I was tired before I wrote this but I decided to just bring my tiredness along for the ride, deep into this island. So here we are.

I am immune to judgements and opinions of people; inside me is a world called PerillaCove, and around me is a bubble acting as translucent shield. Why take offence when I don't even exist? And neither do they.

This morning, I woke up in my Tokyo hotel, walked five minutes to the nearest supermarket, and picked up only the most delicious peaches and grapes, along with peanuts and milk. This will be my breakfast. There is nothing like the East Asian peach; South Korea and Japan have truly mastered this summer-season fruit to the point of maximal juiciness and fruity abundance. The grapes are similarly sublime.

My dinner tonight will be tonkotsu ramen; I love the spice and solitude of it. That and a jumbo apple or pear for dessert and I'm off to the races again ... for my daytime would've been spent at a spontaneously-chosen cafe enjoying a matcha latte and perusing my Macbook.

I think I see the world for what is is. I see people going to and from work, discussing strategy in their boardrooms, wearing their branded clothing, making weekend plans, and watching shorts not movies. This is their life ... apparently ... but who knows. I only know my own, what I see through my eyes and feel through my heart. Every person, dog, and song is just a part of my dome of Seeing. I am awake ... and I can't be touched.

What on earth is revenge? Why would I wage war against a harmless character of Earth ... they just appeared like a fly in my sphere, and then they vanished. This is a stream of experience ... like a walk around Seokchon Lake with 들깨시래기탕 on my mind ... perilla seed and radish leaf soup with spicy balloon flower root (도라지), tofu, and kimchi on the side.

If only you could taste it. My mother did once. My wife too, but she's a local. Wow. My life is an IMAX movie, 24/7. This arena ... I don't exist in this arena to get hurt, to take damage. I am practically invisible, identity-less. I just float ... there is nothing to do but build, explore, eat, and float. It's been almost 10 years since I've toiled for money.

My free-form movement is guided by my breath. Time is not real; this is what I call the Body Moment. I have bridged space and structural flow ... the rotation of nature is in the curved lines of my palms. This deep breath heals, cleans, discards, and alerts. I do 15 strict pull-ups ... explosive on the the way up, but when I descend, it is slow and controlled for gravity is already on my side. Fast twitch, slow twitch. This is my park. My body is my spaceship.

By the way, why do so many people of the world hate durian ... it's like this commonly-shared and predictable hatred. Apparently it's the smell. Have they ever tasted it with an open mind and open palate? It's seriously one of the most satisfying things I've ever had. I will always cherish my days enjoying this creamy yellow custard bomb in Malaysia, Vietnam, and Thailand ... just thinking to myself life is too damn simple and good. What the hell is the commotion about?

I have been forever changed by some places, a few things, and a person or two. They've surfaced; some stay, and many leave. Yeah ... my brain is 'up there' but I am feeling Alive in every cell of my body. Coffee, self-help books, and gym machines just don't cut it for me; they are second-rate lines of defence in this life of water winter focus and sun savannah performance.

But who am I performing for? I've been a wanderer with my laptop for the better part of a decade. What a joke, performance. Now I'm in a humble Canadian abode with my sweet Korean wife.

Feeling, and Form.

Full, and Empty.

Ambitionless ... I am firing on all cylinders as a matter of sheer accident ... as an integral of fully empty Feltform.

The Identity Resume

It's Fall 2026, and I see men and women still tacking on identities like:

Entrepreneur | Athlete | Father | Engineer | Husband
Founder | Dancer | Mother | Author | Wife

Another version:

"Model. Actor. Management consultant by day."

I feel compelled to take note of something.

This act of role listing ... I think this is what you get when you combine two pervasive worlds: social media and corporatism.

Many, even those living corporate-free lives, have crafted what I call Identity Resumes ... out in the open for the public to marvel at.

A person spends their roaring twenties constructing an idealized self: founder, writer, yoga addict, musician. More than hobbies, each of these activities carries glamour, distinction, and ... the possibility of becoming somebody.

I've met ambitious people like this during my early years as a digital nomad, from many countries and backgrounds.

Then economic reality arrives, as it always does; there are bills to pay. But it's okay ... the identities then accumulate: "Traveller. Engineer. Yogi. Founder. Consultant. Musician".

I feel it's an innate human desire to want to be multi-dimensional ... to not be an ordinary person. However, to establish that breadth through an Identity Resume, I think, is fruitless at best.

In fact, I feel sets of integrated circuitry inside of me suddenly shut off when I participate in these name games ... when I label myself an engineer, a writer, or anything else.

These are costumes ... but they are also not harmless. A writer must write. An intellectual must sound intelligent. An engineer should engineer. A successful person must keep appearing successful. There is maintenance to do.

This is not congruent with the life I want to live: the life of a Human, clear and free. And this is PerillaCove; there is indeed a way to integrate multiple islands into an elegant world.

Also I will say this.

Identity goes out the window when life is On The Line.

Genuine necessity has no respect for the costume. Hunger and love reach deep down; they are primal. Creation, from the heart, happens out of spontaneity and serendipity. If the organism is drowning ... the organism moves.

Identity is then a luxury of excess mind. A lot of time on one's hands. The classroom, the office, the pub, the whole nine yards. A lot of time to waste. Identity swoops in like a falcon, doesn't it?

Who are you, deep down? Who cares, maybe. I can only speak for myself. But I relish going for walks in the forest nearby, and seeing the river run against the rocks. Despite exchanging smiles with strangers, I feel comfortably anonymous. And there is still much to get done in the day, so here and there I am, just doing things.