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.

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.

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.

4.10.25: Buying a Condo

Buying a condo was one of those decisions that felt like both a win and a weight. On one hand, it’s mine—my space, my investment. On the other hand, I’m constantly in this cycle of trying to improve it. New sofa, new windows, better lighting, small upgrades. And sometimes I just stop and wonder: what’s the end goal here? Am I really that much happier because I upgraded something? Or am I just chasing some idea of “better” that never actually lands? It’s weird how owning a place can make you feel grounded and restless at the same time.

4.09.25: Job Market

I think about what it’s going to be like trying to find a job when I’m 40—especially as someone who works remotely—and it honestly stresses me out. The world’s changing fast, and sometimes it feels like the older you get, the harder it is to stay relevant, especially if you’re not physically in an office somewhere. I love the freedom of remote work, but I wonder if that same flexibility will eventually work against me. Will companies still value experience if it doesn’t come with a big in-person presence? Or will they just look for younger, cheaper, always-online replacements?

4.08.25: AI Progress

I heard someone say that in terms of progress, AI right now is where the internet was in like 1996 or 1997—and honestly, that’s a pretty unsettling thought. Back then, most people had no clue how big the internet was going to get, how much it would reshape everything. If AI is at that same early stage, we’re in for a massive shift, and fast. It’s exciting, sure, but also kind of terrifying. The pace, the scale, the unknowns—it’s a lot. Feels like we’re standing on the edge of something huge, and we don’t fully understand what we’re stepping into.