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Adulthood

Just got back from my hometown after a Chinese New Year trip. And if there’s one thing I keep thinking about since then, it’s this— so this is what being an adult feels like.   The weight of responsibility sits heavier each year. Being the only son means taking care of my mom, making sure she’s okay, making sure I’m okay. My back aches at least once a week, a little reminder that my body isn’t as resilient as it used to be. My eyesight is getting worse, even though I’ve tried to cut down my screen time. I’ve been trying to eat cleaner—less carbs, less sugar, more water, and workouts six days a week. ( Tried , at least. The last time I jumped rope, I somehow hurt my back. No idea how that happened, but it did.)   And then, there’s time. It moves differently these days. Slipping through my fingers faster than I can hold onto it. One moment, I was in Japan celebrating New Year, and now? It’s already February.  How?   Spending time in my hometown felt like a break from r...
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Crossroads

Life is full of moments where choices aren’t just decisions, they’re turning points. And right now, I’m standing at one of those moments, looking at two roads stretched out in front of me. One path feels safe, familiar, wrapped in the warmth of everything I know. The other feels uncertain, a little unknown, but it hums with the quiet promise of something new and exciting.    There’s a part of me—a loud, restless part—that long for change. It’s a craving I can’t ignore anymore, a need to step into a new rhythm, to explore a life where every step feels like growth. I imagine what it might be like to wake up in a place that challenges me, pushes me, forces me to adapt. A place where even the seasons change, reminding me that nothing in life is meant to stay the same.    But chasing that feeling means leaving so much behind. It means walking away from the people who’ve been my anchor—my mom, my sisters, my close friends. The ones who know me better than anyone, who’ve se...
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A Table for One, But Not Alone

Life is kind of funny.  I remember seeing something that once felt strange—a man, sitting in the middle of a bar, laptop open. The music was loud, the crowd louder. He sat at a table with a few others, drink in hand, earphones in, eyes locked on his screen. It was like he was in a different world, writing something only he understood, even with friends around him.    I stared, not out of judgement, but curiosity.  How could someone focus in all that noise?   Years passed, and now… I am that man.    Not in a bar, but in a restaurant I’ve only visited a few times. It’s tucked inside a mall, yet it doesn’t feel like the usual kind of place where people pull out laptops. The room is big, warm with energy, filled with the scent of freshly made pasta—creamy, buttery, and slightly garlicky, the kind that instantly makes your stomach flutter. Music plays overhead, familiar songs I know by heart, though in softer, jazzier renditions. Cover versions, maybe. The ...
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