The pressure was strong enough to make me shiny outside but not enough to clean my soul. I need a fresh start. To stop running away. I need peace of mind I deserve that.

I keep giving and not receiving. I keep licking wounds that never healed. I keep searching for the path. I keep howling to the moon searching for a pack that maybe I imagined.

I know the patterns have been repeating, I hurt myself over and over again for trusting too much. I keep falling down the pit and climbing back up. I should be stronger at this point.

Expectations get louder but I stopped listening. At one point I’ll also be blind. Loose sense of time. I dreamt I was flying. Nothing new in my world but this time I didn’t want to fly.

I was afraid of jumping down the rocks. I saw myself falling too deep. People stay in your life for a reason and people leave as well. No matter what I think about too many things all the time.

Thoughts are loud and I cry myself to sleep hoping that I dream of a brighter day when I’m not wounded.

I will learn to stand up by myself I’m old enough I should know better I bang my head against the wall trying to make sense of it all. But I don’t feel anything. Blood down my nose, I don’t feel anything, broken eyebrow, I don’t feel anything, broken soul, I don’t feel anything.

Could I stitch myself back?  can I repair myself ? I know I’ve mended every corner I have created new scars, lost a bit of spark in the process.

But I pull myself together go out for a coffee and write all down because maybe today the sun will come out and you will shine so bright people will notice.

Warm your soul a little with hot cocoa and spices you learned how to make chai no one taught you. No one was there you learned it all by yourself so why does it feel like an empty hole where you should exist.

Maybe I am not full of love because I wasn’t created with love and what I give is the bare minimum. Love is not enough I heard that once, my world shattered once.

I don’t need to feel so much pain the idea of something remains but we are different. We have changed.

So why do I search for a hand to hold and a shoulder to cry on to?

Why am I full of kindness for everyone but myself?

Why do I let people use me?

I want someone to desire me, to give me attention. Isn’t that what we all want just a tiny bit of their day, all because she wasn’t there today.

- Love, A

It’s a hot summer night, one of those where you can’t sleep because your body feels sticky even though I just had a shower. It’s been an incredibly long day. I woke up at 3 a.m. and somehow I’m still awake. I can hear the mosquitoes buzzing around, which makes me annoyed, but at the same time I’m used to it. I’m used to the sounds, just not the discomfort from the bites.

I’m watching Sentimental Value, which makes me appreciate the sisters that life has given me. It’s been a long day, but it was so nice. So nice to take a breath from the universal retrograde of last week.

There are moments were I wish I could go back in time to that instant of happiness, that freedom of innocence. That version of innocence where having a crush on someone is cute, simple, and light, like you’re floating, just something that makes your heart feel warm and hopeful.

Reality checks can hit so hard sometimes. Even if they’re not that big of a deal, it just feels like the rug under my feet gets swiped away and I’m left shaking, standing alone, afraid.

I’m usually not afraid. I travel the world and get into random situations without hesitation, but now I’m afraid of traveling. What I realized is that this feeling is my intuition telling me not to go, to stay, to settle, to take this time to reflect. And so that’s what I will do.

You see, I’ve been running away for a long time. My intuition took me to where I had to be, the nomad lifestyle, not fully anywhere. Now I know I’m not lost. I just needed to heal what was broken. The hardest part of this journey will be to stay in one place.

Some things might never change, but the topics we don’t speak about are also part of the trauma lived. The uncomfortable feeling of finally talking and not talking is a knot in my chest that needs to be untangled. Doors opening, new paths building, grounding slowly.

I stepped into reality to take a peek, and it was there, what I was looking for. I realized there is hope in my ambitions. My ambitions that I put inside a box because there was too much noise. The noise in my head, which sometimes I just bottle up. I don’t talk to anyone about this bottle. I just throw it into the sea, hoping that someone might find it and fully understand me.

They would understand that sometimes all you need is a hug and an “everything will be alright” kind of comfort. That’s what I’ve been looking for, gentle comfort and peace of mind.

