After all the rejuvenation and deep calm on Koh Samui fueled by Rob’s legendary hospitality,  one thing became crystal clear:   I didn’t want to leave the island.   Bangkok was waiting.  It had its charms and energy, but something had shifted.  For the first time, I realized I might be finished with city life or that which I had been living for the past two decades.

The island had done its work.  It had calmed me, helped me laugh again, helped me see clearly.  I wasn’t running anymore.  Now I was strategically advancing.  There was a ferry and a flight to catch for an embassy appointment ahead, and a new passport with a new identity, really.  It was waiting to be printed.

After packing up and leaving Rob’s villa for perhaps the last time, we made one last stop at his usual haunt:  Café Amazon.  It was fitting. That place had become a kind of unofficial thinking and conversational space. Just like every other day,we sat down for another one of Rob’s daily chats — simple but always full of sharp insight.  Then he gave me a lift on his scooter, winding through side streets to the pickup point for the sawngthaew headed to Nathon Town.  He kindly let me store the bike behind.  We said goodbye there.  I made sure to thank him, properly, for all his generous hospitality and all the wisdom he shared. It wasn’t a tourist goodbye. It was a chapter close.

On the ride, a friendly South African couple greeted me.  We exchanged a few laughs and stories before they got off.  I munched on two cobs of grilled corn which was a perfect, simple road snack.  Before I knew it, I had arrived at the ferry dock.  The fare? Just 100 baht.  And as luck would have it, I rolled straight onto the boat. No waiting. No hassle. Just momentum. What a great start.

It got even better.  The boat was chill, smooth seas, no chaos, no crowds.  I grabbed some lunch and more snacks, found a good seat, and opened up my trading dashboard.  This wasn’t just a ferry ride, this was a mobile command center.  I spotted two key setups:  a short on Gold,  and a long on USD/JPY.  The catalyst?  A report claiming Gold had hit record highs thanks to Trump’s tariffs.  The spec fund was encouraging people to buy the hype.  You know what that means:  I wasn’t buying,  I was shorting.  Right on cue,Gold tanked.  Within minutes as the boat rolled toward the shore,  I had locked in nearly $400 in pure gains.  By the time I closed both positions, the tally was just shy of $1000 profit, all made from a boat, with corn in my stomachand salt in the air.

Unfortunately, nearly half those gains evaporated later on when I over-traded through the tail-end of the US pre-market and then the beginning of market open.  That was, without question, a huge mistake.  Overconfidence and greed.  The usual suspects.  But instead of spiraling,I used the frustration to do what I do best:  refocus and reset.

With the help of ChatGPT, I developed a pre-evaluation trading framework.  Basically a serious trial run for when I eventually do live trading with a prop firm as per my idea  For the next two months, I would trade my existing account, not as a freewheeling solo act as before,but under strict rules:

🔻 Max daily drawdown: 2%

📉 Max total drawdown: 7%

📈 Profit target: 10% within two months

❌ Disqualification: Any rule violation = shut down account

If I violated any condition, the money would be withdrawn and reallocated to support myself financially on the The Midnight Run.  This wasn't just about discipline.  It was about treating my freedom seriously.

Something else finally clicked:  something that had eluded me for years:   Trading hours that work for me.   It was between 2pm and 5pm Thai time.  That’s my edge.  That’s when my mind is sharp, the setups are clean, and the markets haven’t gone full chaos mode.  Everything outside that window was hurting more than helping.

I finally understood something that traders learn the hard way:  The first hour of the U.S. market open, even the last two hours of pre-market is where retail traders go to die.  That’s when the hype kicks in and when amateurs rush in with market orders,chasing last night’s news.  They’re buying what’s already gone up.  The institutions are selling into them.Or worse, faking the breakoutsand reversing into blood.

All of this clicked while trying to get a bus to the Surat Thani airport.  I had just stepped off the ferryand asked about ground transport.  The girl at the ticket counter said "There isn't enough time to take the bus.  You need a taxi".   Naturally, I thought:  Scam alert.  It was 3:00 p.m.,and my flight wasn’t until 6:30.That’s three and a half hours.Plenty of time, right?

So I bought the bus ticket.  And then looked it up.  The airport was 85 kilometers away and the bus would arrive at 6pm according to the schedule.  She was right.I was wrong.  Tail between my legs,I refunded the ticket and ordered a 1800 baht taxi.  I was pissed at myself.Felt scammed, then felt cheap.  But then it hit me:  I had just made nearly $1000 in the markets, and I was here sulking over a $50 cab ride.  What the hell was wrong with me?  Trying to save pennies after making hundreds.  It didn’t make sense.  Not logically.  Not emotionally.

But the real gut punch came later as I arrived at the airport.  My trading gains were evaporating.   The institutions triggered a massive volatility spike,and I wasn’t ready for it and this happened towards the end of the US pre-market.  I closed everything and ate 50% of my profits just like that.  And of course, the institutions had created this fakeout.  Everything reversed later.  I saw firsthand the death trap of fakeouts, retail euphoria, and institutional dumping.  You don’t win by trading more. You win by trading your time zone.  So it was in the middle of all this that I built what would become my life-changing trading framework by finding the edge.

