Somewhere between hope and doubt is where I live most days.

When you realize salad is just crunchy water but you still love it.

A city looks different when you’re lost in it rather than rushing through it.

The comfort of returning home after a long trip isn’t just about the space—it’s about belonging.

Sometimes I envy people who can live without overthinking. They don’t even know how lucky they are.

Those bright green eyes could melt anyone’s heart.

The world feels overwhelming until I break it into tiny pieces: a single task, a single step, a single breath. Suddenly, it’s manageable again.

Some days I feel infinite, other days impossibly small.

Sometimes I feel like life is a playlist on shuffle, with songs I didn’t choose but end up humming anyway.

People say life is short. My work emails make it feel eternal.

The best part of solo travel is talking to strangers you’ll never see again.

I keep a list of small joys—rain on the roof, fresh bread, handwritten notes. It grows every week.

Even the most ordinary days can surprise you.