When I was in my early years of uni, I remember I used to have something in my Twitter bio that said “I always win”, which, as pretentious as it sounds, really implied that, even when I lose, I win. A pretty similar idea can be found in the Stoic principle “Amor fati”, which means “Love your fate” or, put simply, embrace and celebrate whatever happens to you, no matter if it is “good” or “bad”.
This idea made me strong and gave me the toughness to know that, even when things wouldn’t go my way, I could still learn something from them. This idea gave me hope when I was a young designer with no portfolio to show, trying to get an internship anywhere, scared of not getting a job or, worse, taking a mediocre one.

The way my career has panned out so far is the consequence of a lot of hard work, but also casualties that have been shaping my journey in a way I wouldn’t have expected years ago.
Somehow, I can say that, for the last 5 years, my life has been a constant progression of win after win: working in better studios, bigger teams and with more ambitious and challenging clients, while at the same time experiencing the same growth in other areas of my life, such as sport or my personal projects.

But this constant sense of progression has also been my own pitfall: entitlement, pride and comfort, the confidence to think that you know what you are doing because “you’ve been doing this for so long”, a belief that you’ve reached the top. But funnily enough, all of this egotistic layer is just sitting on top of an epicenter filled with insecurity and fear.

I was reflecting on this after having struggled with various things over the last few weeks: at work, finding it hard to do things I thought I was good at or things “I-knew-how-to-do”, impacting my performance and making me question, “Do I even know how to do my job?”; in running, being challenged by paces that used to feel easy and now would blow my heart rate up. Inevitably, I felt frustrated, hearing a voice inside my head saying:

“But this is not who I was! I used to be the best, I used to always win, always surpass expectations. Who am I now then?”

But then, I remembered that idea of “I always win” and, instead of falling into this egotistic pitfall, I chose to make it my biggest victory, my greatest opportunity to put my head down, to be humble and let myself be humbled by the work.

I needed to lose, because I always win.

Thanks for reading!

While I was reflecting on this newsletter, I reread one of my favorite poems a few times, “If—” by Rudyard Kipling. Give it a read here.

It’s Saturday, 26th July. I sat down on the concrete in the garden of my house to journal while I sip my coffee and soak in the summer sun. There are fewer than 10 blackberries hanging low in the brambles that the gardener hasn’t yet cut, and I’ve already eaten the only one that wasn’t red or bitten by a bird. Despite the slowness and the calm, my heart is restless. I feel a bit cranky, even, but when I put down some words on the paper, I breathe out and realise that all these nerves are really just the excitement and fear of doing something for the first time.

Tomorrow I’ll be racing T100, my first race since the Copenhagen Half last September, and my first ever triathlon, a goal I set for myself at the beginning of the year that really is something I’ve been wanting to do for years and years.

Growing up and seeing my mum’s cousin doing that stupid thing called an “Ironman,” I knew that one day I wanted to do something like that; it sounded irrational, hard, and completely unnecessary, but most great things in life are like that. I knew I had the running, but swimming and cycling were always the things holding me back, the ones I would always find an excuse not to do.

After flirting with the idea for so long, at the beginning of this year, while writing down my yearly goals, I decided to commit to it. I signed up for one straight away, and to avoid all the friction and faff, I knew doing it in London would make things easier.

Of all the other stupid fitness goals I had written down that I had to put on hold, the triathlon was the only one that didn’t have a time goal attached to it, just doing it and enjoying an experience that won’t ever happen again: that joy and mystery of doing something for the first time.

My leg injury somehow worked in my favour, getting me into the pool and onto the bike earlier than I thought I would, but with such a recent and humbling return to running, I knew I had to play it safe. And for once, having fun was genuinely the objective and not a form of self-sabotage.

What’s going to happen, I don’t know. All the things that could go wrong... I don’t really care. All I know now is how I feel, and it’s nerves, excitement, a bit of fear, but also the peace and lightness of not carrying the weight of any expectation or desire; the awe of the undiscovered, the excitement of a child doing something for the first time.

Thanks for reading!

I've been quiet for a while, but hopefully at least this race will give me an excuse to write another post afterwards.

H

And all of a sudden the clock stopped ticking; the rush and the choke, the speed and the urge faded away invisibly with a long sigh and a smile. For the first time ever (or at least in a very long while) I felt comfortable with the present time; I had no need to hurry or to plan; soft, steady and still, I said to myself, “the future will come soon enough.”

Since I started having a lingering pain in my right leg three weeks ago, my marathon and training plan crumbled down like a building getting demolished in seconds by a packet of dynamite.