So after haved arrived on this long, overtraded journey from Koh Samui, I booked a hotel close to the Canadian Embassy instead of my usual outer Bangkok stay at Sananwan Palace.  I needed to check in quickly and for a week to take advantage of the location.  The passport would be surrendered soon, so I wanted one final night with it in hand for check-in purposes.

The hotel turned out to be a disappointment:  two twin beds instead of one big one, and endless motorbike noise roaring from the streets all night long. Koh Samui was too much bliss. This was the Bangkok I had forgotten about. I improvised with a white noise generator just to get some sleep.

The next morning, I set off for the Embassy with a plan in place. After a quick breakfast inside the BTS station, I headed to Sala Daeng and found a nearby print shop to grab the final pieces of paperwork.  It was a lucky break that my pre-filled application from Abu Dhabi was still valid.

With documents in hand, I entered the Embassy building. But something felt off.  The whole building was deserted.  Even the BTS felt empty.

“Is there a holiday today?” I asked.  “It’s a special day,” they replied.  I would later learn it was a Thai public holiday but oddly, the Embassy was still open.  The Thai staff?  Visibly annoyed.  And so was I.  The whole day felt... off.

I went through the usual security protocol:  bags in one locker, phone in another.  Then I was ushered into the Embassy but it was a place that instantly felt more like a holding facility than a diplomatic mission.  

Inside, a handful of Canadians sat around silently, disconnected from their devices, waiting for some unseen process to churn forward.  The only reading material?  Outdated medical journals still pushing covid-era vaccine narratives and hospital triage strategies. One person had scribbled in pen:

“Why does the Embassy give us this garbage to read? 

Still I was impressed that one 79 year old man talking to the officer at the main desk looked like he was in his early 60s.  He joked and said about something on a form for his employment:  "I've been retired for so long I don't even remember"

The whole place gave off prison vibes complete with agitated guards. I was barked at repeatedly by one security guard:“Contact counter #1!”  But when I did, the woman at the desk shooed me away.  No explanation.  Just more waiting.  

I sat back down. This time, I didn’t move.

When I was finally called to the counter, the officer went through my paperwork with a fine-toothed comb.  Every checkbox, every line, every signature, they all had to be perfect.

"Follow my instructions", she said sharply.  "You need to write down the name of the photo studio and the date the photo was taken along with your name".  But there was already a stamp from a friendly photo studio in Dubai I had visited a few weeks earlier.  I explained this, then quietly wrote the same info by hand, along with my name, just to comply.

The scrutiny continued. Every iota mattered. Every blank had weight.

"You worked at that company until March right?  What are you doing now?  Unemployed?  If so, write that down"

I paused and then wrote down "unemployed".   But the truth?  I was becoming a prop firm trader, just not having quite made it yet.

As I finished, she finally softened. Her tone changed. She even smiled.She could see I was doing my best. I was present, engaged, and not difficult.That seemed to be enough to satisfy her for now.

I returned to my seat,  grateful that I’d kept my cool.  In Thailand, there’s an unwritten rule:   Don’t lose your temper.  Ever. 

Anger ends the game here, and I wasn’t about to lose.

Then I was called into a different room by a second officer.  This time, I was met with something shocking:   a smile!  Warm.  Thai.  And genuine.

"You want a 10-year passport renewal right?"  she asked.  I nodded.  "We'll do this right away"

Earlier,  I had told the first officer that the Abu Dhabi Embassy flagged my passport for water damage,  refused to process a renewal,  and even refunded my fees.  This officer looked at the form I’d filled out for a damaged passport and said,   

“There’s no water damage.”  Just like that.

I told her what the Abu Dhabi Embassy had said that there was. 

"Who told you that, UAE immigration or our Embassy?"

“The Embassy.”  She gave a look that said, those people are idiots.And she wasn’t wrong.

She clarified gently:  “We’ll just process this as a normal renewal.Not a damaged passport.  We don’t want this flagged on your record.Have you had a lost or stolen passport before?” 

“Yes.” 

She nodded, like that confirmed her logic.

"So let's not report this as damaged even though it technically is.  Just email me the receipt.  Have a nice day."

Another smile.  That was it.No lecture. No warning. No drama.Just a quiet, bureaucratic fiction to protect me from the system itself.  I gathered my things from the lockers, stepped out of the Embassy,and realized that this whole system runs on silence, smiles, and selective amnesia.

The contrast between Abu Dhabi and Bangkok was a masterclass in bureaucratic theater.In Abu Dhabi, the system was rigid, cold, and final: 

“We’re getting strict about water damage now. You cannot retain this passport.” 

That was it.  The declaration was accepted, the passport was treated as damaged, and the process was terminated.  Bangkok, however, played a different game entirely.  The passport was still surrendered, yes as they insisted back in Abu Dhabi also.  But the vibe was completely different.It wasn’t about rigid enforcement, it was about quiet collaboration.  And yet, the end result was eerily similar:   Passport surrendered.  Processing time: 4–6 weeks in limbo.  In Abu Dhabi, I was a problem to be contained.  In Bangkok, I was a person to be helped as long as I didn't ask too many questions which I did not.

So at least that was done.  The passport was accepted.  No red flags, no permanent damage label or so we hope.  Just a quiet agreement that we'll pretend like it's not damaged.

But now what?  I had just handed over my only form of international identity for the next 4-6 weeks