Ended the day at this street noodle cart near the motorbike garage—my body clearly said, nope, no fancy dinners tonight. Garlic, greens, chili, and some magical broth fixing things I didn’t even know were off. Somchai asked if I’m working too much and I gave him the most diplomatic yes ever. Meanwhile, Nuan tried to velcro himself to my shin like I was some kind of public bench. Three months into Bangkok and yeah, still buzzing, still so grateful, but also quietly missing mom’s ghormeh sabzi and the sound of Farsi drifting through the kitchen. Nights like this though, chopsticks in one hand, city humming around me—it makes the distance feel almost like a hug.

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