Diary of a Peasant

Waking up to another beautiful day — stomach empty, head pounding. I feel frustrated. There is no hope for my next meal. My creditors have sent their messages. Not only do I lack, but I’m in debt.

I’m desperate for money — not for myself, but to repay my debt. If anything remains, maybe I’ll find something to eat — even if it’s just bread and water.

Every day, my heart skips a beat when I remember what I owe. I sleep long hours to save energy. I fear the cold and sickness — they would only add more misery to my already deplorable state.

It’s a cycle: sadness, hunger, and debt. The longing for a meal. I sleep and dream of food. When I wake, I feel the hollowness of malnutrition (not imagined — real and bitter).

“I lack, therefore I need.” If I ever become known for a quote, let it be that. Sometimes, humour is how one copes with hunger. It soothes, but it never satisfies.

My mind drifts back to the last time I had a good meal. Those moments are so rare, I can count them. A full stomach is a forgotten pleasure. I can only dream of being full.

Those sleepless nights — eyes wide open, lying stomach-down on the floor. Sleep stolen, as I pay the harsh toll of hunger.

Poverty is a disease — an infection. It eats the body through malnutrition, the mind through anxiety. It dresses itself in lack and feeds on shame.

My room is in such a deplorable state, i lock it- not to keep thieves out, but to keep yhem from seeing inside. It would disgust them. There's nothing to steal but shame.

I look at the utensils — clean, washed, and unused. They sit piled up, crying to be of use. They now serve to fuel my imagination. I dream of cooking a hot meal — one that will quench this hunger. I am a dreamer. Yes, I dream.

How quickly clothes fade in poverty. One walks carefully, not to spoil worn shoes. Every step is gentle.

Ever wonder what an honest peasant thinks of? It’s not revolution. It’s not glory. It’s food. My greatest ambition is to eat to my satisfaction. That is my dream.

You may think I’m too obsessed with food. Don’t laugh. It’s the one thing that keeps me going. Without it, I will fall into the abyss of death, clutching my pitiful dream of fullness.

I can boldly say: Give me food or I die. Another joke, perhaps. But one built on truth. Hunger will kill. And yet, I admire the strange creativity that poverty brings to the mind.

Have you heard of the paradox of peasantry? It’s when the lack, the hunger, and the debt seem to have no effect. The body appears fine. Life looks normal. But inside — we are quietly perishing.

Disgrace is part of a peasant’s life. Accepting it becomes the norm. Stand down. Don’t look up. Hide your face. I’ve learned that the hard way.

Do you want to know how peasants are treated? Less than human. A poor man is a burden to himself. How much more to society? We are a discomfort, a disgrace no one wishes to confront.

Overworked and paid in crumbs. Hours of hard labour are met with sneers. Crumbs are tossed into tired hands, with eyes that say, You don’t even deserve this. To them, it’s more fitting that we work ourselves to death.

It’s not often you see men dying of hunger — but they do. Quietly, and daily. The anxiety, the longing, the distress, the discomfort — it’s worse than death itself.

What more could be said, dear diary? The experience says it all. I write not for any grand reason, but simply for the sake of writing. Perhaps there is pleasure in expressing pain. The morning is still fresh. The air, still pure.

Let the peasant go now,to find his daily bread

The Pun of Life

Humanity, from the dawn of time, has been driven—urged and moved—by a singular, common force. Not something grand or exquisite, but something inbuilt, woven deep into the fibers of the soul. A drive. A hunger. A yearning.

What, then, is this primal force?

It is the universal desire… to suck seed.

Yes, grab a bowl of cop corn and buckle in as we traverse this paved-yet-unknown road—this mysterious, winding... horizon (though I may yet change the horizon).

The great Greek philosopher Soy Creates once said, “An unexamined life is not worth living.” So let’s now examine the science of suck seeding—sorry, succeeding.

Success is achieving desired goals, yes—but it’s also feeling fulfilled. It’s personal. It’s subjective. One man’s treasure is another man’s... treadmill.

This diversity of what success looks like gives birth to individuality, and individuality fuels creativity. Without it, progress would be stunted. Breakthroughs wouldn’t happen. Success, in a way, would be a chicken full of hen-V.

But before one can suck seed, one must Lego of the many misconceptions built up over time.

Success is not fueled by motivation. It is not driven by inspiration. These are fleeting. What truly powers success are the quiet engines of routine and habit.

If I were to draw a diagram, habit would be at the top, routine at the bottom. Most people obsess over motivation—waiting for it like a late bus in the rain. But the truth is: your drive might not die, but your strength will flicker. There’s depression. Anxiety. Self-doubt. Only by developing routines that harden into habits can the seeds of success truly take root.

And habits aren’t enough. Success also demands skills—especially communication skills.

Learn to speak assertively. Here’s an example:

Customer: How much is this BMW?

Me: Yes.

Assertive. Concise. Mysterious. That’s how you make an impression.

Another example:

Interviewer: Can you work under pressure?

Me: Well… technically, pressure is force divided by area. As for work… there’s a formula, but it escapes me right now.

Smooth. Science meets swagger. That's how you suck seed in style.

Let us not forget: the desire to succeed has both psychological and physiological roots.

Physiologically, it stems from a survival instinct—fear of failure, disappointment, irrelevance. Man wants to endure. The wit shall survive. (Charles Darwin would agree. Dickens too, probably, though he might write a few chapters first.)

Psychologically, success releases dopamine—a reward. A rush. And adrenaline? That surging thrill? It comes from the hope of overcoming challenges. The chase. The climb.

In short: Success is engraved in us. In our marrow. In our madness.

Never let the flame flicker. Never let it die.

Because in the end, to suck seed... is the pun of life.