I recently opened one of those bottles, and I saw a child, traumatized and not able to hold her emotions. I knew what I needed to do. I held that child’s hand and took her for a walk. I told her it’s alright. We are on the right path. Life is hard sometimes, but it is also beautiful.

It’s so fucking beautiful that you will cry every time you see a sunset, when you see a mushroom, the most dense moss on the ground, the rocks in the sea or when you kiss a girl. You will be proud of yourself and the ones around you because they are living their own lives in the most amazing ways. It’s not easy for them either. We are all growing, but we have one another. We have this support system that truly helps.

My friends have seen me at my lowest and at my highest, maybe more highs than lows, and they embraced both the good and the bad. It’s a lot to handle, I know that, but some days I’m human too.

So everything that happens is for a reason. There is no right path, just a rollercoaster that we ride every day until our final destination. I’m grateful to have my people on this rollercoaster, and we’re all enjoying it in our own ways.

I think I’ll watch the sunset later and cry a bit, not because I’m sad, but because I’m so happy to be on this earth. To make mistakes and learn from them. To forgive and to allow myself to be kind to who I am and to others.

Now I’m looking for my own home, a place to arrive where I’m welcomed, where I feel safe. With a shelf full of my bottles, so I can open them and finally set them free.

- Love A

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I’ve been wanting to write every day, but my head gets cloudy every time I touch the keyboard. I thought I was being lazy, but I can feel it now. There’s something powerful sitting inside me. It’s anger. Anger that has coagulated, like a clog lodged in my body, poisoning me from within. And the source of it is my own nuclear family.

It feels silly to eve…

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I arrived in New York City on Sunday morning, dropped my bags, and went straight to brunch with the girls. We walked through the busy streets, catching up, we hadn’t seen each other since Halloween. By three in the afternoon I was already heading to the dinner, feeling excited and curious, trusting that my intuition had guided me there.

I took the train from SoHo to Brooklyn, almost an hour away. When I arrived, I waited outside with the freezing wind hitting my face. Slowly the girls started gathering, and soon we were all standing like penguins by the door. One by one we entered. Inside, there was a U-shaped table with a white tablecloth, candles, and roses. We undressed and moved into another room. This room was covered in plastic and white fabric. Rage is messy. We sat on the floor.

It felt grounding, you could feel how the energy was forming.

Lihi and Charlie made us all feel welcomed, safe and warm.

Then we began one of the most transformative session of somatic breathing I have ever experienced, guided by Lihi, our rage facilitator. I could feel the energy moving through my body, as if I were plugged into a current socket. She recited a poem that pierced me open: “Rage is love that grew a backbone.” We listened.

We spoke about what our rage felt like. Words such as ancestral, vulnerable, confusing and deep were shared. When it was my turn, I said dormant. Along this journey, I had forgotten about my rage, but I knew it was there inside me, waiting. Ready to leave my body. Ready to be released.

We danced, tapped, and stomped, warming our bodies from the cold night. Voices rose. We screamed. We screamed for ourselves and for each other. We screamed into the floors, the roof, the walls, letting all that anger go. It was sisterhood. It was release. We shared the same frequency. It was the moment when your soul finally takes a breath. Have you ever wanted to scream into the void? We did that together.

A common topic was men. Whenever someone said the word, the whole group joined, carrying years of silent anger. The kind of rage women store without even realizing it. Rage that often is not ours. Rage passed down. Rage we never asked for. We needed to cleanse it, to release it.

So we threw balls covered in red paint against the walls, creating art out of our feelings. Paint everywhere, turning our rage into something finally outside our bodies. Primal. Ancient. Raw. For the first time in a long time, I felt like my truest self. Wild. Free. Without judgment. Without social expectations. Just a room full of women in their purest form.

We gave each other affirmations. We sang. We cried. We held ourselves and each other. We said I love you. I forgave myself for my self-criticism. I breathed new air. We all felt the shift. It takes courage to be vulnerable, and we were proud.

