There’s someone connected to my social circle who is young and unendingly passionate about being someone — being someone in the sense of wealth and grandeur. There’s nothing wrong with what he’s doing or his views, rather it got me thinking. Just now, my wonderful host from the small town came to visit me in Reykjavík with a mountain of Icelandic books from her collection. She’s letting me borrow them for a year or two: the complete collections of Halldór Laxness and Gunnar Gunnarsson. She came inside, and we spoke a little, all in Icelandic. She also brought two other books as gifts and some prints of photos she took of me at my event…

In yet another twist of events, I am left alone in this remote nowhere. Time simply passes: each day, I have no idea how long I’ve actually been here. Of course, the calendar tells me it has been eight days. Have I accomplished anything I wanted to in this time? No. Not really. But that doesn’t bother me — I’m thinking a lot, and that’s all I can ask for. Having the space to think is quite nice. My girlfriend visited briefly with two of her friends visiting the country. Some other friends of mine from the city came today for an even briefer visit. My girlfriend comes again on Tuesday to spend a few more days here. My hosts also return on Wednesday. It’s not like I’m actually alone here, but it’s funny how it all worked out. My friend who was supposed to stay these two weeks left unexpectedly. Now I’m alone with not just one, but two entire houses all to myself…

Today is day five in the remote barrens of Iceland. I’ve never been somewhere as peaceful as this. On my first day, our hosts took me around the town, showing me everything and talking. We met the local artists, spoke a lot of Icelandic, and I took a lot of pictures. The second day was much of the same. However, I’ve been extremely sick up until now and could hardly speak. Because of that, most of my time here has been spent in my room which is not so bad given that I’m free to do whatever I want: mostly rest and work on my art. I tried writing, but I can’t. That’s just how it goes sometimes (oftentimes)…

One year ago, I was unemployed. I had only moved into my first rental apartment the previous January. Before that, I was also homeless. My legal address was “undefined” up to then. Now, I’m sitting in my own apartment — that I own — thinking about an event I am hosting tomorrow: the launch of my business. Most people coming are my friends. Even my cofounder is someone I befriended through my writing group. Which was started with my coworkers at a job I made a name for myself within. Obviously, none of my accomplishments were in isolation. There were other people involved. Good people who deserve as much credit as I give myself. However, at this moment, I am thinking about me…

Perhaps my writing ecosystem is likened to that of fungus: let it all be left untended, lost, forgotten. Let it rot and decay, and my newest creations shall grow from the sludge like a fungus. It may not sound “beautiful,” but that is how it has been. I’ve been without internet for nearly two weeks. I wrote a lot. Quite a few blog posts, some poems, the starts to some stories. I probably won’t publish them. Instead, I’ll write this post — a growth consuming the decay of everything I leave forgotten. Of course, in this time, I’ve also been out and about as usual…

At long last, I have lived in Iceland for one year, consecutively. On November 16, 2023, I landed in Iceland, moved into my Airbnb, and first truly called this country home. Since then, I’ve gone on a wild adventure as I have previously described. In the last two weeks alone, I’ve been to an evening work event, a Halloween party, a sendoff party, two birthday parties, a dinner party, and a movie night. Not to mention the regular writing group, meeting with the older man, karaoke nights, library group, and philosophy group. Or meeting with friends and work itself. All in two weeks. I find that a good summary of how things turned out for me moving to Iceland. Before coming here, what did I do? I met with my one friend remaining in Michigan perhaps once every two weeks. That was all…

My time in LA was characterized by the stereotypical American city: eight lanes of crowded traffic in both directions, parking lots absolutely everywhere, no pedestrians, and big, fancy office buildings. The people I know told of their plans: working, moving up the ladder, and making money; school for the sake of work, work for the sake of money, money for the sake of a home. The enjoyment of life? The question was more often, “What enjoyment of life?” I feel bad for my Korean friend who just started a serious relationship only to have to go back to Korea for 18 months (putting his final years of med school on pause) so he can do his mandatory military service...