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The Oldest Thing
We keep asking if we have lost humanity, as if humanity were something inherently good.
Newsletter
We keep asking if we have lost humanity, as if humanity were something inherently good.
Newsletter
I was hoping for spring. Instead, winter returned. Whether I walked in snow or in the sky, it was hard to tell. At a bus stop, I wonder what—or who—we are waiting for. The river does not ask. It keeps moving. It knows its direction. So much noise.
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On temporary places and the thoughts they generate
Newsletter
Last time I wrote about plants. This time, about a milk foamer.
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Our Sansevieria has long green-yellow leaves that tower into the air. Nested in her terracotta pot, she sits in stillness, yet her presence brings life to the room. Her leaves used to be firm and unbending, as if she knew who she was. Slowly over time, almost unnoticed, her skin
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As you start to walk on the way, the way appears. - Rumi
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Winter has its own rhythm. A season of rest, of not knowing, of staying. I am learning to host uncertainty instead of controlling it.
Newsletter
On welcome, loss, and hope. Another island has found its way into my heart.
Recent Thoughts “I came here for my holidays, not to suffer,” the woman hissed at me. The reason for her outburst was a broken balcony light; the romantic electric candles we had placed instead had apparently ruined her vacation. Like many others this summer, she had arrived with a suitcase
Silence Last month, I sat on a stone in the golden evening sun, my eyes resting on four horses grazing in silence, the occasional breath through their nose. The Eiger mountain stood tall behind the field, its presence serene and protective. I had spotted my new neighbours from the kitchen
There is no other city in Europe like Berlin in the summer. Berlin summers are people hanging out in cafés, restaurants, and bars, in parks, along the river, in boats, on balconies, and on rooftops. People who dance, bike, swim, play, and talk. Berlin in summer makes one happy, and
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Ice cubes. 4cl Aperol. Prosecco. Sparkling water. A slice of orange. Repeat sixteen times. It was a golden summer day in 2022, under a spotless Algarve sky. A deceptive beauty as wildfires raged just an hour away. We were nearing the end of a seven-month journey and spent our last