Thoughts

Unfinished Stories

September 10th, 2026
During my trip to Amsterdam this summer, my friends took me to Mezrab, a storytelling venue. I was reluctant to go because I assumed it would not be very good. I was completely wrong. The evening blew me away. Later, my friends encouraged me to tell the story of my office attendance. I hesitated again, but for a different reason. How could I tell a story that did not yet have an ending?

In fact, what would even make it worth telling? Did it need a lesson, or could I create its value simply by telling it emotionally enough?

We often treat a story as something that has already happened: an experience completed, understood and arranged into a beginning, middle and end. But telling an unfinished story does not merely describe it. The telling becomes another event inside it.

People gather, listen and share a moment with you. Perhaps that moment begins a new story. Perhaps it only continues the one you were already telling.

Some stories survive the people who lived them, passed from mouth to mouth or preserved in writing. Others remain private. We choose which parts of our lives to give to other people and which parts to keep.

And by writing this, I have not given the original story an ending. I have only continued it.

Open Houses

24 August 2026

Lately I’ve been noticing a strange coherence between different parts of my life.

One of them is home.

I’ve become unusually open with people. I don’t feel much need to conceal myself anymore. My mind is open to anyone curious enough to look around. Questions are encouraged. Things are displayed rather than hidden. And when someone notices something I’ve put there, I actually get pleasure from it.

There is very little shame attached to what I present as myself.

And strangely, my literal home follows the same principle.

My door is open. I like people coming over. I like sharing the space with them. Please come in. Come visit.

Then there is my personal website, which feels like a continuation of both: an online house for my inner world. I put things there that interest me, embarrass me, move me, amuse me, and then deliberately leave the door open for people I care about to wander through it.

My apartment is open.
My website is public.
My conversation is inviting.

Maybe that’s the motif.

The borders between my inner and outer life have become thinner. Instead of protecting one from the other, I seem to be arranging them according to the same principle:

Come in!

How the hell did I get here?

1 April 2024

Sometimes I look around and think, “How the hell did I get here?” In those moments, my life begins to flash before my eyes, not as a sequence of achievements but as a chain of decisions, accidents, and people. I wrote this while sitting in an office in Denmark, feeling anxious and building a web crawler for a woman in the United Kingdom. Nothing about the scene felt like something I could have predicted.

Every situation can be traced back to a small number of choices that determined what could follow. In high school, I chose to study artificial intelligence, narrowing my future towards technology. Had I chosen economics, perhaps I would have ended up in another country, and every experience of the next four years would have been different. When I later applied for jobs, I looked only at internships and graduate programmes, shrinking the world again to a few dozen possibilities. Then a recruiter messaged me by chance and offered me a job at a consultancy in Lithuania. That message brought me back and made me start building a life there. Years later, through a chain I could never have planned, it also put me in Denmark.

The clearest example is my move to Vilnius. One Sunday, I met a kid named Matt outside, and the direction of my life changed. The friends I made, the school and university I chose, and the person I became can all be traced back to that meeting. Had I stayed home that day, my life might be unrecognisable even to me.

Maybe this is what a life is: not a path we choose once, but a structure assembled from ordinary decisions whose consequences remain invisible until years later. We like to tell the story backwards and make it sound inevitable. From where I am sitting now, none of it was inevitable. I could have been somewhere else, doing something else, surrounded by people I have never met.

This thought makes me anxious, but it also makes the present feel strange and precious. Somewhere inside today there is probably another choice, conversation, or accident that will explain a future moment when I look around again and ask, “How the hell did I get here?”

Dreams and reality

18 September 2022

The only difference between dreams and reality is that dreams do not have long-lasting consequences. Other than that, they are just as real.

Heaven

31 August 2022

Heaven, or paradise, is a state of mind.

Emotions and memory

5 July 2022

What if long-term memory is not governed by recency and frequency alone? Some memories return clearly even when we have not visited them for months, years, or decades. They may be painful memories we are afraid to revisit, or joyful ones we rarely need to summon.

Perhaps their durability comes from the strength of the emotion attached to them: grief, pain, fear, or joy.

Self-description

30 July 2020

I am a paradoxical combination of deep insight and utter cluelessness.