Damn, Miami is a cruel irony

Had a date. With someone I’d already seen once before. Used to like her—not anymore.

What shifted? One moment. One unexpected reaction from me… something that didn’t fit the “Alpha male” mold she had scripted in her head. Boom. I was blocked. Not on the phone, but mentally, emotionally. She literally actually, left me waiting at a place we were going to meet. Erased.

And it got me thinking… Miami feels like a place on fire. Everyone’s scrambling, stepping on heads just to get some air.

This is not an “isolated” case. She actually made me realize I shouldn’t be here.

But here’s the irony: Everyone chose to come here. For something. Belonging. Recognition. A belief that maybe this is where they’ll finally feel alive.

But what if… this city just drains people of whatever soul they had left?

Not saying everyone here’s lost. But let’s be honest—a huge chunk of people here believe that achieving a materialistic, hyper-polished version of success will fill that inner void. Status replaces connection. Usefulness replaces value. If you’re not useful, you’re invisible—or worse, disposable.

Yes, I’m here too. Correction: I was. Not anymore.

There’s this spiritual cosplay vibe going on…The yoga pants, the green juice, the filtered quotes about healing and light; All sprinkled with cocaine, hollow hookups, and the desperate chase to be “somebody.”

And behind it? A vacuum. A collapse of real values. The currency here isn’t kindness. It’s leverage.

Not just Miami; plenty of places like this exist. But this one? It’s a masterclass in how to lose yourself while pretending you’ve finally arrived.