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I sit against a wall in the breeze, drinking strong coffee.

Behind me the water patters down on top of the aircon that cools this room.

I find them on escalators, walking up the left side.

Neck deep in the hot tub I contemplate people.

In Colorado after another set of long loops we relax.

In the spring the upcoming milestone dawns on me, and I pause to consider this site, twenty years old as of June.

In Paris I sit on a balcony and watch the sun rise.

In my home town I have a new haunt.

Between bursts of rain, with the humidity at ninety eight percent, we live.

In the spring of twenty six we embrace complexity.

On a Delta flight from Los Angeles to Philadelphia I wear my new band t-shirt.

In a taxi on Henan south road I feel it all coming back.

In Higashi Ojima I sit in a camp chair beneath some cherry blossoms.

We are building new traditions, I have said.

“This is on my list,” I say.

On the 高铁 from Yunyang to Chongqing I share six seats around a table.

In a forest in Lithuania I watch the sun shift through the trees.

These are the good years, I’ve written.

From our new apartment, seven stories up, I can hear the cheers of rugby players.

We take off over the lake.

One evening, on the ferry from Hung Hom to North Point as the sun sets, I realize how often we are on a ferry.

Fast.

Biking around Otsuka in the chill of late December everything clicks.

Written on election day, November 4, 2025.

In December of twenty twenty five we move on from the most convenient apartment we’ve ever rented.

In the second half of twenty twenty five we see Europe three times.

I sit in the hospital chair and watch Clara’s O2 numbers on the screen while she sleeps.

We land in a season we did not leave.

There are a million reasons to be grateful for our life in Hong Kong.

For two nights we walk into the Moth Club and out of our own lives.

Change like the sky Like the leaves, like a butterfly In moments of uncertainty, I try to remember our goal: to be comfortable anywhere.