I basically bounce between abstract systems and physical stuff I can actually touch, like paper, music, photos, and food. If I don’t write things down, they evaporate. Texts in this place freeze a frame of mind so I can look back years later.
For work, I spent years building distributed systems or cloud-native infra, but lately I’ve pivoted entirely into LLMs (specifically multi-agent workflows and deep research tools). I like taking abstract logic and making it actually work.
Music is a big deal here. I grew up taking piano lessons, and though I barely play now, I still enjoy listening and collecting physical CDs. My taste has kind of shrunk inward over time. I started big with massive symphonies and full ensembles. Then concertos (one voice fighting an orchestra). Then chamber music. Nowadays, it’s mostly solo sonatas. I want to hear every single note.
I also finally cured myself of chasing the “perfect” audio setup, stepping off the upgrade treadmill. Now I just stick to wireless buds for commuting and a decent desk rig.
Between my phone and a real camera, there’s always a lens on me. Taking photos is not only an excuse to walk around a new city or my neighborhood, but also a bookmark. Looking at a photo months later brings back the context of that day—the weather, the background noise, my headspace, and whatever I was dealing with then.
As for cooking, I only started because I had to eat, but it ended up saving me from screen burnout. People like to say cooking is like writing code: assembling parts to make a thing. That’s a lie. Code is predictable. The kitchen doesn’t care about your logic. You’re suddenly fighting flour that behaves completely differently because it rained outside, or a pan that holds heat weirdly. You can’t compile it. You have to poke at it, smell it, and guess. If a recipe actually made it onto this site, it means I’ve cooked it a dozen times without ruining it.
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