Bee whipped me up an iced coffee way stronger than I expected—and honestly, I’m not even mad about it. Sat there at the counter with my yoga mat tucked under my arm, fully embodying some very questionable self-care vibes. Three months in Bangkok and I’m still figuring out how comfort can be this quiet precision—a cold coffee handed over the exact same way every day. It’s like consistency itself is a little act of kindness. Also, low-key homesick. My mind drifts to my mom’s ghormeh sabzi and the way Farsi sounds in our kitchen when no one’s trying to be fancy. Some things just travel better in memory, you know?

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