The version of myself from one year ago would have flown into a rage at the idea of not running for a few weeks (or months); to my own surprise, once I realised that the recovery would take longer than I expected, I reacted with radical acceptance and the clarity of a buddha, “Oh well! Guess I’ll need to give myself time.”

My enormous list of goals and principles I wrote at the beginning of 2026, possessed by the spirit of the dogmatic and authoritarian Helena of the past, didn’t make sense anymore. Reality punched me in the face and intuition won the battle against the orthodox with clarity, calm and grace.

This made me question my own values and practices, and my identity as a whole. The persona I’ve built around myself over the last 5 years of hardship no longer made sense, but I was scared of letting it go and losing the ambition and consistency it gave to me; all the victories, the recognition and the reputation in the form of marathons, races, stories, posts, promotions and work successes, would now be gone if I decided to stop and slow down? Would it now be gone if I decided to become soft, still and steady?

The answers came in the form of my daily actions and priorities; the shift was undeniable and I couldn’t escape the flow. No longer was I me, and I couldn’t be more me than ever.

Thanks for reading!

The cover is “Two followers of Cadmus devoured by a dragon” by Cornelis van Haarlem, found during a Sunday wander around the National Gallery.

It’s been a year, like…literally, it’s been a year since I last posted anything here. Throughout 2025 my writing practice has shifted into my running platform, Track&Record, which, in the end, is just the same as this project: reflecting on life with the premise of movement in between; but I guess some thoughts and ideas have been left behind. This thought sparked when, last weekend, while having lunch with some friends, they mentioned the writing I’ve done in this space, and it made me think, “maybe I shouldn’t have stopped that.”

The last month, I’ve been feeling kinda… lazy, let’s say, bored of being 100% all the time, in need of the Christmas break, wanting nothing but to sit down on the couch, to give my sister a cuddle, to watch some silly movies and see the time pass me by.

I got tired of planning things way too far ahead, I was tired of training, and I was tired of pretending I wasn’t tired, so I let myself go a little bit. I stopped running all days per week, I skipped some meditation sessions in the mornings, I broke my rule of not drinking alcohol during the week and of not eating xyz snacks we have in the studio. My sleep got fucked for a bit. I got ill, damn, I got ill for the first time in over three years. I got distracted. I skipped the limit and unlocked that stupid app that helps me focus. I stopped using Strava and I binged a little bit more on Instagram. I stopped counting my expenses and treated myself to all the flat whites. I said I was going to go to the track more often and I did not. I got emotional. I opened my heart to someone. I felt things I haven’t felt in a while. I didn’t let myself overthink too much.

I chose all the things off the menu, because they are the specials for a reason, because they only come once.

Thanks for reading!

This is a letter written by my past self in December 2023, to all of you—strangers.

We haven’t met yet. I don’t even know that you exist—that someone like you, unique in your existence and irreplaceable, will step into my life at some point to become a familiar face, a name saved in my contacts, a conversation on WhatsApp, a user on Strava, a follower on Instagram. Maybe a friend who happens to live down the road, maybe a lover who happens to be miles away.

This is to all of you—strangers.

We haven’t met yet, but I know I’ll fill the pages of my notebook with our stories. I know you’ll show me new places, and you’ll become occasional faces in the gallery on my phone. I know I’ll have your back and support, and I’ll do my best to give it back to you—always with a smile, always with an open heart.

This is to all of you—strangers.

The year has barely begun, and though I have no clue about all the good things that are about to happen or the goals I will achieve, what will resonate the most at the end of the year will be a deep and genuine sense of gratitude: gratitude for having you in my life. To all of you—strangers—who I will call friends.

Thanks for reading!

…and thanks to all of you who have become part of my life this 2024. Wishing you a great start of the year.

When we were living together, Lois, Kate, and I made an endless list of restaurants and places we wanted to visit, but every time we tried to get together — despite living under the same roof (a roof that leaked and left us without a shower for three months) — we were always busy doing something else. Today, however, even though Kate moved out of the house a month ago, we finally made it and met for lunch.

With the leaves starting to fall, announcing the beginning of autumn and the haunting darkness it brings, our reunion felt like we were three women in our fifties who hadn't seen each other since high school. But we're just in our late twenties, full of doubts and still single in a world that seems filled with pre-made couples created by algorithms online.

We joked about how we've forgotten how to flirt, how awkward we are around men, and how nice it would be to have someone to cuddle with at the end of the day. And yet, I wouldn’t trade our big goodbye hug for any random Hinge date.

