Every single time I've spoken to you Wilma, you've tried to tell me what I think and what I believe and what my motivations are. It's beyond tiresome.

You don't know the first thing about me. . And your guesses are always wrong, because what you don't seem capable of realising is that they're simply expressions of your own insecurities.

You have no idea how hard I work or how little I chase accolades. Nobody pats me on the back for spending hours every dy talking to people in the comments of my articles trying to broaden their perspectives. Instead, you read hacks for whom every other article confirms your view about how terrible the world is and how we're all doomed.

You think they don't churn out that crap every day for clicks and claps? You think mindless cynicism makes the world a better place? Okay. Sure. If you're really happy in that little bubble of misery and victimhood, then no, you won't like my writing. And I'm totally fine with that.

I hope you one day learn to stop confusing you own self-doubts and insecurity about the world and other people for the way the world and people really are. Bu util you do, trying to have a converstion is just a waste of time. You're seemingly incapable of hearing anything but the voices inside your own head.