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.

I don’t chase complicated workout routines. My favourite physical activities are the ones that feel practical, steady, and don’t require a motivational speech to get started.

Walking is at the top of the list. It’s simple, clears the head, and doesn’t need equipment, planning, or any sort of athletic heroics. Just movement and a bit of quiet.

I also appreciate light stretching or mobility work. Nothing dramatic — just enough to keep everything functioning without complaining. It’s more maintenance than exercise, but it does what it needs to do.

And while it’s not a formal workout, I enjoy anything that has a clear purpose: lifting something that actually needs lifting, organising a space, or tackling the kind of physical tasks that make the day run smoother. Functional movement feels more useful than sets and reps.

Nothing flashy. Nothing extreme. Just activities that help me stay steady without turning it into a survival challenge.

I admire people who stay calm under pressure. Not because they’re fearless, but because they know how to steady themselves when things get messy. That kind of focus is worth more than half the noise we deal with day to day.

I also respect consistency. Showing up, doing the work, and keeping promises — even when it’s inconvenient — says a lot more than big gestures ever do. Steady effort beats flashy effort every time.

Another thing that stands out is the ability to learn without ego. People who admit when they don’t know something, ask the right questions, and come back stronger. It’s practical, honest, and a trait more of us could use.

And finally, I admire those who can find humour in difficult moments. Not denial, not avoidance — just the ability to cut through tension with something light so everyone can breathe again.

None of these traits are loud. They don’t make headlines. But they make life easier, and that’s worth admiring.

My taste in cartoons runs across a wide spectrum, and I don’t really try to narrow it down to a single favourite. At the top sits Hazbin Hotel, mostly because it leans fully into its own chaos. The animation style is bold, the humour is sharp, and the characters manage to be a mix of unhinged, entertaining, and unexpectedly sincere. It’s chaotic energy done well.

Right beside it is Helluva Boss. Same universe, different direction, and just as strong. The show mixes comedy, action, and emotional gut punches in a way that shouldn’t work as smoothly as it does. One minute you’re laughing at some unfiltered nonsense, and the next it slips in something surprisingly honest. It earns its place up there with Hazbin easily.

Even with those modern favourites, I still go back to the classics. Looney Tunes remains one of the most reliable sources of humour ever animated. The timing, the slapstick, the complete disregard for physics — it all lands just as well now as it did the first time I watched it. Some formulas age; that one doesn’t.

Then there are the old Disney cartoons, which have a very different charm. Simple stories, solid animation, and a tone that doesn’t need to try hard to work. They’re calm, consistent, and easy to come back to when I want something familiar without any noise attached.

Between the stylish modern chaos of Hazbin and Helluva Boss, the timeless absurdity of Looney Tunes, and the quiet comfort of Disney’s classics, I’ve ended up with a blend that pretty much covers every mood. I’d struggle to pick just one, but together they sum up exactly what I enjoy about animation.

If I had to pick something to do less of, it would be overthinking. It doesn’t solve much, but it does a great job of turning small tasks into mini-boss encounters. Most things take five minutes once I finally start them.

I could also do less multitasking. It sounds productive, but half the time it just splits my focus and slows everything down. Finishing one thing properly beats juggling five half-done things any day.

Another habit I could tone down is doom-scrolling. Not dramatic amounts, just the quiet routine of checking one thing, then another, then somehow ending up reading something that adds nothing to the day except a raised eyebrow.

And finally, I could do less second-guessing. Not every choice needs a full internal review panel. Sometimes “good enough” is exactly what it needs to be.

Nothing life-changing — just small adjustments that would free up a bit more energy for things that actually matter.

The past year had its challenges, but there were still some solid wins worth noting. Nothing dramatic, just steady steps in the right direction.

First, I made real progress on projects I’d been putting off. Getting things moving — or finally finished — felt like a quiet victory. Momentum can be slow, but once it shows up, everything feels a little easier to manage.

I also picked up new skills along the way. Some came from curiosity, others from problem-solving, and a few from situations where learning something new was the only practical option. Either way, it all added up and made the year feel productive.

Another positive shift was finding a better rhythm with my hobbies. Writing more, gaming with purpose, and exploring ideas I kept shelving. It helped bring some balance to a year that wasn’t always calm.

And finally, there were moments of clarity — small but useful. The kind that help you focus on what matters and drop the things that don’t earn their place.

Nothing flashy. Nothing loud. Just consistent progress, which is sometimes the best kind.

I do have a favourite place, though it isn’t the kind you find on a postcard. It’s a quiet spot that feels a world away from noise and pressure, even when it isn’t far from everyday life. Nothing dramatic happens there. That’s the appeal.

What I like most is the stillness. No traffic, no background chatter, no long list of things demanding attention. Just space, time, and the kind of silence that lets your thoughts settle instead of scrambling to keep up with everything.

There’s a view, but not the sort that tries to impress you. It’s simple and steady — the kind of landscape that looks the same no matter what else is going on. I think that’s why it sticks with me. It feels reliable in a way most places don’t.

I don’t visit often, but when I do, it works like a reset button. A small pause in the middle of all the noise. A reminder that slowing down for a moment isn’t a luxury; it’s maintenance. Even survivors need a breather now and then.

So yes, I have a favourite place. Not famous. Not busy. Just a quiet corner where everything feels a little lighter for a while. Sometimes that’s all you need.

1. Keeping a level head when things get messy.
   Whether it’s a game throwing nonsense my way or real life deciding to speedrun problems, I stay steady and work through it one step at a time.
2. Sticking with things until they’re done.
   I don’t always sprint to the finish, but I’m stubborn enough to cross the line eventually. Slow progress still counts as progress.
3. Planning with the future in mind.
   Routes, routines, blog schedules, gaming runs—if it benefits future-me, I’ll map it out. It cuts down on surprises and gives me a clearer path forward.
4. Finding efficient solutions.
   If there’s a smarter, quieter, or less painful way to handle something, I’ll track it down. A good shortcut is worth its weight in gold.
5. Turning experiences into stories.
   I’m good at taking something simple—or chaotic—and turning it into a narrative that’s honest, dry, and hopefully entertaining. Survival diaries pretty much evolved from that habit.

If I could change one thing about myself, I’d probably upgrade my energy reserves. Not to superhuman levels—just enough to get through the day without feeling like I’ve been fighting a miniboss before breakfast.

Life runs on a tight loop of chores, work, writing, gaming, and general survival. A little extra stamina would make that loop smoother. Fewer “I need a nap already” moments. More “I can actually finish this” moments.

It’s not a dramatic change. Just a small quality-of-life buff. The kind every tired survivor quietly wishes for at the start of a long day.