6.14.25: Remote Work

Remote work feels like a cheat code until your days blur into soft deadlines and blinking cursors. You wake up late, respond to messages in half-sentences, and eat meals standing up. You forget what day it is. Sometimes you forget your own voice. There’s freedom here, yeah—but it comes with isolation. The kind that sneaks up in the middle of a spreadsheet. You tell yourself you’re lucky. And you are. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy. You miss the stupid coffee breaks. The shared eye-rolls. Some part of you wants chaos again. The rest just wants another coffee.

6.13.25: The Deadlifter

There’s a guy at the gym who deadlifts like he’s summoning spirits. Screams, chalk cloud, dramatic rest between sets. Me? I stretch like I’m 80, then do three cautious sets of bench press while making a deal with gravity not to kill me. Still, I show up. Day after day. No PRs, no fanfare. Just sweat and a little less brain fog. Sometimes I think that’s enough. Not because I’m making gains—but because I’m still choosing to move when I could just rot. Progress isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s just not quitting. Sometimes it’s just showing up when it’s hard.

6.12.25: Too Quiet

Chiang Mai’s quiet tonight. Street dogs asleep, motorbikes off-duty. The air smells like wet pavement and fried garlic. I pass a 7-Eleven with fluorescent lights that hum like a warning. Inside, a teenage couple is fighting in whispers over which ramen to buy. I grab a toastie, nod at the cashier, and step back into the mist. The city doesn’t rush me. No one here does. That’s the trick: time moves different when no one’s watching. I take the long way home, barefoot and unbothered. The toastie’s gone before I hit the elevator. Life feels weird. But weird feels like progress.

6.11.25: The Last Bookstore

The last bookstore closed yesterday. People barely noticed. The building's being turned into a vape bar or maybe a cryo-lounge — no one’s sure. I stood out front for a while, watching them carry out boxes. Not just books, but shelves, signs, that little wooden ladder on wheels. Gone. I remembered the smell of old pages, the quiet clicks of people browsing. Algorithms don’t smell like anything. They don’t surprise you. They just feed what you already like. Bookstores were unpredictable. You went in looking for nothing and left with something that changed you. Now we just scroll. And scroll. And scroll.

6.10.25: Get 1% Better

Everyone says “get 1% better every day” like it’s motivational. But that math never stops. What if I don’t want to keep optimizing forever? What if I want to sit still without guilt? Rest isn’t regression. Maintenance isn’t failure. There’s beauty in plateauing sometimes — just existing without chasing the next version of yourself. Growth culture forgets that humans aren’t spreadsheets. We aren’t meant to scale infinitely. I’d rather be deeply good at a few things than constantly scrambling to improve everything. Sometimes the best version of yourself isn’t ahead — it’s right now, already good enough, just waiting for permission to exhale.

6.09.25: There’s No Time

When people say, “There’s no time,” they usually mean there’s too much happening. But sometimes, there really isn’t time. Like today. Like how the government just moved the clocks forward 23 hours. “Efficiency measure,” they said. People lost birthdays, anniversaries, deadlines. A whole day vanished. And it won’t come back. I watched the sun rise for a minute before everything flickered black. Then it was morning again, but not the same one. They say time is money, but now it’s policy. We don’t keep time anymore. We borrow it, rent it, revise it. And if you’re not paying attention, it’s gone.

6.08.25: Being Unreachable

I miss being unreachable. Remember that? When you could just leave? No one tracked your location, no one expected an instant reply. If someone called and you weren’t home, they just waited. Now everything’s urgent, everything’s right now. I have to consciously put my phone in another room just to think clearly. Not even to focus — just to remember what unstructured time feels like. We talk about freedom, but being connected all the time is its own kind of prison. Constant pings. No silence. No privacy. We didn’t choose this pace. We just stopped resisting it.

6.07.25: The Feed

They say you can’t survive more than four days without the Feed. Some guy tried last year. Cut his neural port out with a kitchen knife. Made it two and a half days before the tremors started. His eyes turned inward like he was watching something that wasn’t there. They said it was withdrawal, like unplugging from the only thing holding your mind together. I wonder if it’s true. Or if the fear is the leash. I’ve thought about trying it, just to see if my thoughts are still mine. But thinking that is probably already flagged. It always is.

6.06.25: Physical Maps

The city banned physical maps five years ago. Said they were security risks. Too easy to plan escape routes. Now everyone uses the sanctioned NavLink. You ask it where to go, and it tells you — assuming you’re cleared. People still whisper about paper maps, like they’re contraband. I saw one once, in an old book. Lines and ink, fragile and dangerous. I keep thinking about that: how freedom used to be foldable, how you could just walk somewhere without asking. Now, even wandering is illegal. You don't choose your path anymore. The system does. All roads lead to compliance.

6.05.25: Silence

I think one of the hardest skills to learn as an adult is knowing when silence is the better answer. Not everything needs a comeback. Not every slight deserves a response. Sometimes you just let it hang, let it die in the air. It’s not weakness — it’s restraint. The ego wants war. The wisdom wants peace. I’ve bit my tongue more in the last year than I have in the last ten, and I’m better for it. Silence doesn’t mean losing. It means choosing not to lose yourself. The older I get, the more I respect quiet power.

