Now that I’ve got off the rollercoaster made of ice after landing back in London, after over the emotional hangover of sipping the toxins served up by family, and after making it through the storms of writer’s block and depression, I’m ready to move on.

And by “move on,” I really mean go back.

To dust off the last tapes on the back shelf of my mind for my last days in Thailand. When I made my last post from Bangkok, I was on the other end of being so sick I couldn’t leave that incredible apartment, which upon entering the first time, thought I would never want to leave. After days with the curtains drawn and staring at the television like I do back home, occasionally looking out the huge windows at the city streets my stomach forbid me from taking a trip down to, there was nothing more I wanted to do than leave.

How time flies, indeed. Since I last typed up here in my precious blog, we’ve shifted from 2025 into 2026. Now I can technically say it’s been a year since I posted in here, although it’s really been almost 3 months. And I find a few things kinda of amazing in this first paragraph:

The first being that it’s only been one year (technically) since I typed in here, and actually 3 months. I started to put this blog together around 10 years ago and had so many high hopes for it and my life, before it all just kind of… Fell away. Into obscurity, along with my mental health and soul. So, to be posting in here as much as I did last year when I was abroad, and now to be returning to the blog right now when I’m not abroad… and to actually finally be able to say with all truthfulness and sincerity that it’s PRECIOUS to me… I find that amazing, and has hit me harder than I thought it would.

Because for a long time now, it’s been so difficult for me to be able to say anything is precious to me, let alone my writing, or telling my story. It made me so sad to sometimes come across my blog, and to see it empty apart from the only 2 posts I made 10 years ago, a time I described to someone as being “the last time I really felt alive.”

But here I sit, all this time later, looking back at something incredible and recent, and looking forwards to more; more writing, more laughter with people, more travelling.

More of finding the answer to that question, “who am I?”

How time flies. Almost a month ago, I was up in the air sat on the plane and soaring up high, staring out of the window at my wings of liberation. I was still floating, gliding, high on life when I landed in Bangkok. There was the occasional turbulence, but I always felt the wind beneath my wings.

And then I found myself in the living area with the high ceilings. I stared out the window of the 37th floor. I felt the pressure in my ears as the lift took me way up high, higher than I’ve ever been, to places I thought I always wanted to be. I looked down at the tiny people down below and occasionally brought up my blog to complain about some of them, and why they refused to have their heads up in the clouds like me.

It seems like the wheel of karma has turned, Lady Luck has shown up late to the party to fuck my shit up and her good friend Irony has gatecrashed the party.

The wonders of walking around a different part of the world and being far away from the problems back in normality and ‘reality’ seem to have worn thin, now. Around the same time that walking around became problematic thanks to the heavy rain or when people in this new corner of the globe started adding to my problems instead of saving me from them (and how I wouldn’t let go of the sleight and move on, putting more weight on my aching shoulders). The novelty of ferry rides, temples and strange sights and smells lost its allure when my phone would whine for my attention. Incoming notifications with the threats, guilt-tripping and cheese filled traps I wanted a break from. Now, my enemies have a first-class, direct ticket to nag me constantly, and get to live rent-free in this expensive apartment with me.

The universe, God, whoever really took offence to me leaving On Nut and wanting to come to this apartment, I think! And all those big plans I had for myself have toppled off my ivory tower.

After living in such crap conditions in London, I wanted to live it up in a nice apartment in Bangkok where I could somewhat afford it. I wanted quiet. I wanted peace. I wanted to be left alone. I wanted a place to reflect and experience all the luxuries that I’d been missing out on, hoping that would ignite my dedication to such things. I wanted to go back to where I was 10 years ago and experience some of those things again.

Wait… is that a monkey’s paw curling?

When I got to this apartment and stood looking out the windows at the view, I questioned how anyone could get used to or bored of this.