Afterward, we sat down for a wholesome dinner prepared by Charlie and Katerina. The bread was absolute heaven with the softest butter. We shared our feelings, snapped our fingers, and listened deeply, a true communion of souls. You can make art at home, but community is empowering. Women need safe spaces where they can simply be, without being in defense mode, without shrinking, without fear.

This experience opened parts of me that had been closed. It was the cherry on top of my journey of self discovery, of finding my inspiration again, of remembering who I am. It reassured me that I am on the right path, creating my own reality. That I am divine and proud of all I have achieved.

To the women who guided the experience, thank you for holding us and keeping us warm. The sense of togetherness was unforgettable. Raw. Real. Powerful.

And yes, in case you are wondering, I went to a naked dinner. It was not a cult, it was community. We set our boundaries. We honored ourselves. We remembered.

It is interesting how sometimes the only people who think you are out of your mind for embracing your true self are the ones closest to you. But our rage is sacred. In an ideal world, women would walk freely through the streets without feeling constantly alert. Until then, we need safe spaces, sisterhoods, and communities like this one.

Now I remember I am an artist creating my own reality. I own it.

Thank you, Charlie, for creating a space where women remember who they are.

For anyone reading, I truly recommend experiencing it yourself. Every session will gather a unique group of beautiful individuals, and it will be one of the most unforgettable experience you will ever have.

- Love A

For more info check thefudeexperience.com and their substack Fude experience

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I woke up to a sunny morning meaning its going to be amazing. While drinking matcha, I painted for a while. I recently got a Gelli plate, which is so fun to mix colors and print with. I discovered I could print my photos directly onto my paintings, like distant memories where I can show what I see, the color behind them. Im documenting my process so I can actually keep motivating myself to do it. Sometimes I start hobbies and don’t keep on doing them. So far in these two weeks i’ve started two hobbies this one and felting second hand sweaters.

It’s another Wednesday in Philly. This city has its ups and downs, but lately, thankfully, more ups. I got out of the house a bit later than planned, still earlier than usual, after a busy morning organizing and preparing to teach a class. I lingered for a moment, feeling that sense of waiting. Then I walk, I like walking long distances.

I stopped by Philly AIDS Thrift, my favorite secondhand shop here. The racks are full of donated treasures, and all the proceeds are distributed to local organizations involved in the fight against HIV and AIDS. It’s one of those places where my mind goes quiet, diving into the one dollar bins and all the racks. I have acquired an acute sense of this pants could become something else. I like thrift flipping stuff.

I’ve found so many gems there, like handprinted pants, an 80s denim jacket that I’ll probably have to fight my brother for, and a pair of surfer 2000s low waist shorts that fit perfectly. They remind me of Blue Crush, one of my favorite movies, and of course Michelle Rodriguez is iconic in it. I used to want to be a surfer, maybe I’ll start surfing this year. I say this every year.

Thrifting makes me feel my best, especially when I find unique pieces that become conversation starters and part of my everyday story. I think that’s one of my talents, finding treasures.

Later, I walked for about forty minutes to The Fabric Workshop and Museum, where there’s a vivid exhibition on Moki Cherry. Her work radiates psychedelic color and a sense of spiritual playfulness. The fabrics, paintings, and installations blur the lines between art, performance, and everyday life.

There’s so much freedom and experimentation in her techniques. I took notes. Then I talked to the lady who works at the gift shop, she was so kind and gifted me a coffee table book about the story of the workshop. So many talented artists have shown their work there. Maybe one day I will too.

On my way there, I finished listening to Carmen Maria Machado’s In the Dream House. It’s such a strong story about an abusive queer relationship, told with honesty. Her writing is both painful and poetic, full of reflections. The way she structures the book, fragmented, makes it feel like walking through her head. Her voice is so soothing. It made me want to write more of my experiences in life.

By sunset, the sky was painted in pink and orange, I took a minute to appreciate it felt celestial just looking up. The sky always reminds me that there are infinite possibilities, infinite universes, infinite ways to begin again.

