All Posts

Christmas arrives this year like a slow, aching melody, layered, textured, alive. Not a song for the radio, a song for the chest, for the places that cracked open and learned how to breathe again. For so many years, Christmas carried a weight. A deep, dragging gravity. I blamed the empty chairs, the missing faces, the names that no longer answered when called. And yes, absence leaves a bruise. Silence has its own language. But that was only the surface harmony. Beneath it liv

... with the ones who feel until it hurts to breathe. The ones with no skin, only nerves. Hearts exposed, beating loud and reckless, no mute button, no safe mode, no exit. I stay with those who love like it’s a crime they’re willing to commit. Who fall knowing it might destroy them and jump anyway. Who cry in public, in private, in the middle of the night, not to be saved, but because holding it in would kill them faster. I stay with the ones who laugh like they’re mocking de

Some dates have a way of lingering in our memory, returning year after year like quiet reminders. The 7th of December is one of those days… a marker of journeys, choices and chapters that shift the course of a life. On a 7th of December long ago, someone set out to reconnect with their roots, to search for a sense of belonging that had been missing. A departure that left an empty space behind, teaching early lessons about distance, time and the stories people chase. Years lat

It began before names. Before words. Before thought. A rhythm unspoken. Slow. Insistent. Impossible to resist. Minds brushing, leaning, circling. Hearts daring what bodies had not yet known. A gravity pulling without asking. A language only in pauses, in breaths, in the space between pulse and silence. And then… it shattered. Raw. Sudden. A weight cutting through everything. The rhythm trembling. Closeness dangerous. Trust fragile. The current faltered. Distance became mercy.

The question came, soft and ordinary: are you ok? and the truth rose, trembling, like a pulse under the skin. It didn’t escape. Yes slipped out instead… a word too small, too clean, carrying none of what it should. Another yes returned, polished, certain, hollow. And just like that, the world was “as it should be.” But beneath the surface, something cracked. Not a crash, not a roar… just a quiet collapse, the subtle giving way of what was real. Two lies met in silence, brushi

Today my heart celebrates what would have been my grandmother’s 100th birthday. It’s impossible to put into words what it meant to have her in my life for my first 20 years. She was passion, strength, courage and charm all wrapped in one unforgettable woman, with a touch of sass that made everything brighter. She loved red, she loved to dance and she loved life with a boldness that taught me what it means to be truly alive. “Dance is life, my sweet heart!” she would say, and

“This girl I know needs some shelter She don't believe anyone can help her She's doing so much harm, doing so much damage But you don't wanna get involved You tell her she can manage And you can't change the way she feels But you could put your arms around her I know you wanna live yourself But could you forgive yourself If you left her just the way you found her? I stand in front of you I'll take the force of the blow, protection I stand in front of you I'll take the force o

I don’t even know what “healing” means anymore. Everyone talks about it as if it were light, but to me it feels more like an open wound. Like tearing the skin off, layer by layer, until only the pulse and the truth remain. It isn’t peace. It’s violence. It’s chaos. It’s the sound of old versions of me screaming as they die. The parts that kept me safe, the ones that made me small enough to be loved, fight to survive and I am the one killing them. I thought trauma was pain. Bu

It's not your anxious attachment It's your emotional avoidance Not theirs...yours You don't attract avoidant people because you're too needy You attract them because you're unavailable to your own emotions You want someone to hold your emotions But you can't even hold them yourself You want deep intimacy But you abandon your sadness the second it shows up You numb your rage You spiritualize your grief You analyze your pain instead of feeling it And so you call in partners Who

Today, November 5th, i celebrate 23 years in this country i now call home. 23 years ago, i was a 25 years old woman full of dreams, starting a new life from scratch. Today, at 48, i find myself doing it all over again…rebuilding, rediscovering and reimagining my life. The past few months have been tough… but also amazing, beautiful and full of growth. Beyond my children, my greatest treasures, i’ve been blessed to find incredible souls who walk this path with me. To the one w

