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I travel because every mile strips me bare. Each new city asks me who I am without my history, and each border I cross demands that I shed illusions I once held tightly. I return never as the same man, but as someone fractured, then pieced together again by strangers' kindness, unspoken silences, and the quiet terror of being alone in a foreign land.

I hold the irony close: every soul suffers differently, yet all suffering is the same in its cry for dignity. That is why my possessions—whether the sweat of my labor, the blood of my mistakes, or the little wealth I gather—are not truly mine. They are fragments of a greater wholeness, a collective inheritance of humanity. To give is not charity; it is simply remembering that nothing I own was ever mine alone.

I believe in oneness: that all contradictions—joy and despair, creation and destruction, the individual and the universe—are threads of the same vast tapestry. My life outside work is not escape but confrontation: a reminder that to live meaningfully is to live for others as much as for oneself.

I'm here to express—with clarity, care, and curiosity. Thank you for arriving here. Stay as long as you like.