The problem with burning fossil fuels is that we're releasing colourless, odorless, tasteless gas into the atmosphere, which itself is colourless, odorless, and tasteless.

We cannot conceptualize, so we remain unconvinced.

Maybe it's about time we added food dye to our gas supply.

A week ago, the cover of my comforter started to tear. I must have nicked it. I let it be. The tear grew steadily and widened every time a part of me caught it. First a toe, then a whole leg.

A couple days ago, the tear became insurmountable. It was going to swallow me whole.

I ordered new covers.

First-time travelers to Mexico City may be wary of Montezuma’s Revenge, a euphemism for traveler’s diarrhea. What they might not know is that the city is sinking into the earth at a rate of up to 20 inches per year. The sinking has presented enormous challenges to the city’s potable water infrastructure.

Those who know Tenochtitlán know that the city used to sit atop a caldera. When the Spanish conquered the city in 1519, they also drained it, not understanding its ramifications. Five centuries later, Mexican researchers are restoring chinampas to combat climate change. In an era of rapid expansion, perhaps we need to look towards indigenous wisdom to solve the challenges of the future.

The 3% Rule is Virgil Abloh's Pareto Principle.

Less than 3% of DNA separates a human from a chimpanzee.

Less than 3% of code separates Airbnb from Shopify.

The key is distinguishing the 3% from the 97%, determining what requires thought and what can be boilerplate.

To confuse the two is to risk, at best, inefficiency, and at worst, the very things that define us.

Two years ago, I had the opportunity to work in Hong Kong for a summer, where my grandparents still live. That summer, in fact, they were my roommates. We lived in one room, outfitted with a balcony which served as clothes-line, showerstall, and bathroom. I was ill-prepared. The heat stifled.

That's how the city felt to me then. 7 million in 400 square miles. There's not much space, so the city shoots up. Everywhere I looked were another set of windows. To and fro work I yearned to find a corner untouched. To section off a piece of land and say I'm the king of this hill.

I would only realize later that this was a destructive instinct. A surprisingly human one at that. It's a philosophy of ownership that seeds expansion. We've seen this in the Americas, we've seen this in Rome. We've seen it in space.

The internet is one sort of space. Though it may seem infinite, we must consider our relationship with it. We can be a producer, a visitor, or a curator, but we cannot be an owner. To try and own it, to section off its parts is to enter a chain reaction of destruction. Here's one space I maintain and am glad to share with you.