4.30.25: Dating Life

Dating is exhausting, but also weirdly fascinating. It’s like getting these mini windows into people’s lives—quick glimpses into how others think, what they value, how they laugh, how they argue. Every date is a roll of the dice: maybe it’s awkward, maybe it’s electric, maybe it’s just okay. But even the duds leave you with stories or lessons or at least a funny anecdote. It’s wild how many quirky personalities exist out there that you’d never cross paths with otherwise. Dating kind of feels like people-watching, except you’re one of the exhibits too—and that’s what makes it interesting.

4.29.25: A Single Box

I have this weird little fantasy where my whole life fits into one storage box. Not a shipping container, not a big trunk—just one clean, compact box. Everything I need, everything that matters, neatly packed and ready to go. It’s not even about minimalism really; it’s more about freedom. Like, if things ever went sideways, I could just grab the box and disappear. No baggage, no clutter, no anchors. Just essentials and memories, tight and self-contained. It’s probably not realistic, but the idea that my entire life could be portable? There’s something really peaceful about that simplicity.

4.28.25: Standing for Hours

Standing for hours straight is one of the most underrated forms of pain—yeah, I’m talking about concerts. Don’t get me wrong, I love live music, but after a couple of hours, my lower back starts filing complaints, my feet feel like bricks, and suddenly I'm calculating how far the nearest chair might be. Everyone around me seems fine, bouncing to the beat, and I’m just trying to shift my weight without looking like I’m 90. It's wild that we pay to suffer like this. Still worth it most of the time—but damn, standing that long really is its own battle.

4.27.25: Art vs. Music

I read this line the other day that stuck with me: “If art is how we decorate space, music is how we decorate time.” And damn, that just hit. It’s such a simple way to explain something huge. Art gives rooms personality, texture, depth—you walk in and feel something. But music? It fills the moments between everything else. It colors memories, sets moods, carries us through time. A song can take you back years in a second. It makes silence feel intentional, movement feel rhythmic. Both are forms of expression, but music—music lives in the flow. In between. Constant, shifting, alive.

4.26.25: No More CDs

I haven’t owned a CD in decades, and that realization hits weird sometimes. There was a time when my entire world revolved around them—saving up for a new album, flipping through the booklets, burning mixes for friends, organizing stacks by genre or mood. It felt personal, tangible. Now everything’s just… streaming. Instant, convenient, infinite—but also kind of hollow. No cracked cases, no liner notes, no weird hidden tracks at the end of song 12. I don’t miss the clutter, but I miss the ritual. CDs were more than music—they were a soundtrack to a whole era of life.

4.25.25: Sleep Until Noon

I miss being able to sleep in until noon—those slow, quiet mornings with no alarms, no guilt, just drifting in and out of dreams. It felt like the ultimate luxury. My dad absolutely hated it, though. Every time I’d roll out of bed at 12pm, he’d act like I’d committed some kind of personal betrayal against productivity. But I didn’t care back then. I loved the stillness of the world while everyone else was already up and moving. Now, life’s louder, busier, more structured. Sleeping in feels like a memory from another version of myself—one I kind of miss.

4.24.25: Aircon Fan

I saw this air conditioner the other day—one of those ceiling-mounted ones in the middle of the room—and right below it, someone had installed a little fan pointed straight down. And honestly? Genius. It’s such a simple fix, but it solves that classic problem where the cold air just hovers near the ceiling and never really reaches you. The mini fan pushes the cool air down, spreads it around, and makes the whole setup way more efficient. I stood there staring at it way longer than I should have, just appreciating the brilliance. Low effort, high reward. I respect that.

4.23.25: Sell Condo?

I’m nervous that if I get my condo appraised, it’ll trigger a chain reaction I’m not ready for—like once the number’s on paper, I’ll start convincing myself it’s time to sell. And maybe it is time. Honestly, I’m kind of done constantly fixing things. Every little upgrade feels like a band-aid on a place I’ve outgrown. I keep thinking about buying somewhere new, in a nicer building, where things just work and I’m not always chasing repairs or improvements. But selling feels big—final. Still, the idea of a fresh start is starting to outweigh the comfort of staying put.

4.22.25: No Diarrhea

Cooper has never had diarrhea, and honestly, I count that as a major win. With all the random stuff he sniffs, licks, or tries to chew on, it feels like we’ve dodged a hundred bullets. No messy cleanups, no 3 a.m. emergencies, no panicked vet calls—just solid, drama-free poops daily. I know it’s a weird thing to be proud of, but if you’ve ever dealt with a sick pet, you get it. It’s one of those little victories that quietly adds up. So here’s to Cooper’s iron stomach—may it stay strong, selective, and suspicious of street snacks forever.

4.21.25: Meaning of Life

I genuinely believe life doesn’t come with some prewritten meaning—it’s just space, time, and chaos until we decide what matters. That might sound bleak to some people, but to me, it’s freeing. If there’s no grand purpose waiting to be discovered, then I get to define it. Meaning isn’t something handed down; it’s something we build—through love, work, curiosity, creativity, connection. Some days it’s crystal clear, other days it’s a blur. But that’s kind of the point. It’s not fixed. It changes with us. And that makes it feel more real than anything someone else could have assigned.

