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Fuck Purim 2025
- Lady Ronit
- Mar 13
- 4 min read
Fuck Purim, yeah, I know it’ll sound really bad, but I won’t regret it anyway. I don’t give a damn. This year I’m not celebrating Purim because I simply don’t feel like it. Today, I got invited to a fourth party with shitty company, which I barely managed to get out of. Luckily, I did.
The truth is, even though I look like a whole egg on the outside, that shell is very misleading. Or maybe I look different? Honestly, I think my sadness is very visible. But no one gives a damn, so let’s not fool ourselves or sugarcoat it. Inside, I’m already scrambled eggs, and rotten ones at that. And on the outside, some supposedly delicate egg, at least lately, when I strut around the meadow in a straw hat. Normally, in a fur coat with my beloved Herstal, I’m closer to Fabergé. Russia will come out of a person even after many generations, just like Zion.
But this year, there will be no Purim, I’m very sorry (I’m not sorry at all, because I feel absolutely nothing). The truth is, apart from My Chienfant, I don’t love anyone or anything. I have no one I feel good with. People are like rag dolls. Good for two weeks, and then I throw them out before something breaks, or once it already has. Why lie to ourselves? You all do the same. Friends, lovers, even blood ties, I don’t give a damn about them either. Neither do I care about anyone, nor does anyone care about me, but at least I don’t pretend. I won’t take part in your circus, in this world’s performance. I’m an outright egotist, I love no one but myself and My Dog, so fuck off—that’s all. “I love you” is my most hated phrase in the world, unless it’s about my Dog. Why the fuck pretend to love someone? I’m deeply convinced that neither I nor you, pathetic reader, have ever been loved or ever will be. Neither by father, nor mother, nor lover, nor friends. Everyone just wanted to fuck us, use us, and have fun, sex, money, and food were all that mattered. Those are the three driving forces of life. You can’t stand me because I’m honest, instead of pretending like you and that stupid whore.
But I used to love someone once, and I’ll never meet him again. He liked drinking saffron lemonade and taking morning showers. But he’s not with me anymore, so whether it’s fucking Purim or some damn joyful month of Adar, what difference does it make? When he answered calls, he would nervously pace around the bedroom. Now I bounce from wall to wall, from the closet, where his clothes still hang to the window, where he used to take calls from his overprotective mother. I’ve had so many lovers after you, that I don’t even count them anymore, and every time, it felt like betrayal. Apparently, you can’t betray someone who’s dead. But I don’t believe that, so I betray you gladly. I have to betray you again tonight, or I won’t fall asleep. You’d understand, surely.
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