We rented a moped for an entire weekend. It was my first time riding one, so my stress had already started building up the day before. I had heard the road up to Cameron Highlands was the least, a challenging route. So, the image of winding paths surrounded by thick layers of jungle had been quietly haunting my thoughts the night before. I woke up around 5 a.m., unable to sleep any longer. I made a warm cup of tea and sat by the window of our apartment on the 11th floor. The

We hide many faces within ourselves. Carefully, almost instinctively, we choose which ones to offer the world depending on the fragments we gather from those around us. And often, we do not even notice it happening. A close friend mentions something they believe in, and slowly, quietly, it begins settling inside of you too. That is why I have always found the phrase “People are mosaics of all they’ve met before” particularly beautiful. We gather pieces of those we once loved,

It was a thirty-minute taxi ride. A journey meant to take ten, yet still costing us less than a drive of barely five minutes in most European cities. The rain had begun some time before, and as rain often does in KL, it offered no warning of its arrival. There was no hush before the storm, no careful transition — it simply arrived whole, with an almost unreasonable force. We had planned to visit the elephant sanctuary that morning, but the sudden shift in weather had other in

I grew up in a family where religion was never forced upon us. My siblings and I were free to question, discover, learn, and quietly choose whatever felt true to us. Although my mother never pushed Christianity onto me, growing up in a small Greek village came with its own unspoken expectations. Certain traditions were simply woven into everyday life, followed almost instinctively, like paths already carved into the earth before you are old enough to ask where they lead. So,

Kuala Lumpur is, quite literally, a city grown out of the jungle. I never really understood how New York came to own that title, though to be fair, I have never been there myself. I imagine New York carries its own kind of wilderness — the sharp, electric kind made from noise and movement and too many people wanting too many things at once. But Kuala Lumpur has nothing to envy. The air here feels alive in a quieter way, as if the city is still gently negotiating with the tree

I believe becoming the person you dream of is its own kind of art. For a long time, we were taught to separate the muse from the artist — the dream from the one creating it. But maybe they were never meant to live apart. Maybe both can exist within the same vessel. Our bodies should feel like temples: places of softness, peace, and quiet safety. But building such a place requires structure. Discipline. Intention. And somehow, that seems to contradict everything art is meant t