Back at home, I watched two movies, The Hunger and Watching the Detectives.
The Hunger is a dark and stylish 80s vampire film with Catherine Deneuve, David Bowie, and Susan Sarandon (gay icons). It’s full of surreal visuals, sensual energy, and basically lesbian vampires. It’s also seen as a reflection of the early years of the AIDS epidemic. I love how it feels like art more than just a movie, something that lingers in your mind. The perfect ending to the spooky season.

Watching the Detectives, on the other hand, is a quirky romantic comedy with Cillian Murphy and Lucy Liu. It’s about a video store owner obsessed with film noir who ends up in a real life mystery. It was the perfect balance of strange and sweet, the kind of movie that feels light but still has its charm. It makes you think about how once you experience something new, you can’t go back. Like how Violet, played by Lucy, would make fake scenarios for fun because she knew he liked movies. He thought she was crazy, but then he actually missed it. Life would be so boring if we didn’t live dramatically or delusionally, at least for me it would be.

This full moon, the Beaver Moon in Taurus, feels grounding. It’s the perfect time to manifest and write down my dreams. Journaling feels like my ritual, my way of calling things into being. Maybe one day I’ll lose my mind, but I’ll have these words, printed, painted, or sewn somewhere, making my memories tangible.

I even gifted myself something today, a ticket to a naked dinner, an experience I can’t wait to attend and a chance to meet interesting women with similar mindsets. The Füde experience will be something I will be writing about.

“_{This special edition centers on Sacred Rage, the kind of fire that protects what’s tender, clears what’s stagnant, and makes room for what’s ready to rise. Nudity becomes a tool for truth, a reminder that when we strip away what hides us, we return to our power.” Thefudeexpercience.com}

To me, there’s nothing more natural than feeling comfortable in your own skin. I could be naked always, surrounded by nature, grounding myself by simply placing my feet on the earth and syncing with its frequency. After all, we are energy, clusters of atoms searching for the right vibration.

I feel like I’m finally remembering who I am. My potential excites me. My dreams are big, maybe even delusional, but in the best way. I chose this path, and it took traveling across the world to understand it.

Some people run marathons. I jump from plane to plane.

I’m proud of myself and of this journey. I know my goals will unfold as they’re meant to. My reality is already written. I’m just living it into being.

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I see the innocence leaving my body;
no more games by the sea,
no more Crocs in sports mode,
and the friends that I’ll miss until the next season.

I see myself trying to open doors
that have been closed by my own being
in order to protect me.

I see a cemetery full of stories that once were,
and now no one to tell them.

I see the leaves change color
as the cold breeze kisses my neck
and whispers softly
that it’s time to go back.

I see the Patti Smith vynil
that my brother just got for his collection.
He is happy, and so am I.

What do you see?

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I’m half-awake, listening to Kitchen Confidential, the man himself in my ears while I float between worlds. I can’t sleep. I’m hungry. The kind of hungry that makes you think about your whole life. There’s no food on this flight. Just the sad, overpackaged stuff that looks like regret in plastic wrap. So I stay hungry and write.

I’m on my way back to L.A. from Tokyo. Can’t wait to arrive and get an In-N-Out burger. This trip changed me, I can feel it. I’m reflecting on how it shaped me, on the moments that made me proud of what I accomplished. But how, I’m not sure, yet. That’s something I’ll need time to sit with. Maybe the meaning will surface later, somewhere between unpacking and ordinary life.

Yesterday, I cried over a bowl of cold soba in a place I wasn’t even sure was the right one, it didn’t look like the pictures on Google. But after walking in a second time and catching the scent of the food, I knew I would love it. What I would do now for another plate. It wasn’t really about the noodles, though. It was about the goodbye hidden in each bite, the quiet realization that some moments can’t be repeated, only remembered.

When you travel, you take pieces of places with you. I’m already thinking about where to create my tea corner, something physical to remind me of Japan. But on a deeper level, I’m bringing home the stillness. The calm that comes from letting life flow naturally and finding beauty in whatever the universe sends your way. Small things, quiet moments, that’s what stays.

