The Memoir, Prologue: From the Desk of The Last Romantic
The Black Sheep of the Family
The archive
Writing
Every piece, in reverse chronological order.
Bourdainism in San Juan: The Art of Being Witnessed
Thank you for your patience.
Bourdainism in Cartagena and Coralina Island: Colombia, Bad Buddy, Immigration, Metacognition and Breaking the Silence on My Last Marriage
Featuring animals, reflections and my love of Colombian culture
Bourdainism in El Salvador: The Importance of Play
A drop in the ocean, for the collective consciousness.
B-B-Bourdainism: Bloopers and B-Sides from a Solo Traveler
Let’s keep it real for a moment. With the world actively on fire, I think we’re allowed—no, obligated—to laugh. Preferably at me.
Bourdainism and Paris: Shamelessly Blocking My Entire Family on Social Media, Happy Holidays
Diary of a Fed-Up Romantic.
Bourdainism in Rome: Marveling at Human Achievements, Falling in Love With Rain, and Princess—For You, I’d Bring You the Moon, and the Stars, too
I didn’t kiss an Italian. Rome still kissed me.
Vienna, Last Night: 2025 Wrapped
Wherever you go, there you are.
Bourdainism, and My Time in Panama: You Know I Love Me a Juxtaposition, and the Future of Romanticism and AI
What’s the best that could happen?
Bourdainism: One Backpack, Solo-Trip to Double-Digit Countries to Write People’s Stories, I’ll Miss My Dog, and First Stop is Mexico, Because Four C’s
”One does not take the A Train to Mecca.”—Anthony Bourdain
Thank You Mr. Saint-Laurent for the Puzzle Pieces, Battling Existentialism, the Fragility of Peace, Gratitude, and My Future
My final reflection, and an important update before the Four C’s arc officially starts.
Dear Reader, Pay Attention and Laugh More: Opal the OG Therapist Quits to Become a Beekeeper, I Want to Be Alone, Loving Without Attachment, How to Be Sexy, and A Quick Pause in the Tape
Hrm, let the memories stitch, and let the feelings feel.
Marriage 1: We Are Now Broke, People Keep Dying, Mary the Therapist, I Overdose, Go Sober and Learn How to Walk Again, I Leave Wulf, I Translate Therapy Into Code and Marriage Advice Into Problem Sets
Well, this one’s a doozy. Read through for some free tips that cost me a lot of time and money to learn.
Marriage 1: Alright, I Swear Good Times Are Coming Soon! Meet the In-Laws, Rescuing People, Palm Trees, Cocaine, and Babies?
Before the “good times”: in-laws, old debts, and my I-can-fix-it delusion. Ah, and Meet Wulf: charm, chaos, and a phone I shouldn’t have bought.
read_me: How to Read My Substack and Get the Most Out of This Free Book: The Four C’s: COVID, the Cartel, Conspiracy Theories, and Cryptocurrency
Subscribers new and old, start here as your guide. I’m not an organized narrator, and I don’t think my audience needs one.
Marriage 1 Bonus Chapter: Wulf Still Has My Respect, Homeboi, Self-Love and Tomorrow We Honor Our Good Times
Here’s the bonus reel: the part where I defend the man everyone expects me to crucify, admit I didn’t love myself yet, and thank the friend who saw me before I could see me.
Marriage 1’s Good Times are Coming, but First: Stop Saying Narcissists, My Therapy Session is The Shoot I’m Most Proud of, I’m Finally Safe in My Own Body, and Why I Destroy My Body
Phew, that was a mouthful. Here’s my favorite piece yet.
Marriage 1: NYC Intros, When the Rich and Poor Mate, and “Babe, Don’t You Know? No One Fucks With the Persian Cats.”
The first time I realized love could be class warfare, we were engaged in New York and I was wearing his red lipstick.
The Backstory: My First Marriage, Osama Bin Laden, A Punk Rock Coming of Age Story
Welcome to the decade where punk rock solved problems that guidance counselors could not.
A Letter to My Brother: The Sun (and If I Could, I’d Bring You the Universe)
For the kid who became the sun while I learned to be human—read this when the world gets loud.
Nugz, Sobriety, and Vulnerability
This isn’t polished—it’s me, raw and unguarded, staring into the mirror I usually hold for others.
Psychedelics, Ulysses (Mr. Psychedelic), and Which Pen, Exactly?
A love letter to altered states, stubborn art, and the humble pen that keeps me from exploding.
Humans Invented Hope, Strippers, and Drugs
Carl Jung once said, “Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.” I call it therapy. Expensive therapy. With therapists named like strippers.
Steinbeck, the Present, and Not Gatekeeping My Healing Cocktail
My therapist disrupts narratives with one deceptively simple question: “What is your goal today?” Recently, my answer has been almost radical in its plainness: I want to belong exactly where I am.
Love Song: Why I Write
My name literally translates to “Love Song”—which feels like both a burden and a compass. No matter what I’ve survived, I’m here to create connection, meaning, and beauty. Here’s why I’m here.
F*ck, Marry, Kill: Austin, Los Angeles, New York
I’ve lived in three major U.S. cities, and I’m still getting to know Austin. Current consensus? F*ck Austin, Marry New York, Kill LA.
The Lone Wolf Myth and the Price of Peace
I’ve hit rock bottom, and instead of my usual “grind harder, hustle faster” survival strategy, I’m finally learning to rest. It’s not easy.
Two Divorces, Three Diagnoses, and Zero Shame: Notes from a Spicy Brain
Think of me as the cocktail no bartender wants to make, but once you drink it, you’re like, “Damn, that’s strong.”
Found on Facebook: A Letter to a Mother I Barely Knew
Some people write love letters to their moms. I’m writing to the wild woman who once ate a random flower on the streets of Seoul and told me to do the same.
Notes from Four Months of Healing: A List (Manageable for Me, Skimmable for You)
Recovery is 5% capacity, 100% honesty. These are my field notes from the trenches of cPTSD work.
