The Hyggelig Journey

There are moments — quiet, unbidden — when one pauses and wonders: how did we come to this? After centuries of inquiry, of minds that charted the unseen and hands that steadied the fevered, we now find ourselves in a peculiar and disquieting place. A place where truth is not refuted for want of evidence, but rejected for daring to inconvenience belief. The antivaxx movement is a malicious rejection of education — not a lapse in understanding, but a deliberate estrangement from reason. It perplexes, not for its novelty, but for its brazenness. This is not the soft silence of the uninformed; it is the clamour of the wilfully blind, adorned in the rhetoric of liberty and cloaked in a defiant performance of scepticism. Vaccines — the elegant product of scientific rigour and logistical triumph — are cast aside in favour of speculation, rumour, and the seductive pull of conspiratorial thinking. To refuse a vaccine is not an emblem of critical thought. It is, more often, a retreat...

Are brief periods of instability silently driving weight gain? A new study suggests so — and acupuncture may offer quiet protection. Many assume that weight gain results from gradual, incremental habits — a slow, steady accumulation over time. But a recent study published in the International Journal of Obesity challenges this linear view. It uncovers something far more subtle: a substantial portion of fat gain occurs during brief, intense episodes — often unnoticed and almost always coinciding with periods of disruption. Holidays, job changes, illness, celebrations, or other transitional phases of life — these are the moments when energy balance is abruptly lost, caloric intake rises, and physical activity declines. Crucially, although these episodes are sporadic, their physiological impact can be long-lasting. As an acupuncture physician, I regard acupuncture as a valuable tool for navigating such critical junctures. Regular sessions help regulate sleep cycles, modulate a...

It is once more that time of year — the season for gathering documents, for preparing the annual offering to the revenue gods. Tedious, draining, bureaucratic. Yes, all of that. But it is also a curious interval of observation, a quiet adjustment of memory’s lens. After all, the past year — or at least its more tangible husk — lies partially inscribed in these papers. I say partially, for what is captured on the page is a witness of uneven fidelity. Absent are the details, the reasons, the delicate chain of responsibility. The numbers are all there: the income, the transactions, the movement of capital. But backstage remains hidden — the weight of effort, the hush of a conscience at peace. What is left is a pale suggestion of something more vital — this elusive current we call money. Energy transmuted, but only faintly traceable. A flicker of something once vivid, now flattened by ink and deadlines. And so I sift through the papers. Not merely to comply, but to remember. To...

There’s a particular kind of weariness that follows me home from the clinic — not brute exhaustion, but the quiet fatigue that comes from focus and care. The sort born of holding space for others, of listening more with the body than the voice. A good sort of tired, but tired all the same. And then — the cat. Not in welcome, not in haste. Simply there. Somewhere between the hallway and the armchair, between the soft whirr of the microwave warming supper and the window. A presence. A still point. The day begins to settle. There is no need to explain oneself. No account to give. The cat does not demand. It watches. It knows — not all, but enough. Enough to follow, silently, as I move through the small rituals of arrival. Shirt off, water on, socks to the floor. And there they are, as though summoned not by command but by understanding. They don’t follow in the usual sense. They anticipate. They appear at the precise moment the body yields to stillness — as I lower myself into...

In the course of daily life, concepts such as knowledge, self-knowledge, and the practice of goodness ought never to be forgotten. Yet not only are they neglected — they are actively abandoned, especially when they stand at odds with the ambitions of humankind. And therein lies the blind spot of human pride: the self — the ever-contemplated navel. I see it manifest in the most absurd of circumstances, where there is no sincere interest in understanding the other. The affluent denigrate the poor; the poor resent the affluent. But where, I ask, is our shared humanity? Where is the recognition that the destiny of one is bound to the destiny of all? That recognition remains — dimmed, tucked away in some forgotten recess — awaiting the rekindling of light. When I welcome a homosexual patient, I see someone in search of that very light, navigating life in a conservative, restrictive city that offers little room to breathe. When I receive someone ensnared in substance use, I encou...