5.05.25: Thunderbolts Score

The Thunderbolts soundtrack by Son Lux absolutely blew me away. I saw the movie yesterday and have had the score on repeat ever since. It’s rare that a soundtrack sticks with me like this one did—every track hit with emotion, intensity, and this gritty beauty that perfectly matched the tone of the film. Son Lux really nailed it. I don’t usually geek out over film scores, but this one deserves all the praise. It’s cinematic, haunting, and full of moments that gave me chills. Easily one of the best soundtracks I’ve heard in a long time. Bravo to the whole team.

5.04.25: ADD Overdrive

I was at this Thai live music concert the other night, and my ADD went into overdrive. I couldn’t understand the lyrics, the music didn’t grab me, and my brain just refused to lock in. It was packed—like shoulder-to-shoulder—and I couldn’t move without bumping someone. I found myself fidgeting nonstop, messing with my pockets, tugging at the hem of my shirt, anything to ground myself. Every minute felt longer than the last. It’s been a while since I’ve felt that genuinely uncomfortable in public, but the second I got there, I was already thinking about how fast I could leave.

5.03.25: Inconsistency

I can’t stand people who are inconsistent with communication—especially when it’s that hot-and-cold energy. One day it’s constant replies and interest, the next it’s radio silence or vague one-word answers. It’s not even about needing someone to text all the time, it’s just the whiplash that drives me crazy. Like, pick a lane. If you’re into it, be into it. If not, that’s fine too. Just don’t play this weird in-between game where I’m left guessing and confused. It’s exhausting, and honestly, I’d rather deal with direct rejection than emotional Sudoku. Consistency isn’t that hard—it’s just basic human respect, really.

5.02.25: That One Thing

I love restaurants that pick one thing and absolutely nail it. No ten-page menu, no trying to be everything for everyone—just a focused, dialed-in craft. It could be noodles, tacos, grilled cheese, whatever. When a place says, “This is what we do,” and does it perfectly, that hits different. There’s something comforting about that kind of confidence and simplicity. You’re not overwhelmed with choices—you’re just there to enjoy something done really, really well. It’s almost like a form of edible minimalism. Just give me one incredible dish and I’m good. That’s my kind of spot every time.

5.01.25: The “Old” Internet

I miss the internet before everything got monetized. Back when people built websites for fun, not funnels. When forums were alive, blogs weren’t SEO bait, and you could stumble across someone’s weird corner of the web without a pop-up asking you to subscribe. It felt like a digital wilderness—messy, creative, a little chaotic, but honest. Now it’s all ads, algorithms, and optimized content trying to convert. Everything’s polished, branded, trying to sell you something. I still love the internet, but damn, I miss when it felt like a community bulletin board instead of a marketplace with surveillance baked in.

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.