But there I was, standing in the same place and looking out at the same sights, just a mere 3 days later and fretting over how the complacency was settling in. The novelty and excitement seemed to be trying to check out early, and I couldn’t allow that. ChatGPT said my nervous system just needed to settle down a bit (as it had been doing daily since I got here), especially after a day of pushing myself to walk the plank of boredom.

It felt like I was staring down the barrel of a gun, and with each fleeting day here, with each passing moment before I board the plane and go back to the cold of my old-normal, another little piece of potential was at risk of being put down by a bullet I should have seen coming.

I kept thinking back to On Nut, and how homely, humble and familiar the place felt, as if were a far off dream. How nice it was to walk around and feel something, whilst the area I was in now was just roads and streets. I wanted a nice place I wouldn’t have to leave when I was in On Nut. Now that I was in basically a palace, I suddenly wanted to be out and free… and no longer holding myself hostage in the company of the walking dead.

I had thought ahead a few days ago and how that private onsen was one of those moments of, “oh, wow, this is amazing!” and I could go back to capture that feeling, at a time when all those good, warm, fuzzy feelings seemed to be escaping so often.

I was going to walk into that place, have it all to myself, sweat buckets and have a good soak and massage and feel like a new man, ready to make the most out of the last part of my trip.

The universe seems to have other plans for me, and is trying to shake me awake, I think.

After a day of pure bliss and indulgence making the most of what I don’t have back home (and I don’t think I ever could), the FOMO seemed to be calling to me, somewhat. As beautiful as this apartment is, should I be spending so much time inside? The app on my phone is buzzing like a starving and determined mosquito every few minutes, telling me about the things other ‘nomads’ want to get together to do. I’m swiping away like the bugs they are, because I still need a bit of time to touch down, I still need to be constantly landing.

Don’t I? Or was last night enough? I can stay home and watch movies at my family home in December when it’s empty. I should go out and do something else. I should explore. I don’t want this place to become a gold-plated cage, do I? But surely one more day in will be good for me.

I think back to my question… do people get used to this? Do people get bored of this?

Will I get used to or bored of this? I really hope not.

But every now and again, I can’t help but see the other residents in the building that I’ve passed by in hallways, the lobby, in the elevators. The blank look on their face, the shuffling from one area to the other. The amount of foreigners in sportswear and tanktops, glassy, glazed over eyes. There seems to be ice on their shoulders, a world of division between us. I open the door for one tankytoppy foreigner entering the lobby before he can get his keycard out and step aside with a smile… and he walks straight past me without a look or word.

I’m reclining back on the sofa, looking up at the ceiling and wondering whether that happens to everyone. Is that just part of normal life? Am I thinking and hoping for too much? Would I become like that if I lived here? And my memory flashes back to the residential condo in On Nut, and I was in a world of smiles, bowing, coming home from my endless wandering and smiling at the old woman who does my laundry hanging out with mothers and their babies in the play area, laughing into the night.

Uh oh. I feel like I have to get out of here.

When the doors opened to the 37th floor and I stumbled out hugging the big black bag of all the toiletries, clothes, food and other stuff I had acquired over the last 2 weeks in On Nut, I was still holding on to the memory of the last 2 weeks, and almost like I had betrayed where I was for… for what?

Then I opened the door to the new apartment and the grin on my face almost split my face in two.

Holy fucking shit.

The place is gorgeous. Huge. Exactly what I wanted. I dropped my stuff and took a little spin as I took it all in. I’d never been in a place with walls this high. I have never been in an Airbnb with STAIRS. Oh my goodness, a sofa… and could it be? Yes. YES! Those buttons turn the legs up and the back down so you can lounge back and look up at the TV… if that view wasn’t so distracting.

I giddily skipped up the stairs to find the bedroom which is SO nice. And that view! Everything I thought about On Nut slowly becomes background noise, drowned out by the happiness and comfort I’m feeling, drowning in the exubrence of this space. I’m wishing I turned up here earlier… how would my first 2 weeks have gone differently if I was here?

Very differently, it turns out.

Once again, I am fucking terrified.

