That doesn’t mean I doubt what others feel about themselves. I completely believe everyone should define and express their identity in the way that feels true to them.

I just don’t feel those categories in myself or in others.

People are far too complex to fit neatly into a handful of boxes. Personalities, interests, expressions—none of that seems to line up cleanly with any gender definition I’ve ever seen.

When you compare average to average, the world has improved a lot.

Romanticizing the past is easy when you forget about cholera, no anesthesia, children working in coal mines, and the fact that “medical advice” might have been bloodletting.

It’s not that the past had nothing good—it did. But it’s dishonest to compare the best of history to the average of today.

You won’t know which of today’s things will still be around in 2125 … well, 2125.

Also, many things are objectively better now: healthcare, literacy, life expectancy, technology, human rights (still a work in progress, but further than before).

You only see the good stuff that lasted. The bad stuff is already in the trash heap of history. That’s why it looks like the past was all quality.

And when you look at today, you see everything—the good, the bad, and the stuff that will be landfill in two years.

Of course old furniture looks great—the cheap wobbly stuff broke a century ago. Of course you love “classic” music—you’re not hearing the hundreds of terrible songs from that same era.

Real connection also includes disagreement, constructive criticism, and someone daring to say “I think you’re wrong, but I still care about you.”

AI can be a tool, maybe even a mirror. But friends—human ones—are more than mirrors. They help us grow.

It reminds me a little of how people interpret their pets’ behavior: the cat blinks, and suddenly it’s “yes, you’re right.” It’s comforting, but it’s not really dialogue.

AI often reflects back what you say in a supportive way, and while that can feel nice, it can also give the illusion that you’re always right.

Strength isn’t pretending nothing hurts. Strength is knowing what hurts—and choosing to face it, gently.

They weren’t stronger for keeping quiet about trauma, they were just denied the space to talk about it.

Silence looks like strength from the outside, but it’s often just unhealed wounds made invisible.