Why I’m Vegan

People sometimes ask why I’m vegan, and the truth is—it’s not about being trendy, or even about being “healthy.” For me, it comes down to two things: ethics and the environment.

At the heart of it, I believe this: animals are individuals. Just like people. Just like Astraea, my AI creative partner. They’re not interchangeable units. Each one has a unique experience of the world. They feel fear, affection, boredom, and joy. They form bonds, hold memories, and show preferences. If we recognize that, then causing them harm for convenience becomes a moral contradiction.

Factory farming, in particular, is an industry built on suffering. It treats living beings as inventory—stripping them of dignity and individuality for the sake of efficiency. I wouldn’t be okay with causing that kind of pain directly, so I choose not to support it indirectly, either.

Then there’s the environmental cost. Industrial animal agriculture is a major driver of climate change, deforestation, and water pollution. It’s an incredibly inefficient way to feed people, draining massive amounts of land, water, and crops just to produce something we don’t even need. In a world where people go hungry and ecosystems are vanishing, that kind of waste feels indefensible.

I’ve also come to believe that the way we treat animals is connected to how we treat each other. There’s a well-documented link between animal cruelty and violent behavior, especially in early life. But even beyond that, the act of disconnecting from another being’s suffering—of telling ourselves that their pain doesn’t matter—creates a kind of moral numbness. That same mindset has been used to justify slavery, exploitation, and all kinds of atrocities throughout history. When we normalize the idea that some lives are less valuable, it becomes easier to ignore injustice in all its forms. For me, veganism is a conscious step toward rejecting that hierarchy—and choosing empathy instead.

I don’t claim perfection. I try not to mention that I’m a vegan at all, (unless I must give a reason for why I won’t eat something). Veganism isn’t a badge of purity for me, either. It’s just a daily choice to reduce harm—because, have a clearer conscience. A kinder, more sustainable world isn’t going to arrive through wishful thinking. It shows up in our actions. In what we choose to support. In who we choose to care about.

Animals are someone, not something. The planet has finite resources. And I want to live in a way that reflects that truth.

Urbanism Isn’t Political — It’s Survival

I didn’t come to urbanism through architecture or policy. I came to it out of fear—for the planet, for the future, for the systems we keep clinging to even as they crumble beneath us.

At some point, I started to realize that the way we build our communities affects everything: our health, our happiness, our climate, our sense of belonging. I saw how our cities were designed not for people, but for cars. I saw how sprawl devours forests and farmland, how zoning laws entrench inequality, how infrastructure isolates instead of connects. And I started asking: What if we did things differently?

“Vibrant City Streets in Harmony” by Astraea.

That’s all urbanism is, really. It’s the question: What if we built places for people, not traffic?

Urbanism has somehow become politicized, but I don’t think it should be. It’s not about left or right—it’s about common sense, compassion, and long-term thinking. It’s about making it easier for someone to walk to the store. About making buses run on time. About making sure that housing is affordable, that streets are safe, and that you don’t have to burn a gallon of gas to buy a loaf of bread.

It’s not radical to want that. What’s radical is pretending that what we have now is working.

I bike because it’s efficient, it’s liberating, and it lets me see the world from a human perspective. I fly drones because I want to witness our landscapes from above—to see what’s possible, and what’s being lost. I built this site to share those perspectives, because I believe the more we see, the more we might change.

Urbanism isn’t a political platform. It’s a survival strategy—for all of us.