Told the gatinha in Porto, Portugal, or you know that country that used to be Portuguese but is now something between a theme park for unhinged “spiritual seekers” and Dante’s 9th circle of hell, to step through the portal for a head rub and she told me: “Only if you promise that you are not a digital nomad, or have tried to open up or ‘got treatment’ at an ayahuasca retreat within the past 10 years that specializes in cunts who book a 10,000 $ session with some clown from Connecticut who learned ‘his craft’ from some Peruvian truck driver he took for a 5th generational shaman. I am sure you give stellar head rubs but all my friends died from ear cancer listening to those bozos. It is always the same, they all arrive mouth farting about their trauma, which is:

A) I was dating a toxic narcissist who abused me non-verbally. Non-verbal abuse is when somebody thinks negative thoughts about you. It is much worse than physical abuse because for hypersensitive empaths like me it hurts straight to the bone. Physical abuse might just break them, but non-verbal poisons your bones from the inside. I am also a hypersensitive empath who feels everything that is related to me or that I can make about myself. I then decided that from then on I would only rub fuck parts with women because I was so traumatized. But then I met a lady who abused me transcendentally and I literally hit rock bottom. I was so stressed I lost half of my hair. Also because I was on Ozempic and only ate pomegranate seeds, but mostly the abuse.

B) I am an empath and I feel so much. I feel for the people of Pastrami or Valentine or whatever that place is called where everyone used to live in a palace until the Jews came. I mean I never read a book on that conflict in my entire life, but I mean so many writers are Jews, so I feel like it would not give justice to the Pastramis and so I insist on getting all of my education from podcasters and really good TikTokers. I feel so close to them because once when I was 6 my mum did not cut off the crust of my sandwich even though she knows I don’t like it, and I was stuck with a bread I don’t like.

C) I once told my mum I slept at my friend Amber but really was counting on spending it at Josh’s, but he had only invited me so he could touch my boob, and then I could not reach Amber and I had to sleep next to an ATM in a bank building for one night. Nobody can relate to the trauma of living on the streets, and since then I can’t connect to anyone anymore.

And it always ends up with them throwing themselves on the floor screaming they have finally managed to forgive their parents for favouring her sister on day 2 or having a breakthrough that on that day where they realized that their mum did not cut off the edges because they were too poor and could not afford to waste the crust, so I could go to a good college and have a 7-figure inheritance. and it was all out of love. Everything is made out of love. Why is everybody mad? Why are we not all holding hands? Hamas, the PLO, the Care Bears, Khomeini’s ghost, Hezbollah, that peen I took a ride on whom I think belonged to the shaman an hour ago, the strands of hair I lost due to my suffering, My Little Pony, those dollar signs that rule other people’s world except for mine because I have done the work and transcended money, Belle from Beauty and the Beast, little 6-year-old ballerina me dancing her heart out, Hitler and his bestie the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem… I dunno if I am squirting or pissing at this point but who cares when it’s all the same, we are all one.

Kyria Sobrinho is a Berlin-based comedian, tour guide and blogger and works somewhere between confession, construction and confusion.