Nine Years as an Expat, in Thailand.

J6. Some years ago. But the line held.

But this post is about much more. Nine years. It’s hard to believe it’s been that long since I first arrived in Thailand, stepping off the Dragonair plane from Hong Kong into a place that felt both foreign and familiar, a land I had dreamed of calling home. My reasons for coming here were many, layered, and deeply personal. Part of it was practical: the cost of living, the allure of a slower pace, a chance to build a life with less financial strain. But a larger part of it was a choice to escape, a desire to remove myself from a trajectory I saw unfolding back home in America—a path that seemed ominous even then.

When I left, the rumblings of political upheaval had already begun. Donald Trump was preparing to be president, and even in those early days, I could feel the storm coming. I didn’t anticipate the full scope of what would happen: the chaos, the lies, the pandemic that would ravage the world, and the way it would be mishandled so catastrophically in America. Time proved me right, COVID-19 was devastating enough, but watching my home country falter under poor leadership was another level of heartbreak. The scars it left are personal; they run deep. My second wife died in Ohio during those terrible years, and though I had chosen a different path for myself, her loss—and the suffering of so many others—remains a wound I carry.

And now, it seems, the storm isn’t over. Trump is back in play, and tens of millions of people seem eager to follow him down the path of ending democracy, eroding freedoms, and fueling division. It’s astonishing, maddening, and deeply sorrowful. What fools these mortals be, clinging to lies, hate, and fear as their guiding lights. I weep for my country, for the potential it once had, and for the damage it inflicts on itself with every misguided choice.

Today, as the sun set here in northern Thailand, the sky was nothing short of breathtaking. Wondrous hues of orange and pink stretched across the horizon, their beauty almost mocking in contrast to the dark thoughts swirling in my mind. I couldn’t help but feel the weight of this juxtaposition—how such a quiet, beautiful place could coexist with the tumultuous world I left behind.

I think about the life I’ve built here. A rescue cat, that is 8 1/2 years old. She has FIV, and was slayed to die 5 years ago. But she is still hanging in there, as am I. This life...It’s far from perfect, but it’s mine. A quiet Sunday spent writing, creating maps, and Space opera, and Fantasy worlds where hope can endure even in the face of despair, where characters navigate chaos with courage and determination. Maybe it’s a form of therapy, this act of making worlds while the real one feels like it’s beginning to burn, again.

Maybe it’s my way of coping, of holding onto the belief that even in the darkest times, there’s a chance for something better.

I often ask myself if I did the right thing, leaving when I did. Was it cowardice? Was it wisdom? I don’t know. What I do know is that I couldn’t have stayed and watched the unraveling firsthand. And yet, even from across the globe, the sorrow is inescapable. I still feel the pain of watching my homeland fall apart, piece by piece.

Nine years. It’s a lifetime and a heartbeat all at once. I’ve built a life here in Thailand, one filled with love for my family, my wife and kids, my cat. Love for the stories I write, and for the quiet moments under skies that seem to stretch endlessly. But I carry the memories of America with me, the good and the bad. I carry the grief for what was lost and the hope that maybe, somehow, it can still be reclaimed.

For now, I’ll keep creating. I’ll keep dreaming. I’ll keep building worlds where light finds a way to break through the darkness, even if only in fiction. Because sometimes, that’s all we have—and sometimes, it’s enough.