I see the growth. I see the doors opening. I’m happy, content, full in all the ways that matter, except for my stomach.

Listening to my intuition

After a year of overthinking what to do with my life, I finally decided to take control of my fate. I trusted my intuition fully and booked the trip I had always dreamed of.

It wasn’t fear holding me back, more an anxiety about the unknown. I had been working remotely for the past year, but my suspicions about unemployment became real when my employer couldn’t give me a straight answer about a raise. Deep down, I knew the end was coming. And as always, life’s timing was perfect. My contract ended in early September, right before I arrived in Japan. I had savings, I had freedom, and more importantly, I had trust in myself.

Arriving in Japan

I landed here with no job, just my intuition guiding me. I wanted to open myself to the culture, and in return, I found peace. I found a place where people are genuinely kind, where omiyage (bringing back gifts from your travels) is normal, where policemen smile at you, and where trains and buses even have separate sections for women and men. But that’s a story for another time.

What matters is that Japan gave me the space to think. And I’m not alone. I have Cons, my best friend, with me. She inspires me constantly. Honestly, without her I wouldn’t have started my Substack or even picked up reading again. We’re complete opposites, but maybe that’s why it works. Together we’ve built our own little language of Spanish, English, Italian, and now Japanese. The universe really knows how to place the right people in my life.

My delusions, my reality

Here’s where the shift began: I believe in manifestation. I speak my truth as if it’s already happening. This is fundamental for someone with multiple hobbies and plans. Maybe it’s ADHD, maybe it’s just a deep need to be my own boss. But my mind never stops planning. I have Musgo Azul, my brand in Peru, which I love. I also do online marketing, my main source of income for now. And honestly, I think I’m good at a lot of things.

More than anything, I’m working toward financial independence. I want to travel freely, working as I go, saying yes to the opportunities that show up. I travel quietly. Only my closest friends know where I’m headed, and often I don’t even know myself. I move with the wind, with the energy, and I trust the outcome.

And right now, I feel completely free. Untied to anything, just searching for the next adventure.

Lessons from the road

I was raised to think productivity equals worth, that naps are laziness, and money is always the priority. Traveling has unraveled those beliefs. I’ve learned that the best things in life really aren’t bought with money. They’re things you nurture: friendship, love, nature.

At one point, I had a conversation with Aleks, a spiritual being who feels like a little sister the universe sent me. She told me it’s time to be self employed, to make my delusions real. And I think she’s right. I don’t believe most awakened souls can thrive in offices. I couldn’t sit in one even if I tried.

So here I am, creating my own reality.

Becoming that woman

I want to be that confident woman walking through any city with her head high. The one people look at and wonder where her strength comes from. I want to inspire. Am I delusional? No. I’m building my own reality. Dreaming big doesn’t limit you, it expands you.

This trip has reminded me that I’m here as a guide. I’ve always been fascinated by people, cultures, and the ways we connect. Strangers often share their struggles with me, and I listen. I observe, I feel the energy people carry, the colors they radiate. Traveling makes me see and feel everything more deeply. I’m guided by a divine source, and I trust it fully.

New paths

My higher self has been pushing me to take this step toward self employment. I’ve started teaching Spanish on Preply, which excites me because I can connect with people around the world. But that’s only the beginning. I want to share more. I’m creating projects for people who like design so we can upcycle and create together, building communities like the one I had in Florence.

It’s not easy, but saying yes to opportunities has always taken me places. Right now, I’m in the Japanese countryside, co hosting at a guesthouse. It’s calm, safe, and peaceful. I’ve never felt more secure walking home at night, leaving my bag somewhere unattended, being surrounded by kindness and respect. This is what happiness feels like: choosing the life you want.

Choosing my reality

I choose traveling for inspiration. I choose self employment as the way forward. I choose to trust myself and climb toward the views I want to see. Every time I put myself out there, I grow.

And as for being unemployed, I’m not afraid. I know life will flow naturally, and I’ll succeed. My confidence comes from believing in myself, solving my own problems, and not depending on anyone else.

