Hit up this tiny yoga studio tucked away on a side street because my shoulders felt like actual luggage. Mara made me really *exhale*—like, for real—and even though the room smelled like old mats and someone’s fenugreek lunch downstairs, it felt weirdly personal. By the end, my spine felt way cleaner, the ceiling fan was wobbling even more, and I got hit with that sharp, specific homesick pang for mom’s kitchen. Three months in Bangkok and I still miss hearing Farsi bouncing around faster than I can untangle my camera strap. Honestly, fair trade.

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