“A what?”
“A tumor”
“A tumor as in the cancer kind of stuff? The one that can flip you from alive to dead in the blink of an eye? You’re kidding me, right?”
The day I was told I had a tumor was the most eye-opening day of my life. You think you’ll handle news like that with strength, to stay positive, be brave. But then your mind takes off on its own, making connections you never imagined.. And suddenly, the question crashes into you like a freight train: What if I’m going to die? Read more
Create your own heaven!
That’s what my grandmother always told me, with the softest smile as she sat on the edge of the bed. It was the room by the entrance—the room where the first morning light kissed the walls, the room where bedtime stories were spun like magic, the room filled with the quiet flicker of a candle that never seemed to burn out. The shelves were stacked with jars, each one cradling thick pieces of aloe in mid-maceration, waiting to be turned into something healing. I remember taking the old, worn powder from the shelf, opening the lid, and marveling at its smooth, fine texture. It was as timeless as the memories we shared.
“It’s as old as forever,” she told me, her voice soft and gentle, her every wrinkle a testament to a life lived with grace. My grandmother was, without a doubt, the kindest, most loving woman in my entire world. Read more
I loved my husband beyond reason. So much so that somewhere along the way, I completely forgot to love myself. And you’re probably going to laugh—but I still love him. Not the man he became, but the one I believed he was. I love the strength of the love I once felt. Strangely enough, the further away he is, the more tender that love feels—almost like a ghost I still speak to.
Writers get butterflies, too — they’re not immune.
The only difference?
Their butterflies type.
Yes, somewhere deep in the belly, while others get cute little fluttery feelings from romance or roller coasters, ours grab a tiny typewriter and start hammering away at metaphors, unfinished stories, and overly dramatic love declarations that will likely never make it past the first draft.
But let’s talk about butterflies — the real kind. Those colorful, delicate creatures that are basically nature’s way of saying, “Transformation is possible, darling — but it’s going to get weird first.”
I’m in the middle of a book about marriage—borrowed from a friend, like many of life’s biggest questions. Marriage has always stirred something in me. Not just curiosity, but a kind of restless wonder. Among all the existential questions that occasionally camp out in my mind, a few wear wedding rings.
I still remember a moment from my teenage years—one of those imprints that time doesn’t blur. My mother, with her unshakable realism, said to me: “Every marriage looks perfect from the outside. But once you’re inside, there’s no guarantee that your home will ever feel truly peaceful again. Arguments creep in when you least expect them—usually over children or money.” Read more
Day 1 – Wednesday, 3:10 PM
It’s been two hours. Two. Whole. Hours. And I’m already starting to realise what a terribly misguided decision I’ve made. Honestly, now, shouldn’t email be allowed? Just email! Email is important, right? What if I get one of those “you just won a million euros in the lottery” messages? I mean… I don’t actually play the lottery, but that’s beside the point. This will be my only exception, I promise: email check twice a day. Once at 8 AM, once at 9 PM. That’s it. Read, reply, close. Pinky swear. Read more