I know the year I was born sat in an interesting point of transition. It was a time when the world was shifting, but hadn’t fully realised it yet.

Technology was present, but it wasn’t everywhere. Things still felt physical. Media was something you interacted with deliberately, not something that followed you around all day. Entertainment, communication, and information all required a bit more effort than they do now.

From what I’ve learned since, it was also a period where optimism and uncertainty existed side by side. Big changes were underway, even if they weren’t obvious at the time. Looking back, it’s easy to see how much of what we now take for granted was just beginning to form.

I didn’t experience that year consciously, but its influence is there. It shaped the environment I grew up in, the pace of change I witnessed, and the way I tend to approach new ideas — cautiously curious, but grounded.

It wasn’t a defining year because of the date itself. It mattered because of the direction the world was moving in. And that context has always felt more important than the number.

I’m most happy when things are quiet and steady. Not silent, just settled. When there’s no rush to be anywhere else and no pressure to perform or explain myself.

That usually looks like having time to focus on something I enjoy without interruption. Writing, playing a game, or working through an idea from start to finish. Being absorbed in something simple but meaningful does more for me than big moments ever have.

I’m also happiest when things feel balanced. When the day has structure, but not rigidity. When there’s enough space to breathe, think, and reset without feeling like time is slipping away.

It’s not about excitement or constant positivity. It’s about calm satisfaction. The feeling that nothing is demanding attention right now, and that’s okay.

Those moments don’t last forever, but when they show up, they’re enough. That’s usually where happiness lives for me.

When it comes to grocery shopping, I’m not chasing novelty. I tend to gravitate toward items that are reliable, flexible, and don’t require much thought after a long day. The goal is less inspiration and more sustainability.

Coffee is always at the top of the pile. It’s not about luxury or flavour notes — it’s about function. A decent cup makes mornings smoother and improves the odds of the rest of the day going to plan.

Bread is another constant. It’s simple, adaptable, and useful in more situations than it probably should be. Breakfast, lunch, or an improvised solution when plans fall apart — it usually earns its place.

Eggs are a quiet workhorse. Easy to prepare, hard to completely ruin, and useful whether there’s a plan or not. They’re the kind of item you’re glad you bought even when everything else in the fridge looks questionable.

Some form of basic protein usually follows, often chicken. It’s straightforward, flexible, and doesn’t demand much creativity to make it work. Practical food that does its job without fuss.

And finally, vegetables — usually chosen with realism rather than ambition. Whatever looks manageable that week. They add balance, keep meals from feeling too heavy, and make the whole operation feel slightly more put together.

Nothing exciting. Nothing showy. Just food that supports the day instead of complicating it. That’s usually enough.

I don’t really have one specific man I can point to as having clearly and directly shaped my life. There isn’t a single figure who stands out as a defining influence, and I’ve never felt the need to invent one just to fit the question.

What has mattered more has been a series of quieter influences over time. People who demonstrated consistency rather than charisma. People who handled responsibility without making a performance out of it. Those examples tend to leave a deeper mark than speeches or big moments.

I’ve learned more from observing how people deal with pressure, mistakes, and everyday obligations than from any grand lesson. How someone reacts when things don’t go to plan often says far more than how they act when everything is going well.

That process has shaped how I approach things myself. Staying calm. Doing the work. Not needing recognition to follow through. Those values weren’t handed down in one moment — they accumulated slowly, through experience and reflection.

So while there isn’t one person I can credit, the influence is still real. It’s built from observation, trial and error, and choosing which behaviours are worth carrying forward.

Sometimes the most meaningful impact doesn’t come from a single figure changing your direction. It comes from quietly deciding the kind of person you want to be, based on what you’ve seen along the way.

No — not really. A year ago, this isn’t where I expected things to be heading.

I definitely didn’t picture myself running a blog, let alone sticking with it and building something around it. It wasn’t part of the plan, mostly because there wasn’t much of a plan to begin with.

But here I am. Writing regularly, shaping ideas, and turning small moments into something tangible. It wasn’t predicted, but it’s been a good shift — one that grew naturally rather than being forced.

So while life today doesn’t match the picture I had a year ago, it’s not worse. Just different. Sometimes the unexpected route turns out to be the one that actually fits.

Not everything needs to be forecasted to be worth doing.

When it comes to cities I’d like to visit, I’m less interested in ticking boxes and more interested in places that feel lived in. Cities with history, atmosphere, and enough character to explore without rushing.

Edinburgh is high on the list. Old streets, layered history, and the kind of place where wandering aimlessly still feels like progress.

Prague appeals for similar reasons. Architecture, walkability, and a sense that every corner has something to say without shouting about it.

I’d also like to see Tokyo. Not for the spectacle alone, but for how it balances intensity with order. It’s a city that looks overwhelming at first, then quietly efficient once you understand how it works.

On the calmer end, Amsterdam stands out. Compact, navigable, and built at a human pace. A city where movement feels natural instead of exhausting.

None of these are about luxury or big moments. Just places that reward curiosity, patience, and a bit of wandering — which tends to suit me better than rigid plans.

If there’s one thing I’d hope people say about me, it’s that I’m reliable. Not in a flashy way — just someone who shows up, follows through, and does what they say they’ll do.

I don’t aim to be the loudest voice in the room or the centre of attention. I’d rather be the person who stays steady when things get complicated and doesn’t add unnecessary noise to the situation.

Being dependable matters more to me than being impressive. If someone can say I made things a little easier, clearer, or calmer just by being there, that’s enough.

Nothing dramatic. Just solid, consistent, and trustworthy. That’s the goal.