The first time a Dutch person told me my jacket was the wrong colour for my complexion, we had been in the same room for four minutes. She was not being cruel. She was being helpful. This is the thing about Dutch directness that nobody quite prepares you for: it isn’t hostility. It is simply the natural consequence of a culture that considers withholding honest information to be the ruder of the available options.

(Even Squirrels have personal brands) Buster had read the invitation twice. It said: Digital Nomads and Location-Independent Professionals — Amersfoort Chapter. Connect. Collaborate. Grow Your Brand. He was fairly certain he had misread Professionals as Hedgehogs the first time. He came anyway.

This is where my current existential crisis begins. When you sign a six-month bike subscription, you also sign a terrifyingly dense Terms & Conditions document that essentially translates to: “Do not alter this machine or we will claim your firstborn child.”

If Part 1 was a solo heist, Part 2 quickly escalated into full-blown farmyard turf warfare. It turns out that a calculating, cheese-obsessed rooster is only half the battle. Enter the silent operator: the farm cat.

The hens think he's a protector, but I know the truth, he's a dairy-obsessed mastermind running a solo operation. Look at him! He’s literally hiding in the brush right by your wood siding, looking like a tiny, feathered mob boss checking if the coast is clear.

It felt incredibly fitting to celebrate a personal milestone aligned with a holiday governed by nature's cycles. I spent my day listening to the local bird calls and tapping into some beautifully primal urges.

Dispatches from the farm: celebrating King's Day among the orange azaleas and meeting two very different horses—friendly Normwell and the wild horse with no name.

Every spring, the Netherlands becomes the country people think it is when they imagine the Netherlands: flat fields of colour in every direction, windmills at the horizon, and cyclists going somewhere between yellow and pink in the morning light. Keukenhof is the famous version. The fields outside Keukenhof are the free version. Both are real. Only one of them requires queuing.

"Socks to Shabbies" is diving deep into this exact idea—shoe as cultural acclimation, fashion as armor, and what happens when the clothes you buy to fit in accidentally change how the world reads you.

Here’s where I need your help: I’m officially looking for early reviewers. If you want to read this before everyone else, judge my editing choices, and give us your honest thoughts, I want to hear from you. Drop a comment below or shoot me a message through the contact page Apply here to grab a spot on the reviewer list.

Consider this my warning to the Veluwe: the American refugee is coming, she’s on an e-bike, and she’s bringing the lightning. Current Mission: Scouting e-bikes. Current Read: My own manuscripts (because someone has to). Current Status: Completing Franklin’s circuit.

So, while the world waits for the most experimental short of 2026, I’ll be here, refreshing my inbox and wondering if the lambs in North Carolina know that their international debut is currently being held hostage by a bureaucratic labyrinth in The Hague.

Dutch health insurance is mandatory for everyone living in the Netherlands, structured around a government-mandated basic package, and surprisingly navigable once you understand three things: what the basisverzekering covers, what the eigen risico means, and why nobody in the Netherlands tells you about dental until you need dental.

The Sovereign of Streets I’ve never met man, high or low, With a heart like the cities I know. The heat of a Thai village breeze, The scent of the jungle and trees, Is a love that I’ll never let go. I dream of the Athens night air, With the dust and the ghosts in my hair. The sunrise in Siem Reap was gold, A story that never gets old, A passion no husband could share. I earn in the green of the West, Though the exchange is a bitter-pill test. With the dollar so low, And the

"While the administrative wheels of Zonklast Studios are still grinding through the Dutch system, the creative wheels are already at full speed. Collaborating with George Tounas is the exact kind of high-caliber European partnership I envisioned when I applied for my DAFT visa. Onward to the set." ~SunnyJ

One day, there’s a boat on the line, A hull that is sturdy and mine. To sail through the wind and the foam, In a land that I’ve dared to call home, Where the future and water entwine.

The clogs are a charming display, In a storefront along the doorway. But those shoes, they don't bend, To a nomad, my friend, They pinch every toe in their way.

A short prose section on the psychological cost of settling down in a country that runs on spreadsheets

They banned every rocket and flare, "Professionals only" they’d swear. But from dusk until dawn, The rebellion was on, With gunsmoke and salt in the air.

This led to the wonderfully slim, tall, and—let’s be honest—terrifying staircases that are now a hallmark of historic Dutch homes. They are so steep, they are essentially ladders. You don't walk up them; you ascend them with a silent prayer and the focused concentration of a seasoned mountain goat.