
I am a dynamic and creative woman who, I believe, has been writing for a very long time—even when I wasn't writing anything down. Some stories still live quietly in my memory, waiting to be discovered. I bring back memories, reconstruct stories, and share them here with care and affection.

When feelings pierce our experiences with raw intensity, those fragments of lived reality become dense and adhesive within the mind. That is precisely why they return to us with greater force. They are beautiful, nourishing us when they are reciprocal and painless. But when they are not, we find ourselves trapped in the nightmare of something we desperately wish to push away—and the further we push it, the more violently it recoils, much like the host effect of Venom on a physical body.

Love contains many threads intertwined with our very humanity. We are born of love and live surrounded by it, even if we do not all share the same definition of it or cherish the same things. In a way, I believe we are steeped in love all the time—to put it gently—whether we like it or not.

I was taking a quick inventory of the time I devote to myself and the time I spend on things that do not feel like they are for me—time that, at times, can feel like a burden. Work, for instance. We often say, “We spend all our time working and have so little time left for ourselves.”