Freezing Thoughts

 "Asgard is not a place. It’s the people." I remember watching Thor: Ragnarok and feeling that line land deep in my bones. Not because it was heroic or dramatic, but because it finally gave a name to something I had lived for years, without ever knowing how to speak it. When you’re constantly on the move, the walls blur. But what never fades are the people who became home, or your Asgard, for a while.  Asgard is a late-night conversation with your cousin in a semi-furnished apartment. It’s the quiet solidarity of a friend helping you lift your life. It’s the look shared across a conference room, where something real passed between two people, who knew they were about to build something that wouldn’t last forever, and chose to build it anyway. An involuntary hug, a gaze held a tad too long, a pat on top of a handshake, glistening eyes, a little nod, unfinished sentences - these are my Asgards.  Brief, luminous, unforgettable. Like constellations across the night sky of mem...

House No. 39.  I haven’t moved into it yet. But I already know I won’t be packing it into boxes. By the time you’ve moved 38 times across 11 cities and 4 countries, you start to measure life differently. Not in square footage or bank statements, but in how long you let your heart stay open before the next inevitable goodbye. People have often asked me: Why so many moves? Was it work? Was it choice? Was it restlessness? Sometimes I moved because I had to. Other times, because I knew something inside me had already left, even if my body hadn’t caught up yet. This post is not about the cities, or the airports, or even the houses. It’s about the pattern I only recently recognized, one where I build something beautiful; a business, a friendship, a future, and then quietly, and respectfully walk away. And now, as I stand before House No. 39, metaphorically or literally, I wonder: What happens if I don’t walk away this time? What happens if I stay? Not just physically. Emotionally. Spirit...