I want people to see someone who stays level even when things get messy. Someone who listens, thinks things through, and keeps situations from escalating. A calm, capable first impression helps everything else run smoother. If that’s what comes across, I’m happy with it.

If I could live anywhere in the world, I’d pick somewhere quiet.
Somewhere with space, trees, and a view that doesn’t fight for attention.

Not a famous city or a landmark people collect postcards of — just a calm, steady place where you can hear yourself think. The kind of place where stepping outside feels like hitting a soft reset button.

I don’t need the perfect climate or a big skyline. Just room to breathe, a bit of nature, and the feeling that the world isn’t rushing past at full sprint.

Wherever that is, that’s home enough for me.

The coolest thing I’ve ever kept wasn’t rare, valuable, or even particularly useful. It was a small item I stumbled across while exploring a game world during a rough patch in real life.

It didn’t boost stats, unlock anything, or change the story. But it made me pause. For a moment, it reminded me that even in the middle of chaos—virtual or otherwise—you can still stumble across something that gives you a bit of breathing room.

Most items get scrapped or sold the minute storage gets tight. This one didn’t. It stayed in my inventory far longer than it needed to, not because I had a plan for it, but because it marked the moment I felt just a little more grounded.

Sometimes the coolest things you keep aren’t the rare finds. They’re the ones that found you at the right time.

I’ve met two people who left a mark on film history — and my memory. First was Richard Kiel, the towering man behind Jaws in the old Bond films. Gentle handshake, giant presence. The second was Robert Englund — Freddy Krueger himself. Let’s just say even out of makeup, the man knows how to make a room go quiet.

Both encounters reminded me that fame doesn’t have to mean distance. Sometimes it’s just two strangers talking — one trying not to think about being crushed, the other trying not to picture claws.

Surviving Bond villains and horror icons — that’s two achievements unlocked.

My old PC. It was where I learned, failed, modded things I probably shouldn’t have, and found entire worlds to survive in. But like any old shelter, it eventually stopped being home. These days, the Switch and Steam Deck have taken over — smaller tools for bigger stories. Still, I keep the PC around, like an old save file I’m not quite ready to delete.

Sometimes moving forward means leaving good gear behind.

History was my favourite subject — mostly because it’s proof that humanity’s been making questionable decisions since patch 1.0. Every empire’s just a player who forgot to save before doing something stupid, and every century’s a new DLC full of bugs we didn’t fix the first time.

Basically: I’m studying history so I can survive the sequel.

Honestly? Badly, but with purpose. I spend a lot of time in front of screens — writing posts, editing videos, gaming for the blog — so I try to frame it as creative time rather than wasted time. It helps that most of it fuels Survivor Incognito in one way or another.

That said, I do set limits. I step away when I catch myself scrolling instead of creating, or when I’ve stared at the same paragraph for too long. A short walk, a drink, or even switching games can do wonders for a reset.

I think everyone needs time — sometimes to rest, sometimes to refocus. There are days when I need a break from the noise, and others when I just need a reminder that the chaos I’m working through has purpose.

Time doesn’t always heal everything, but it helps you see things clearer. And in a world full of constant motion, taking a moment to pause might be the most productive thing you can do.

In three years, I hope to still be doing what I love — surviving worlds, telling stories, and turning chaos into something worth reading. The blog will (hopefully) have grown into a proper archive of strange adventures, a place where people can drop in, laugh, and feel a little less alone in their own storms.

I don’t expect perfection — just progress. Maybe by then, Survivor Incognito will have found its rhythm, its audience, and its foothold. Every post, every late-night edit, every small win adds up.

So three years from now? Still surviving. Still writing. Still wandering — but maybe on a smoother path, with a few more campfires along the way.