4.20.25: Minimal Drive-Thrus

Chiang Mai doesn’t have many drive-thrus, and honestly, I think that’s part of what makes the city feel more connected. You actually have to get out of your car or off your bike, walk into a place, say hi, maybe even chat for a second. It’s a small thing, but those tiny moments of human interaction stack up. There’s something grounding about it—less transactional, more personal. It slows things down in a good way. You’re not just grabbing food and speeding off; you’re part of the flow. In a world obsessed with convenience, that kind of presence feels rare.

4.19.25: Inheritance

Does thinking about inheritance—ultimately meaning my parents have passed away—make me a bad person? I don’t think it does, but sometimes it feels that way. It’s not like I’m sitting around rooting for it to happen. It’s just one of those thoughts that creeps in when I’m thinking about the future, especially as I try to plan ahead or get my finances in order. The weird part is how tangled it feels—grief, guilt, responsibility, survival. I love my parents deeply. The idea of losing them wrecks me. But pretending the thought doesn’t exist doesn’t make it go away either.

4.18.25: Selling Things

I wish life worked like video games—where you can sell something instantly, and boom, the gold’s in your inventory. No back-and-forth, no flaky buyers, no figuring out shipping or payment platforms. Just click, sell, done. In real life, selling stuff is such a headache. You have to take photos, write descriptions, deal with people trying to lowball you, coordinate meetups or delivery, and then hope they don’t ghost you. It’s exhausting. I just want the item gone and the money in my hand, no drama. Video game economies might be fake, but damn, they’re efficient and way less annoying.

4.17.25: Am I Happy?

Someone asked me the other day if I was happy, and I didn’t know how to answer. Not because I’m miserable or anything, but because that question feels too blunt, too binary. I tried to clarify—“Do you mean right now? With life in general? With myself?”—but they just stuck with “Are you happy?” Like it was supposed to be simple. I think I mumbled something vague and changed the subject. It’s strange how hard that question hits. Not because the answer is no—but because the answer is layered, shifting, and not something I can just sum up in a sentence.

4.16.25: Fake Plants

I’m team fake plant, no shame about it. Real plants are cool and all—yeah, they smell nice, they’re alive, they photosynthesize, great. But fake plants? Zero maintenance. No guilt when you forget to water them, no panic when a leaf turns brown, no bugs setting up camp in the soil. They just sit there, looking good, asking for nothing. There’s something oddly comforting about that. Like, in a world where everything needs attention, it’s nice to have something that doesn’t. Just vibes. Forever green, forever chill. Real plants might be alive, but fake plants are loyal and peaceful.

4.15.25: The Collection

Julian stared at the empty shelves, once packed tight with vintage cameras—decades of collecting, hunting, obsessing. Each lens had a story. The Leica from Berlin. The broken Polaroid he found in Tokyo. Gone now. Sold in one sweep to a nameless buyer online. He told friends it was time to "declutter," but the truth was quieter: he hadn’t picked one up in years. They’d become relics of a version of himself he no longer recognized. As the shelves gathered dust, he didn’t feel regret. Just space. Space for something new, even if he didn’t yet know what it was.

4.14.25: Papua New Guinea?

Still trying to figure out if a trip to Papua New Guinea is actually going to happen this year. It’s one of those places I’ve always wanted to see, but the timing’s a little wild. I’ve got Vietnam in August for a new visa, Singapore in October for F1, and then my dad’s visiting in November. Feels like everything’s stacking up at once. I’m not against a packed schedule, but I also don’t want PNG to feel rushed. It’s the kind of place that deserves full attention—not a quick check-the-box stop between other plans. We’ll see. Still undecided.

4.13.25: Songkran 2025

Songkran in Chiang Mai is pure chaos—in the best way possible. Buckets of ice water flying from every direction, full-blown water fights erupting on every street corner, and random grandmas sniping you with super soakers from behind bushes. It’s like stepping into a citywide water war where everyone’s grinning ear to ear, soaked to the bone, and somehow still dancing. Tuk-tuks become mobile battlegrounds. You try to stay dry for five seconds—good luck. It’s rowdy, it’s beautiful, it’s exhausting, and it’s one of the most unforgettable things you can experience in Thailand. Just don’t bring your phone outside.

4.12.25: Arm or Leg?

If I had to choose, I’d rather lose a leg than an arm—no question. I think about it sometimes, not in a morbid way, just… practically. Arms feel so tied to who I am—writing, working, lifting, creating, even just eating or getting dressed. Losing that kind of control sounds devastating. A leg would suck too, obviously, but with tech now—prosthetics, mobility aids—it feels more manageable. You can still be active, still move, adapt. But losing an arm? That’s losing dexterity, expression, independence. I could learn to walk differently. But I don’t think I could learn to be the same.

4.11.25: Em Dash

I’ve always loved the em dash—still do, honestly. It’s clean, it’s punchy, and it gives a sentence that perfect little break without being too stiff. But now it’s everywhere, and it kind of sucks that it’s been co-opted as this supposed “sign” of AI writing. Like, no—I’ve been using em dashes since long before chatbots started pretending to be clever. Just because something’s good and widely used doesn’t mean it’s fake. It’s frustrating watching natural style get flagged as artificial just because the tools caught up. Let me keep my punctuation without turning it into some red flag.