy my self-inflicted trainwrecks—here’s last week’s blog – The Art of Self-Sabotage (Or: How to Fuck Up Constantly in the Semi-Safe Postmodern World)

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Who I Am

Here’s the ugly truth: I’m a nobody. Born at the very end of the 20^th century and raised in the 21^st  century—a future kid stewing in the last century’s leftovers. Teen me blamed the world and the people who pull the strings. Now, at 24, I see it—Gary Vee would laugh in my face and say, “Stop whining.” I screw up nonstop and spot it too late. Dad’s words: “You’re a mistake magnet.” Well, he’s rarely wrong.

This is one feels like Gang Starr’s album – Moment Of Truth. Confessions? Yes, so buckle up. I stole from family, friends, and anyone with cash or other valuables lying around—for over a decade, till I hit 20. Small grabs, big grabs—not that big though—, didn’t matter. Grew up, got sneakier— I stopped outright stealing and moved on to more subtle ways—playing my cards right so I always won, much like in Blackjack. Lied almost every time I breathed. If Pinocchio’s story was true my nose would’ve lapped the earth twice. Dumb stuff—“I did that, I swear”—when I was a total flop. Most lies were harmless; some weren’t.

Summer of ’16, me and my crew—not real crew just fellows from my village—raided a village pool for about two months. Snuck in, swiped snacks in the beginning and then snuck out. After some time we hit the cashier. The owner let it slide—he only went to the police station. On the other hand, his sons begged him to wait for us with clubs in the shadows. I mean jail time or broken bones. Either way could’ve been bad; shook me for a bit. But it didn’t last very long like any unpunished evil—kept crossing lines after, just smarter.

Restaurant jobs were my high school for scams. The first gig I had was at Santa Marina, just before Sozopol—clueless till Bobby, a slick server, just showed me the tip of what’s possible. Discounts were the trick. Customers who were owners as well had cards—I’d apply it, then trim the receipt to show the percentage and the statement that discount is applied while they only see the full price. That was 10 to 60 bucks per table in such cases. For Bobby, you can double it, easily. The money? Pocketed. Tips itself were fine; shortcuts were the diamonds.

I made myself some vows to not get carried away and be greedy with such schemes—or at least to a point where it’s not too obvious—but in the Summer of 2023, in Ocean City, Maryland, I pushed it—I didn’t get caught to my knowledge but I lost the job anyway, but there were other reasons for that. Anyway, why I did do it? I needed cash for my Californian food truck—a dream that eventually stayed a fantasy. And what happened with the money I put into my bank account? Slipped right out—like any other time in my life when I took more than I honestly made.

I don’t know if this is a Bulgarian trait or simply human nature, but everything we do has consequences. And that’s the next topic from the phrase edition—how lies always come out to light.

So, who am I? A nobody who thought success was a handout. Took years of slinging plates to learn: cash doesn’t fix you. That’s me. Whether I’m proud of it or not—which I’m not—it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I keep moving forward, hoping I’m better than yesterday’s me but never as good as tomorrow’s.

Who I Want to Be

This one is a question as tough as a question could be. Wanting’s the spark—doing’s the slog. I used to think you could coast; now I know you can’t. As I mentioned, I wanted to be many things but didn’t become any of them—I did, but like anything in life, it takes time to realize. Wanting something is important because it moves you forward. The real question is, Can you continue to evolve and live a purposeful life if you don’t?

My answer is no. Evolution says the opposite; one brain drags the herd, but I’m no leader—or at least not on such a big scale. Still, I’ve got aims. To put it simply; I want to be good—not smug, just steady. Pick up litter—whenever I see it—, donate blood—more than once—and wait for the damn crosswalk light. And most important; choices that don’t wake me up sweating.

Podcast mic? Yeah, I’d take it—not for fame, but to spill the real me, horns and halo. Fame twists folks; I’d rather bleed truth, but I was never under the limelight, so I can’t really speak. I wish I could say how genuine I will be but the problem is, once a person gains status, it becomes harder to be as genuine. There are always ways for things to be twisted in the public eye, and being somebody is a well-paid profession—but with it comes a responsibility to the audience. Most celebrities choose money over authenticity and neglect spreading the messages they truly believe in—or to some degree at least. Ironically, I forgot this is about who I want to be and not who I don’t want to be.

Fatherhood’s down the line—not now, to put it mildly; I’m a wreck. Old-timers would scoff, younger ones will get it. That’s just how times change and so do the people—but as always I may be totally wrong. What I’m trying to say is I don’t want my first kid as a guinea pig for the next—give me time till 30 to sort my shit. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to wait until I’m 40—I know it’s too late—but if that’s how long it takes to sort out the basics of my life, then so be it. Luck me up.

