How Many Versions of Ourselves Can We Be?
Sometimes I wonder how many versions of ourselves we carry. The person we were at fifteen, full of dreams and confusion.The person we became when life asked us to be stronger.The person we are at work, trying to sound confident and capable.The person we are with family, softer or louder or quieter.The person we are
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I Miss Writing Before I Knew What Content Was
I miss writing before I knew what content was. Before every thought could become a caption. Before every feeling needed a hook. Before every sentence had to be useful, searchable, shareable or aligned with a strategy. I miss writing because something inside me was too loud to stay quiet. Not because it had a goal.
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Being Real on Social Media: The Power of Authenticity
We live in a world where social media acts as a showcase for our lives. With just a tap, we reveal who we are, what we do, and what we believe in. But with so much shine and expectation, a crucial question arises for us creators: how can we be authentic in a place that often
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So, I wrote a book… Where do we learn to love?
Writing a book always seemed like a distant dream to me, but over time I learned that some things are more possible than we imagine; we just need to have courage. So I breathed, took courage and organised some stories I had written some time ago, wrote new ones, and started working. I compiled, polished,
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A day to remember
Today I decided to grab my things and work on the rooftop of the building. After a weekend where everything seemed empty, and nothing motivated me, a day in the sun is what I needed and didn’t know. And here, I felt like writing about nothing specific but how small things save us daily. I
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She
Trying to find the right way to speak, I fall silent. Trying only to create something good, I put down my pen. One day I was told I wasn’t old enough to speak. And I believed it. I also believed when they said I needed to study more to have the right to an opinion.
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My new home, Liverpool
Clay-colored buildings, long days, always cold feet. Sometimes I stop and think: how did I end up here? I feel the ice on the tips of my fingers, but I can’t stop typing; I must be crazy. Tea with milk, breakfast that looks like lunch, and cars are backwards. I must be lost, am I
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Restless
Today I woke up restless. Usually when I felt like this I would write, but it has been so long that I do not even know if I still know how to do it. Is writing like riding a bike? Let us find out. I woke up and it was already almost midday, picked up
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What do you want to be when you grow up?
That’s the question that’s always on most teenagers’ minds. I’m 15, and every time I bring it up with my parents, they tell me I still have plenty of time to decide, but when you stop and think about it, that’s not exactly true. Think about it: this isn’t the kind of decision you can
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