I haven't unpacked.

In Suk11, a Backpackers Hostel along Sukhumvit Rd.
Maneuvering around Sex Tourists and their willing prey was eye-opening and more humourous than you'd expect.

I'm back. My backpack is itching for more - dusty backlanes, salty breezes, curiously tame stray cats who walk into your bamboo bungalow and straight into the backpack's recesses to investigate, the sweat of climbing a cursed-tall hill - more of it all. But my wallet is not just empty, it owes people money. Oh miho no, you have to plan much better next time. Dream little Gobi, wait a little longer for money to be made. Before the year is out, i'd be out of here to somewhere: me, my 45L backpack with stressed-out seams and this time, my own camera to document everything with. I'm eying the same model Raf has, i've never taken such beautiful photos in my life.

In the meantime, money. Forget a career for now, it's not like I honestly ever cared. I've been irresponsible to my friends too, I'm going to fix that.