Louf for 2030

A note to my future self.

I'm making one major decision early in life: I want to travel to different countries, spend time with different cultures, meet different kinds of people, and explore the world properly.

So by 2030, I want a list of places I didn't just dream about, but actually lived in, even if only for a little while.

But here's the catch: I want to do it on my own money. Not from my parents' pocket. Not from my brother's pocket. If I earn it, I go.

If that means working while I'm still in college, I'll do it. If that means grinding harder through jobs, I'll do that too.

This post is for 2030 Bhupesh — to come back and ask one question: did you build that life, or did you get comfortable?

Tech gave me something valuable very early: freedom. Remote work, global clients, real income while still in college, and a kind of independence most people my age don't have yet.

That's why I'm taking it seriously. Tech is not just work for me right now — it's the engine funding the life I want.

I may work through college. I may grind harder through jobs. I may save more aggressively than most people around me. That's fine. Because every project, every late night, and every difficult season is buying me something bigger than comfort: the ability to move on my own terms.

Different years. Different places. Not vacations — actually living somewhere. Even if it's just for a few months. Even if it's alone.

I don't just want stamps on a passport. I want mornings in unfamiliar cities, conversations with people who grew up differently, food that doesn't taste like home, and the kind of perspective you only get when you stop being local for a while.

I'm calling this "Louf." It's a word only I understand right now.

By 2030, I want to look back and know I chose experience over comfort, motion over stagnation, and ownership over dependence.

A small lakeside village surrounded by mountains. Cold air. Still water. Wooden houses stacked along the shore. The kind of place where mornings are silent and the lake reflects the sky like a mirror.

This is where I imagine waking up early, making coffee, doing 3–4 focused hours of deep work, and then disappearing into nature for the rest of the day.

Hallstatt doesn't scream. It whispers.

Clean. Structured. Calm. Mountains in the background, lake in front. It has city energy — but controlled. Disciplined. Not chaotic. Not noisy.

Here I imagine deep work mornings, gym sessions by the lake, cold evening walks, and reading instead of scrolling.

Zurich is cool energy. Balanced ambition.

White buildings. Blue doors. Golden sunsets.

This one is warm. Not silent like Austria. Not structured like Switzerland. But alive. I don't want only cold, quiet places — I want contrast. Cool and warm. Still and vibrant. Mountains and beaches.

Mykonos is the reminder that peace doesn't always look the same.

Another lake. Another kind of silence. But deeper. Fewer tourists. More raw.

Places like this are why I love nature. Nature doesn't rush. It doesn't compete. It doesn't compare. It just exists.

Ha Long Bay. Hoi An lanterns. Rice terraces in Sapa. Pho at 6 AM on a plastic stool in Hanoi.

Vietnam is chaos with purpose. Motorbikes everywhere. Street food that hits different. Ancient towns that feel like they've been breathing for centuries. It's not quiet like Austria. It's not structured like Switzerland. It's raw, loud, alive — and somehow still grounding.

I imagine working from a café in Da Nang, mornings by the ocean, evenings exploring the old quarter. Vietnam isn't about silence. It's about presence. Being fully there. Noticing everything.

Yellow walls. Silk lanterns. A river that glows at night. Hoi An is where Vietnam slows down without losing its soul.

I picture myself here for a month — writing by day, walking the ancient streets at dusk, eating cao lầu from a street vendor who's been making it the same way for 30 years. No rush. No performance. Just being.

Because silence builds clarity. Noise builds confusion.

When I'm surrounded by mountains or water, I think better. I breathe slower. I feel grounded. Tech gave me speed. Nature gives me direction.

I need both. But I know which one I want more of.

If you're reading this — did you go?

Did you choose the uncomfortable path? Did you live in those places? Did you build the life, not just the products?

You said you would. No matter how. Even if you still work remotely. Even if you changed industries. Even if it took longer than planned.

You promised yourself. Don't break it.

— Bhupesh, 2026