Lately, i’ve been thinking that life isn’t something we walk through… it’s something we dance. And the truth is, i don’t always know the steps. Some days i glide forward like the music is inside me. Other days i trip over my own feet and lose the rhythm completely. But somehow, even when i stumble, the song keeps playing. Two steps forward. One step back. And still… i move. There are days that feel like tango… heavy, close, slow. The kind of days where everything matters too

I’ve been carrying this book with me these past days, and it feels like a quiet mirror. Each page asks me to look closer… at life, at death, at the spaces in between. I notice how much I cling, how much I resist, how afraid i’m of endings. And yet, there’s a strange relief in reading that letting go is not loss, but a form of living fully. Reading it feels like being guided inward, to the quiet place where acceptance begins. It’s teaching me that to live fully is to let go ge

He called me Ahsoka, the Star Wars legend. At first, I smiled. But then something inside me went still. Because it wasn’t just a name, it was recognition. It was as if he saw through me, into the quiet spaces I keep hidden and named something I hadn’t yet dared to claim. Ahsoka Tano. Once a Padawan, bright, impulsive, full of belief. She followed the light, even when it led her into darkness. She trusted and was betrayed. She lost her place, her people, her faith and still, s

2002, i landed in the Netherlands, no friends, no plan, no clue. Just me, a bike and a head full of noise. Weekends were my escape: long rides through Haarlem’s narrow streets, wind in my face, music in my ears. And then, i found Kane - the Dutch music band. That sound. That fire. Raw, electric, untamed. Rock that felt like the pulse of the city itself, my city. Haarlem. Haarlem, where i learned to live alone and love it. Where i shared nights of laughter, wine and way too mu

A mailbox does not define us. Nor does it divide us. It’s only a place of passage, where words pause to breathe before finding their way to us. A quiet symbol of all we have endured: the distance, the silence, the pauses between our days. And still, we go on… with a kind of serene grace, with the lightness of those who have learned to care without the need to hold. That, perhaps, is empathy to see both pain and beauty reflected in the same gaze. They once said we were alike,

I'm alone, but not necessarily lonely. Inside me, there is a silence that no longer screams, it simply breathes. It’s a strange feeling… not bad, just new. For twenty years, I always knew there was someone there. A presence. A familiar voice with whom to share coffee and the day’s news, to discuss the weather or the chaos of the world. It was the certainty of not being alone, even when I felt lonely. After the separation came the whirlwind. A restlessness that wouldn’t fit in

It still hasn’t passed. No matter how often I tell myself I’m fine, there is a part of me still stuck there... hands reaching backward, heart caught in a love that slipped away. It was real. God, it was real. So strong it felt eternal and yet so fragile it shattered the moment I needed it most. I gave everything. I loved without armor, without hesitation, like someone who truly believed forever was promised. And then... nothing. An emptiness so sudden it stole the air from my

He told me that he was reading me. Curious, i asked: “And what do you see?” His answer was simple, yet it struck deep: “I see a white page. The chapter number one is completely empty and you can write everything you want. Go for it.” Since then, i’ve been holding onto those words. A white page… mine to fill. It feels both frightening and liberating. I am scared. I am fragile. Yet i know, that i am the one holding the pen. I can write a new story: A new life, A new job, a new

This week, I saw something I never thought I would see in the 21st century. A mailbox with paint on top… trying to erase words… revealed the weight of racism, revenge, stalking and vandalism. I knew such cruelty existed, but seeing its mark in real life was devastating, it felt like a punch to the heart. And yet, in that same moment, I saw the person. The person who rose above it all. Who chose courage over anger, empathy over hatred, humanity over destruction. Seeing that st

At first, I was skeptical. I thought “Let Them” was just another American hype. But on the recommendation of a good friend, I bought it and it surprised me. I remember opening the first chapters with a bit of resistance, almost reading to prove myself right, that it would be nothing new. But as I kept going, something shifted. The simplicity of the message hit me harder than I expected: you cannot control people. You can’t make them love you the way you want, treat you how yo