6.04.25: Airport Terminals

There’s something weirdly soothing about airport terminals. Everyone’s in motion, but nobody’s really in control. Delays, gates, customs — all decided by someone else. And for once, that’s fine. You’re just a body with a boarding pass, waiting to be told where to go. There’s freedom in that surrender. Time slows. You walk loops. You stare at overpriced sandwiches. And yet, you’re going somewhere. Airports exist in this liminal space where the future is close but unreachable. It’s a pause, wrapped in noise. I kind of love it. It’s the one place where waiting feels like part of the story.

6.03.25: How We Walk

I’ve been noticing how people walk when they’re alone versus when they’re with someone. Solo walkers usually move faster, head down, straight lines. But when you’re with someone, your pace shifts. You sync. You pause. You gesture more. It’s subtle, but it’s real. We literally move through the world differently depending on who’s beside us. Makes me wonder how many other things we adjust without realizing. Tone, posture, even path. We’re fluid like that. Maybe that’s what connection actually is — not just shared words, but shared motion. Walking in rhythm with someone might be the simplest kind of intimacy.

6.02.25: Narrating Life

Every once in a while, I catch myself narrating my own life in my head, like I’m in a documentary. “And here he was again, opening the fridge for the fifth time, despite knowing nothing had changed.” It’s not even intentional — just this weird, observational voice that kicks in. I think it helps me detach a little. Like, if I’m watching myself, I’m not fully consumed by the chaos. It’s oddly therapeutic. Maybe it’s a side effect of writing too much. Or maybe we all do it now, quietly becoming content in our own heads. Meta-awareness or coping mechanism?

6.01.25: Loyalty

I used to think loyalty meant sticking with something no matter what — a friend, a brand, a plan. But I’ve learned that real loyalty isn’t about staying forever. It’s about showing up fully while you’re there. It’s about effort, not endurance. Blind loyalty leads to stagnation. Smart loyalty knows when to pivot. I’ve left jobs, relationships, routines — not because I didn’t care, but because caring meant knowing when something had run its course. Staying isn’t always the brave thing. Sometimes, the brave thing is walking away with your values intact. Loyalty should be honest, not automatic.

Short Story: The Year of Wet

Day 167 of Songkran

No one remembers the exact moment it stopped being fun.

Some say it was the influencer livestreaming from Tha Phae Gate, shrieking with glee on Day 12 as the rain started falling again, unseasonal and heavy. Others say it was Day 37, when the military trucks joined the parade—no orders, just cannons and chaos. But most agree it was the mountains. When the gangs tapped the mountain lines, when the streams were bled dry to flood the streets of Chiang Mai, that’s when Songkran became something else. Something permanent.

The water doesn’t stop.

They call them the Hose Kings now. Kids who once sold buckets on the roadside now patrol intersections with PVC guns, pressurized with stolen pumps. Entire sois are walled off, guarded with makeshift barricades and diesel-fueled slip’n’slides. You want to cross the moat? You pay the toll—usually a soaked passport or a boot full of ice water. Maybe both.

Tourists who didn’t leave by Day 60 are either prisoners or soldiers. There’s no neutrality anymore. You’re in a crew, or you’re prey.

Electricity’s patchy at best. The government tried to cut the water main on Day 103—drones caught the attempt, and by morning, the water warriors had repelled the workers with high-pressure hoses and frozen balloons packed like grenades. One of them hit a lineman in the neck. He drowned standing up.

In the old city, the Wetside Syndicate controls from Moon Muang to Ratchadamnoen. They’ve got the pressure guns, fire hoses, even one of those old riot trucks refitted with a DJ booth on top. Their leader wears a snorkel mask full-time and speaks only through a megaphone. No one's seen his real face since Day 88.

On the Nimman side, the Aqua Marauders run things. Flashier, more brutal. They’ve built ziplines between cafes, sniper perches in co-working spaces. Their weapons are artisanal—hand-carved teak super-soakers, insulated to hold ice longer. They say one of them modified a hydro pump to break glass at 30 meters.

Food’s running low. Even the pad thai stalls gave up. Who wants to fry an egg when it’ll get doused before it hits the plate? Most of us eat what we can steal—instant noodles softened by the air, bread soaked beyond saving. Salt’s the real currency now. Keeps the mold off your stuff.

Some of us remember when this was a celebration. Cleansing, renewal, joy.

Now it’s war.

Day 167 and the skies show no sign of mercy. Rain at dawn, thunder at dusk. The rivers have turned on us. Every pipe leads to a barrel, every barrel to a cannon. There are whispers of a resistance—dry rooms deep in the basements of malls, where people wear socks and sip tea. But no one’s seen them. Maybe they’re just legends.

Tonight, I sleep in a plastic poncho, wrapped in garbage bags, dreaming of the desert.

Or maybe I don’t sleep. Not here. Not when every splash could be a warning.