So I wake up, do my fifty jumps, go for a run, drink my tea, and organize my life. I make my own reality. Call them delusions if you want — but mine always become true.

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I know it’s been a year. A year of reflection, of finding myself, of feeling a lot. Ups and downs. Moving back to my hometown and feeling isolated. My support system became my phone because that was the only connection to my friends that I had. I wasn’t living in the present or in my time zone. I’ve been lonely for some time now, not being able to find that missing part of me. So cliché but true. It took me a while to realize that part will probably never be completely fulfilled. But it sparks for some moments. It reminds me of the good times and of what’s truly important.

I don’t have answers to when or how I’ll find my future wife (even though I wish I knew). I wish we could have met already. I wish we could have started to build our own empire. Be wildly creative, have our own farm, travel around the world. Have a future together. To have someone who sees me and understands me. Someone I can trust no matter what. To enjoy life together. To get inspired by each other. To call her my safe space.

I’ve even started thinking about having children (maybe it’s just my ovaries). But imagine that I would be such a cool mom. Taking the kids to surfing classes (I don’t even know how to surf) in our Jeep, making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and watching independent movies on the projector at night. Karaoke nights, celebrating achievements, camping, and hiking. I really want to rent an RV and ride down the coast with my little family.

I know my mother said that wouldn’t be possible, that it would be wrong so unnatural but it’s so nice to just dream about it and stop listening to her. After all, she prayed to God, asking what she did wrong to deserve a gay child. But we’ve moved past that. We’re learning and growing. But yeah, one day I’ll be a really cool lesbian mom.

So, back to the point I don’t think I’m ever truly lonely. I always have my thoughts and dreams, and eventually, one day, I’ll have someone to share them with.

Love, A

Our bodies are often sexualized instead of being celebrated as beautiful vessels.

Nudity is something so precious each body is so unique, and in this world, we only have ourselves to take care of.

If I could, I would be naked all the time, but in a way that’s normalized. Coming back to a conservative country, I’ve realized how empowering it is to embrace and appreciate our bodies. Unfortunately, most people tend to sexualize nudity, reducing it to just flesh instead of seeing the beauty and individuality of the human form.

My first encounter with the idea of sexualizing the body came from home, where my mom would tell me to cover up because my dad might see me. Another experience occurred during a summer water balloon fight at a friend’s house when we were about 13 or 14. One of the girls was topless, and to me, it felt so natural, why would it be weird? We were just kids. But later, my friend’s mom commented, “I can’t believe she was running around topless. Doesn’t her family teach her to cover up?” That moment stuck with me. There was nothing inherently wrong, yet the judgment came so quickly.

This idea, that showing our bodies is shameful often starts at home, in conservative households that don’t know better.

I only started feeling like myself when I left that environment and moved to Europe. There, nudity felt normalized. It was common to see people naked in gym locker rooms or sunbathing nude, and bodies were appreciated for their natural beauty rather than seen as inherently sexual.

The moment my brain clicked was when I lived in a house full of empowered, unapologetically bold women. Seeing them so free, so comfortable with themselves their bodies were pure art, and they themselves embodied that artistry. It was completely normal to be naked. To put olive oil in their body like greek goddess. I truly admire them.

That experience made me truly start appreciating myself. I began giving myself the attention I had long been neglecting. I focused on reclaiming my body, making it truly mine.

Now, at 29, I feel more like myself than I ever have. But getting here wasn’t easy it took a lot of unlearning. I had to strip away the ideals I thought I believed in and relearn how to fully appreciate and love the body I’ve been given.

Of course, this mindset can vary, as many men still sexualize bodies in a way that feels predatory. As a lesbian, I lived in a kind of bubble, rarely interacting with straight men. But I have felt those predatory gazes that strip away your humanity, reducing you to an object a piece of meat. It’s shattering, and I can’t believe society continues to tolerate this behavior.

Why is it that such harmful actions are normalized, while an empowered woman showing her body is considered controversial? Why are women always labeled “whores” for revealing too much? Why are men not being taught how to appreciate women properly?