Why does it always rain on me?
Is it because I lied when I was seventeen?
Why does it always rain on me?
Even when the sun is shinning I can’t avoid the lightning

Travis

Rich People, Issues, and First I Cry

I saw a clip where a member of the audience asked my favorite comedian:
“Do you have problems because you’re rich?”

He shrugged and replied:
“No. Because I’m rich, I just have issues that need to be addressed.”

That made me think. Do rich people have fewer problems? At first glance, it looks that way. But the truth is, everyone has them. People with less fortunate lives face problems. People with more fortunate lives face issues that need to be addressed. The problems just arrive in different packaging. Some come gift-wrapped, some come screaming at 2 a.m., and some arrive with a passive-aggressive Post-it note saying, “Handle this, please.”

Later, I asked my students in social studies a question:
“What do you do when something is not easy?”

One of them answered instantly:
“First I cry, then I do it.”

That response stuck with me. Life is not easy. Sometimes crying is the first step — and maybe that’s exactly how it should be. Problems aren’t just obstacles; they’re invitations to pay attention, respond, and ultimately act. And if crying counts as rehearsal, I say, let’s overdo it. Better to sob dramatically than to sneeze politely through mediocrity.

The Scriptwriter and the Funny Problems

“I’m being held up by invisible men”

Sometimes I think my problems are written by a scriptwriter with questionable taste. Is it a divine person with a sick sense of humor? Or some misunderstood creative who would never survive the movie industries? Maybe the art is simply beyond comprehension, only fully understood once life itself has moved on.

I took the farm tour with students. Most of them didn’t have bus cards, so I paid with money from a budget, which is already a fantasy story. The bus ride was with a herd of students who clearly needed an Australian sheepdog to manage them. I’m an old dog who has seen enough. Then the farm manager told us: no tours on Thursdays — and of course, today was Thursday.

I looked at them and said:
“Look. I need this tour. Do you understand?”

She looked at my desperate eyes and said:
“Yes. But you requested this in English. I don’t do English.”

I shrugged. “Just call them baby horse, baby cow, and baby chicken. Keep it simple, I can translate. No problem!”

“But I need this tour. We can do it!” I added, trying to sound both desperate and persuasive, even though one student was crying because he’s scared of the cows.

She paused. Thought for a minute. And then… she gave in. The tour happened. In Finglish. Chaotic. Incomplete. Perfect.

Moments like these are small, ridiculous problems. Not tragedies, not climaxes. Just slapstick chaos keeping me humble, making me laugh, maybe cry a little, and reminding me that problems are not always monsters. Sometimes they’re mischievous imps with a flair for drama — like glitter in a vent, impossible to ignore and strangely delightful. And sometimes, they’re just reminders that the universe enjoys a practical joke.

Life as a Tippaleipä and Honey Traps

I can’t sleep tonight
Everybody’s saying everything is alright

After all the chaos, my friends asked me:
“Have you explained your life to them, the men?”

I thought about it. The question is a good one because I started to see men again. And suddenly, my life looked like a tippaleipä — messy, sticky, sweet, and impossible to handle without making a mess. Layers upon layers, some burnt edges, some gooey middles, some parts I have no idea how they even hold together. Delicious, yes. But chaotic. And slightly terrifying if you’re wearing a white wedding dress.

I also told my friends about the honey trap I built on a dating app — carefully curated to shock, amuse, and filter simultaneously. Quotes and pictures designed to scare off anyone who wouldn’t dive deeper, but enticing enough to attract people who could actually talk about the things that matter.

And then there was the sentence:
“Key to my heart is to make me come and hard… with laughter.”

It wasn’t about flirting in the traditional sense — it was honesty. Brutal, unapologetic honesty that acts as a sieve. Either you get it, or you don’t. The honey trap and the tippaleipä — both messy, chaotic, layered — are just reflections of life itself. And honestly, a little absurdity is the perfect seasoning. Sometimes, the right kind of mess is all the flavor you need.

Self-Perception vs. Perspective

Is it because I lied when I was seventeen?

Maybe the real problem isn’t the chaos, the honey trap, or the tippaleipä of my life. Maybe the problem is that I see myself as a problem.

My friends don’t see it that way. They see me as messy, unpredictable, yes — but not broken. Not something to be “fixed.”

And then there’s my BF(F) — currently on a pause with the last F because of a problem — who somehow manages to be both hilarious and heartbreakingly thoughtful. She gave me a jar. A jar containing 46 little things — reasons why I am her friend. Tiny, handwritten slips of paper. Silly, profound, absurd, perfectly me.

Forty-six things I never thought of. Forty-six things that remind me that maybe the real “problem” isn’t me at all. Maybe it’s just perspective. Maybe the problems aren’t monsters; they’re signals to pay attention, respond, and laugh. Sometimes, they’re even catalysts for creativity, mischief, or ridiculous adventure. Sometimes, they’re just the universe whispering, “Try harder, human.”

Final solution to the problem

I can’t stand myself”

After all that — the honey traps, the chaos, the sticky layers of life, and the jar of 46 reasons to like me — I’ve realised something slightly ridiculous but liberating: maybe I’m not a problem at all. Maybe I’m a good problem. A problem that nudges other people to confront their messes, think, laugh, and untangle the sticky bits they’ve been ignoring.

Or maybe life itself is the ultimate problem — a tangled tippaleipä of absurdities, challenges, and syrupy moments that demand attention, care, and occasional improvisation. Maybe we all just need to learn to be like politicians: camouflage problems as “opportunities for growth,” “strategic challenges,” or “complex initiatives” — sprinkle in a few buzzwords like synergistic dilemmas, paradoxical contingencies, existential variables, or interdimensional quandaries — and suddenly, chaos sounds… manageable.

Maybe that’s the trick. Maybe the problem isn’t something to fear, but something to play with, to poke at, to laugh at, to learn from. Maybe it’s what makes life interesting. And maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what makes me interesting too.

So I’ll take my problems, because if life insists on raining, I might as well pirouette, twirl, splash in it — and maybe throw in a jazz hands flourish just for good measure.

Let it rain because first I cry, then I do it. Then there will be a fucking sunshine.