The water’s everywhere now. And it’s winning.

Clothes Have Been Donated!

Collected 250kg of clothes last month! After sorting, several boxes went to migrant communities in #ChiangMai through the Shan Youth Power program, helping both kids and adults. Huge thanks to everyone who donated! ❤️ If you're in CM and have more clothes to give, DM me! 🙏♻️

More from Hua Hin

Hua Hin isn’t just another beach town in Thailand—it’s got history, charm, and a vibe that balances laid-back beach life with a touch of sophistication. Whether you're thinking about a weekend escape from Bangkok or just curious about this coastal gem, here are some fun facts about Hua Hin that might surprise you.

1. Thailand’s OG Beach Resort

Before places like Phuket and Samui became international hotspots, Hua Hin was the beach destination in Thailand. Back in the 1920s, King Rama VII built his summer palace here, and ever since, it’s been a go-to retreat for Thai royalty and Bangkok’s elite. That’s why you’ll still find a more refined, old-school vibe compared to the party-heavy islands.

2. Home to the Longest Golf Course in Thailand

If you're into golf, Hua Hin is a paradise. The Royal Hua Hin Golf Course, built in 1924, is Thailand’s oldest 18-hole course and still one of the most scenic. Bonus points: it's right next to the train station, which itself is one of the most picturesque in the country.

3. It’s Got a Vineyard—Yes, Really

Thailand and wine? Sounds like a weird combo, but Monsoon Valley Vineyard in Hua Hin is proving that tropical winemaking is a thing. Set in rolling hills just outside the city, it’s a spot where you can sip Thai wine while surrounded by vineyards—something you don’t see every day in this part of the world.

4. The Night Markets Are Next-Level

While Thailand is known for its night markets, Hua Hin’s are especially fun. The Cicada Market brings in artsy, handmade crafts and live music, while the Tamarind Market is all about incredible food. If you want seafood fresh off the boat, the night market in the center of town is where you’ll find grilled prawns, fresh squid, and just about every Thai dish imaginable.

5. You Can Ride Horses on the Beach

Move over, jet skis—Hua Hin’s beaches are famous for horseback riding. Thanks to its royal history, the tradition of horses here is strong, and you’ll find locals offering rides along the sand, making for a totally different kind of beach experience.

6. It’s One of the Driest Spots in Thailand

While much of Thailand deals with heavy monsoons, Hua Hin gets less rain than most coastal areas, making it one of the best year-round beach destinations. Even in the rainy season, showers tend to be short-lived, which means more sunshine and fewer interruptions to your plans.

7. There’s a Train That Goes Straight to Bangkok

If you hate dealing with airport transfers, Hua Hin’s got you covered. Thailand’s Southern Railway Line runs right through town, and you can take a scenic 4-hour train ride straight to Bangkok’s Hua Lamphong station. Bonus: the Hua Hin train station itself is a historic landmark, with its classic red-and-white architecture making it one of the prettiest in Thailand.

Hua Hin is that perfect mix of relaxing and lively, with just enough history and uniqueness to set it apart from other beach destinations in Thailand. Whether you’re there for a short getaway or looking to slow things down for a bit longer, there’s plenty to love about this royal retreat by the sea.

Hua Hin: The Retirement Capital I Had to See for Myself

I knew what I was getting into. Hua Hin has a reputation, and it’s well-earned—this place is retirement central. The sidewalks are filled with slow walkers, the beach chairs are occupied by people who have been here since the '90s, and every second restaurant serves up some version of schnitzel with mashed potatoes. If you’re looking for nightlife, excitement, or—let’s be real—anyone under 50, this isn’t the spot.

But hey, I wanted to check it out. First and last time for sure.

To be fair, the beaches are decent, and there’s a certain charm to the old-world, laid-back vibe. The seafood is fresh, and the night markets aren’t bad if you’re into browsing knockoff watches and elephant pants. If I were 70, I’d probably love it. But I’m not. And after a few days of watching the early bird dinner crowd shuffle through European bistros, I was ready to move on.

Hua Hin? Been there, done that. No need to return.

I Got Instagram

Alright, I caved—I got Instagram. Posting on the blog was becoming a hassle, and since I’m not traveling as much these days, I figured I’d join the masses. It’s mostly me and Cooper, so if you’re into cute French bulldogs, give me a follow and say hey: https://www.instagram.com/degen.11/

I’ll still keep this site going, but it’ll be more text-focused—think writing, my portfolio, and an archive of travel shots.

250kg of Clothes, One Big Thank You

Sometimes, the simplest things make the biggest impact. Over the past few weeks, we pulled together 250kg of clothes for Child’s Dream Foundation, and now they’re on their way to families who actually need them.

This wasn’t just a dump-run of old stuff—these are clothes that’ll keep people warm, that’ll be worn daily, that actually matter. And it only happened because a whole lot of people showed up, donated, and made it happen.

So, huge thanks to everyone who pitched in. Whether you dropped off a bag, spread the word, or just helped move all that weight—this was a team effort. Feels good to do something real.