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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

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

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

I was 16. He was 19. He wanted the skies, I wanted stories. Somewhere between the edges of the map, we would meet… laughing, daring, teasing each other as if the world itself was ours to flirt with. He was wild, uncontainable, brilliant… sun tanned skin and those eyes that seemed to know every secret before I did. And that red leather jacket… his signature, his courage stitched into every thread. I used to watch it from afar, imagining the fire it carried. Now I wear it. More

One of the first and most important lessons you learn as a rider is to keep your eyes up and not look at the ground. Why? Because you end up going where you look. If you’re always looking at the ground, that’s where you’ll end up! Keep your gaze on where you want to go, look toward your future, toward where you want to be. If you’re about to jump an obstacle, don’t look at it. Look at the horizon, at where you want to be after the jump and trust your horse to take you there.

I learned how to swim. Without logs. Without support. Alone. Free. I flow. I flow with the current that is mine alone. The nights on the balcony…cool, silent, wine in hand, the laughter of my children inside me, my warmth, my sun. Even alone…I am whole. Complete. A stillness that wraps around me, deep, gentle, infinite. Nothing binds me. Nothing diminishes me. Nothing. I am learning to like myself. I am learning to love myself. I am learning to be my own favorite company. I a

They were painful months without you. Months in which I walked alone through my shadows, in which I lost myself in hurts and silences, in which I didn’t know how to breathe whole again. It hurt not to have you, but it hurt even more not to have myself. And it was in that absence — yours and mine — that I began to find my way back. Pain pushed me inward and there I discovered a place I had never inhabited: the center of myself. Today I know that this is where everything begins

More than 30 years of friendship… and what a journey it has been. We’ve grown up together, crossed borders and oceans, built new homes in new countries, celebrated marriages, welcomed children and supported each other through heartbreaks and divorces. We’ve fought, made up, laughed until our stomachs hurt and cried on each other’s shoulders when life felt heavy. We are not the same people we were 30 years ago… we’ve changed, we’ve evolved, we’ve taken different paths. And yet

I’m back. Not as I left, but as I needed to return. I brought with me a heart full of knots to untie, the grief for the father who no longer waits for me at the door, the end of a love that ran out of breath, the weight of cycles that hurt me but that I was afraid to close. Landing here felt like diving into a living past: embracing friends who know my soul, stepping on sidewalks where I once was happy, recognizing scents and sounds that remind me of who I was. I cried. I smi