I Am Not a Monk! I Am Not a Saint!

Let’s get one thing straight, I’m not floating on some cloud of enlightenment, chanting mantras in a robe. I’m not a monk. And I’m sure as hell not a saint, polishing halos or turning the other cheek for fun. I’m me messy, loud, and probably too nosy for my own good. I ask questions, I poke holes, and I don’t bow to the altar of “because I said so.” If that makes me a heretic in someone’s book, well, I’ll take the title just don’t expect me to wear the hood.

The Curiosity That Bites

I’ve got this itch. Why do we hate? What’s meritocracy really worth? How do myths sneak into our heads and set up camp? I don’t just wonder I dig. I want the science, the dirt, the stuff that doesn’t fit in a sermon or a self-help tweet. Monks might meditate on it, saints might pray it away, but me? I’m the one Googling studies at 2 a.m., snorting at the nonsense people swallow. I’m not here to levitate above the chaos I’m knee-deep in it, asking, “Why’s it stink so bad?”

And yeah, I’ll call it out. Self-praise? What a clown show people strutting like they invented fire when they barely struck a match. Myths? Half-baked guesses we should’ve outgrown. I’m not whispering wisdom from a mountaintop; I’m laughing at the absurdity down here in the muck. That’s my lane not holy, just honest.

No Halo, Just a Headache

Don’t get me wrong I’m not flawless. I’ve got my own baggage, my own dumb moments. I’ll rant about ego, then catch myself checking my reflection. I’ll shred a bad idea, then trip over one of my own. Saints don’t stumble like that they glide, serene and untouchable. Monks don’t wrestle with sarcasm or a short fuse they’re too busy being Zen. Me? I’m a walking contradiction, and I’m fine with it. Perfection’s boring anyway.

I’d rather wrestle a question than nod at a platitude. Give me data over dogma, a good jab over a gentle nudge. I’m not here to save souls or sip tea in silence I’m here to figure shit out, maybe stir the pot while I’m at it. If that’s a sin, I’ll wear the horns with a grin.

The Gospel of Me

So what am I, if not a monk or a saint? I’m the skeptic who’d rather mock the self-righteous than join them. I’m the one who’d rewrite the hymnbook with a few choice expletives, just to see who flinches. I’m not chasing nirvana or a gold star from the universe I’m chasing what’s true, or at least what’s not total bullshit. And I’ll drag you along for the ride, whether it’s a blog about hate or a takedown of some puffed-up fool.

I am not a monk I don’t have the patience. I am not a saint I don’t have the PR team. I’m just me: curious, cranky, and allergic to sanctimony. Deal with it. Or don’t. I’ll be over here, laughing either way.