Wow! We are in August, and I find myself reflecting more than usual. At some point, I think we all do—it’s part of being human. Growth nudges us to dig deeper, especially when change is quietly waiting around the corner.
This blog is a space for my writing, my painting, and the emotions that thread them together. I’ve said it before: writing is my voice when spoken words fall short. It’s genuinely a language only I can translate, one that flows without guilt or interruption. My words don’t need permission—they arrive, laying themselves across the page like whispers meant to be heard.
Painting, for me, is the visual echo of those whispers. It’s the colour of my thoughts, the texture of my feelings. More often these days, the same themes that guide my writing—grief, joy, longing, wonder—spill into my brushstrokes and thoughts. Together, they form a dialogue between what’s felt and what’s seen.
Lately, I’ve felt a quiet presence beside me. Angels, perhaps. They’ve been tapping me gently on the back, guiding me through moments of heaviness. Mental and physical exhaustion have crept in, and maybe even a touch of melencholy. But I keep moving. I’m a constant thinker—a woman who dives into the sea without a life jacket, chasing the unknown. The mysteries that wash ashore are breathtaking and magical.
I’m staying true to the direction I’ve set for myself, honouring the expectations I’ve placed on my growth. But it’s not without cost. Sharing myself, reflections, and creativity on Instagram has become more complex. As I evolve, so do the expectations from others. It’s overwhelming and beautiful all at once. But I’ve learned to listen to my intuition, to weed out distractions and unkind chatter. I’ve found love in the smallest forms of nature—sunlight through leaves, the hush of early morning—that never disappoints.
This season feels like a turning point. Not dramatic, but quietly powerful. I’m learning to trust the rhythm of my creativity, to honour the movement and flow. I’m learning that growth doesn’t always look like expansion—it can also be a deepening, a softening, a return.
Thank you for being here, for reading, for witnessing this unfolding. Whether you’re a fellow artist, a quiet soul, or simply someone passing through—I hope you find something here that feels familiar, something that reminds you of your voice.