Ever since I can remember, I’ve been a nerd—though not in the quirky, typical kind of way. More in the “let me read about everything, remember only half of it, and then translate life through fragmented pieces” kind of way.
These pieces arrived one by one. Sometimes like soft rain. Other times? I was godsmacked against my will.
With time, my visual eye sharpened. I learned to see without seeing, to curate entire scenes by adjusting a single step. That precision bled into my creative writing, just as my relentless need to create bled into every frame I captured.
As I mention in my About Me section, I’ve always been a writer—even before I knew what that meant or thought it was cool. My thoughts were too loud, my creativity too restless, and by ten years old, I was already building vast inner worlds.
I rarely shared them. And when I did, it was in pieces. Again.
In school, I was the kid who wrote the best essays. Teachers either adored me or didn’t know what to do with me. I was hyperactive, sharp, a little too audacious—but it all came from an inner knowing. One that said, “There’s a world to discover. Not just around you. Within you.”
It took time. It took lessons. And it took one final boss of a year (2024—be damned). But eventually, I found my way back. To poetry. To prose. To my roots.
Now, a quarter into 2025, I’ve created my most ambitious project to date. I bled into it. Cried into it. Healed through it.
I don’t know if it’ll take off.
But the fact that I finished it tells me all I need to know: The only limits we face are the ones we keep feeding.
No Instagram quote will undo a belief you’ve buried in the back of your spine. You have to pull it out yourself.
Don’t chop your own wings.
Your calling might be waiting just around the corner—
You just have to be brave enough to make the turn.