In one hour, I’ll be leaving my home of the last 2 weeks. The Airbnb in On Nut, and moving on to somewhere else.

10 years ago, it was beautiful retreat into my very own apartment after suffering through small talk and crippling Chang induced despair that made me ever so happy. 10 years later, it was checking out all the nice apartments that led me back to Thailand, after suffering through isolation and crippling sober induced despair in my studio flat in London.

When I was looking at places to stay in Bangkok, my frugality kicked in, of course: maybe if I go somewhere cheaper, I’ll have more money for the buffets, or the taxis, or the massages and pampering. If I go for the place with the desk, I’ll be more inclined to write. That was one of the highlights of my trip a decade before; barely leaving the flat (except for my trips to the Thai version of Disneyworld, 7-Eleven) and journalling. Not entirely healthy in hindsight, but I liked the idea of that option if I needed it.

I’m reluctant to type it out now, so I must have been reluctant to believe it when I arrived, but I think I was disappointed when I got to this condo I’m writing in, now. I was used to high-rise apartments with big, sliding doors and windows bathing the entire place in light. Where I was now, a wall covered most of the room, the balcony was converted into a small little conservatory, and something just didn’t feel right. It seemed to be having an identity crisis between being a modern Thai condo and something more western and chic, and not doing very well at either.

The end of my last post must have been as close as I’ll get to some kind of cliffhanger for you, my dear imaginary reader. Something that might get my friends and family (if I had those things) excited that I’ve met that special someone. I rolled up my sleeves, dusted off my wings and flew to another country to live out my very own Disney fantasy.

My family and friends (when I once had those things) would probably not be fooled, because I have a penchant for being a bit melodramatic. And after I and this girl parted ways, that habit was in full swing.

Hours before we parted ways, she stood on the skywalk ahead of me, another incredibly fit runner-type recording the sunset and gorgeous atmosphere of the park, panning to the right and in my direction. I was the only one blatantly in the way of her camera, and I didn’t want to ruin the shot by walking towards it and filling it up with my derpiness, so I spun around and put my back between her and I, trying to look natural like I was always there, another unimportant decoration in the park.

After it looked like she was done and the coast was clear, I started to walk past and told her I was trying to not screw up the video for her. Her smile is radiant and she asks me if I want a picture. On her phone, I ask? She says yes. Oh God, this is going to another one of those weird lost in translation moments before one of us gets fed up and walks excuses themselves. Most likely her, because she’s way nicer to look at.

I tell her I don’t like having my picture taken (or taking pictures in general it seems, by how devoid my blog is of them), so we settle on me taking a photo of her with her phone. That seems sensible, right?

I’m really confused the more we keep talking, about her new iPhone (and if she’s a fast enough runner if I decide to steal it), where she’s from, and I forget what else, because I’m waiting for that quintessential moment when the Thai girl I’m making innocent conversation with excuses herself and legs it in the opposite direction.

But it’s not happening.

It’s been a few days since I posted in here, 5 total… but it feels like an eternity since then, and since I landed. I was in the midst of writing out a big post about what I’d been up to over the first few days, trying to smash out an account of what I had been doing and the events of my time here, instead of my usual outpouring of the experience of being here. And then the days started stack up, I started meeting people, going places, doing things, getting swept up in everything except posting here.

I’m getting weighed down by a huge sense of writer’s block and general mental fuzziness over how quickly the days have gone, the weight of the realisation that I’m almost coming up to halfway on my trip and that I need to get my ass in gear to make the most of what’s left and process what’s came. So, my dear imaginary reader, please indulge me as I go back in time and go over what’s been happening so I can hopefully settle into where I am, and where I’ll be going after today.

I remember coming to Thailand 10 years ago with a small backpack, and barely any clothes except for some expensive stuff that all the cool travel bloggers were peddling as something incredibly functional and sexy. Not only will you meet your future husband/wife wearing that £80 merino t-shirt, you will also have worn it 40 days in a row without needing to wash it, and your future husband/wife will never know how disgusting it is that you never do laundry.