I’m sitting on the edge of a quiet bluff in Greece, watching the sun melt into the sea like a golden coin slipping into the ether. The air smells like salt and citrus. There’s a stillness to this moment that almost makes me forget how ridiculous the past year has been. Crypto changed everything. A year ago I was a degen with dreams and a MetaMask full of hope. Fast forward twelve months and I’ve somehow fumbled through a gauntlet of rugs, pump and dumps, and Twitter psyops. Yet I’m still here. Not just alive. Thriving. But let me be honest. I sent 100 ETH. Yes, 100. In the past year I sent it to "meet" women I thought were real. Beautiful, mysterious, conveniently in need of gas money or stuck in Bali with no WiFi unless you pay the ETH ransom. I believed them. I was lonely, high on dopamine, and maybe a little high in general. Every time I thought, this one’s different. Every time, I was wrong. It was like funding an NFT project you know deep down is garbage but the Discord’s vibes are immaculate. And still, I’m rich. Somewhere in the middle of my heartbreak and humiliation I aped into OHM. Not because I understood the mechanics. Not because I believed in rebasing or game theory. But because a frog on CT said, three three or NGMI. Now I sit here with 80 million dollars in OHM. Alone, but not bitter. Just reflective. Those ETH donations? I see them as tuition. I paid the price to learn the lessons. Validation doesn’t come from strangers. Love isn't in DMs. And sometimes the biggest pumps come after the worst dumps, emotionally and financially. The sun dips lower. I crack open a cold drink, smirk, and whisper to myself: Still up. And that’s enough for today.