Someone who is surrounded by friends? I want good friends around me—not many, but a few. I got two solid—left or scattered depending on your perspective—and one is a couple of hundred and the other isa couple of thousand miles away. I don’t think our friendship is deteriorating, because we don’t share everyday things. I don’t call to babble—trust’s enough. Still, friendship matters. And to me, a friend is not someone categorized as good, better, or best. If I call you my friend, I trust you completely. Everyone else is just an acquaintance—some closer, some further.

A young man in a healthy relationship? Here comes my allergy again; achoo. I wish I had that. A woman like myself beside me or not exactly like me but at least try to understand me. Those who were willing to, I neglected. Yes, I was searching for the best of both worlds; someone gentle and low-drama—like the ideal laundry. However, I always chased the bare minimum of 7.7-out-of-10 looks, then flake when it fizzles. I might have popped on to some good ones but It was like those slot machine games in the casino—you hit something good, but you want the big jackpot—and eventually you go home with empty pockets—or hands.

Therefore there’s no such thing as ideal. And “Deserve” is bullshit—I don’t talk enough to click. Yes, I can barely stand talking to a gal for 5 minutes straight—10 would be a record— but with that being said, half the time I don’t get me either. Now I am 24, with no real relationship. Jokes on who? Dream one stick till the end—cue my own eye-roll.

I ponder about who I want to be a lot. Then life kicks me, and I’m back to square one—not exactly but I go down on a familiar path. Where’d I screw up? What’d I miss? Effort’s the deal—I’m not tapping out. My resume’s thin—and thick at the same time—, but I’ll grind till I croak.

Who I Wanted to Be

Honestly, I wanted to be many things. You know that cliché question adults always ask kids—”Who do you want to be when you grow up?” Well, my answer changed constantly, depending on what I watched on Disney Channel that day.

Kid me wanted it all—kid you not. From searching Ben 10’s watch, to try and imitate Chaplin. What about directing movies? I Tried it off-screen; my “films” bombed. Magic? I thought I would be the Bulgarian David Blaine. Snagged kits, stared like E.T., slammed them shut when tricks flopped. No YouTube—just Phineas and Ferb, useless as ever. Kits? Trash now, probably.

Mars walker? Check. Manager of… something? Sure. Leading the parade, calling shots—no clue what, just vibes. Managed a team a couple of times—hated it. Wage-zombies drained me. Help family? Meant to—first college grad sounded noble. Flopped. Professional athlete?Lack of discipline. Sleep with 10’s? Dreamland only, baby.

I wanted to look like Arnold—I only sound like him. I wished I would be a public speaker one day. I do speak—in front of the mirror—and I mostly bore myself to death. I said I’m not going to hibernate like a bear and I did—during the summer.

I wanted to express myself well, maybe even be a public speaker on a big stage. So far, that hasn’t happened—unless you count speaking to an imaginary audience in my mirror. I wanted to wake up early instead of hibernating like a bear. That one, I actually pulled off… but only during the summer months.

Asked for friends, got ‘em, nearly lost ‘em—my greed, my spark. Who was to blame? The one who wants. Yes, those who give aren’t innocent either, but the one who asks in the first place? They’re the real catalyst. This doesn’t apply to everything but to almost everything. If you don’t have the strength to say no, how can you be mad at anyone but yourself?

Wanted too much, gave squat. Learned to quit begging life for extras—not gloom, just limits. Chances slip; I miss ‘em till they’re ghosts. Wanted to be somebody. Was—the bad guy. Others saw it; I didn’t or did I? Thought I’d fix it. Kinda have —surprisingly, that one turned out to be true.

No gut-joke switch tonight—feels off.

If I Was

Wanted, want, am—doesn’t matter. Life’s now, ticking while I ramble. Advice is hot air—MrBeast carved his desk ten hours in high school, no promise it’d pay. Me? Lying, stealing, perfecting my con. He’s changed lives; I’ve dodged mine. Not his fanboy—just facts.

And so, my fellows, it doesn’t what you think—it does but to a certain degree. Life is a process unfolding in the very moment you exist, whether you realize it or not. All the advice you hear—what you should or shouldn’t do to achieve your goals—are just well-crafted words that might sound good but don’t necessarily apply to you.

Out-lied liars, out-stole thieves, ran from problems till I brick-walled into them. Did jack, could’ve done more. Don’t stomp back unless it’s do-or-die—walk off, not weak, just wise.

Be kind. Be honest. Don’t just feel sorry—say it out loud, and say it to the people who deserve to hear it. Some intelligent person said something about planting a tree.

So what is the best time to plant a tree? Thirty years ago. Next best? Now. Don’t waste time or at least if you waste it—plant trees.

I’ve been everything and nothing, everywhere and nowhere, all at once. But if there’s one thing I know now, it’s that the past doesn’t define me—the choices I make today do.

Past’s dust—today’s choices are me. You too. What’s your tree?

Thanks for wading through,
Ivaniel Georgiev