21 years ago, I crawled into your arms, a mess of blood, skin and life. My tiny imagination was awestruck by your splendor, your shapes, your sounds, your colors, your movements, your smells. I probably didn’t imagine it then, but it must have felt like home.
My early memories are lost somewhere between jumbled lego structures and frowzy plasticine moulds. I grew up marvelling at the seasons, the sun, the stars and the flowers, even things that man had created, like photographs, the television and the phone. Then I got used to them.
Adolescence was a rocky phase and my sole aim was to emerge unscathed. In retrospect, I grew up too soon, taking things for granted, missing my chances to ask my questions. The world gradually changed from colors and sounds, to people and nature and science, to dishonesty and selfishness and inequality.
World, now I stand before you, 21 trivial years in me, and pray that I may become a child again. I want to be enamored by your majesty again. I want to search for answers to creation. I want to live in the present. I want to dream big. I want to believe in you again.
Welcome to my blog, The Shooting Star. I’ve been called a storyteller, writer, photographer, digital nomad, instagrammer, social entrepreneur, solo traveller, vegan and environmentalist. But in my heart, I’m just a girl who travels!