It’s been a year now since I intentionally stopped using dating apps, and almost stopped dating altogether. I’m not going to lie — I did open a profile a couple of times to see what was going on out there, but after 20 minutes of mindless swiping, I realized I didn’t want that.

After around four years of jumping from one relationship to another, I recognized how little I loved myself, and how relationships had become a way to fill that void I carried.

Once I started spending more time alone, I found myself haunted by my own fears, traumas, and struggles. Above all, though, I was haunted by my best friend and worst enemy: time. By filling my days with “productive” activities, I could run away from my true self — the self that doesn’t need to be someone or prove anything to be valuable, the self that loves herself for who she is and doesn’t need anyone or anything else.

Since then, I’ve been on a journey of learning to be, rather than to become; to get bored; to not make an image out of my body; to not post about every single thing I do in life; to make friends who share hobbies rather than going on unpredictable dates; to stop seeking constant external validation; to love my own company; to ask for a table for one without hesitation; to face the mirror with a smile; to love myself.

Thanks for reading!

I’ve been meaning to write a post for months, but I’m happy I’ve done it when it genuinely came to me naturally.

Yours,

H.

This post is, in a way, an extension of the last one. If it seems late, it's because it's arriving at the right time.

It’s been almost a month since I ran the Rome Marathon, which I started training for at the end of 2023. I’ve wanted to write about it here since then, but I needed some time to process not just the race itself, but also the three months of preparation that preceded it. So, let’s revisit the beginning of that journey.

As this was my second marathon, it was inevitable that I wanted to improve my time. I challenged myself to aim for 3 hours and 15 minutes, which seemed feasible since my first marathon took me 3 hours and 19 minutes. Now, with more experience, I had a better sense of what running 42 kilometers would entail.

With this goal in mind, I decided to turn back on the pace-setting voice that I had turned off two years ago. It had previously made me feel pressured and prevented me from fully enjoying my runs.

I quickly noticed that turning the pace-setting voice back on helped me run faster. In a sense, it was like having someone constantly urging me on, reminding me that each kilometer wasn't good enough. However, this momentum was short-lived, and one day, out of nowhere, the familiar pain in my left knee returned.

I thought it was going to be something that would be gone in 2 or 3 days, so after slowing down my pace for a week I started to feel better. I sped up again… but the pain also came back, and it stuck around for longer than I expected.

After learning the lesson through pain, I started to be more sensible and not to get carried away, but mainly I had to work on something harder: fighting the mental battle of acceptance.

As I had to slow down and even skip some runs to avoid getting any major injuries, I knew my ideal goal was gone, all I could aim was to make it healthy to race day. At the beginning seemed like a failure, almost like it wouldn’t make sense to run the race if I couldn’t do a better time than before. It was almost like I had to prove myself in front of others and get a silly Strava badge saying that I made a Marathon PR. So I had to step back and remember why I was doing this, I had to connect back to the bigger purpose of it, and it was just that, again: love.

Little by little, I’d start approaching the long runs of the prep differently, instead of being something that “I had to do” and that was disturbing my weekends, I’d wake up, brew some coffee, get some oatmeal, and write in my journal with excitement how I felt before the run, setting up the mood, being aware that I was doing that because I wanted to, because I love to. And since then, the game changed. The voice that would put pressure on me would come sometimes but I wouldn’t listen to it much, and when two weeks before the race it seemed like the pain in my knees was gone, I remember feeling a sense of gratitude I never felt before, and I held into that every run, because I knew that what mattered the most it was that I was still able to do what I love, no mattered for how far or how fast, and because I knew that the energy I now have one day will be gone, so I better had to squeeze it as much as I could.

On the day of the race I wasn’t nervous at all, I was excited but relaxed, it just felt like another weekly run, so as I crossed the starting line I just went all in with an open heart; what happened in the next 3 hours and 11 minutes can be explained with words, because it reached something almost spiritual, to the point that, the unexpected PR is the last thing I care about, yes, I’m proud of myself and it proved the hard work, but when I think about Rome and these 3 months I think about choosing to love, choosing to enjoy, choosing to stick to my spirit and not my ego.

Thanks for reading!

I’ll be releasing soon a zine about the marathon, keep an eye here if you’re interested!

Yours,
H.

I’m back home for Christmas, and this time, I was kind of feeling homesick in the two weeks leading up to coming back. I couldn’t help but keep rewinding this past year, trying to find a simple way to define how it has been, and the word that keeps coming to my mind is: love.

Exactly one year ago, I was here, thinking about how bored I had become with this project, considering stopping it and starting something new… and somehow I did.

Once I decided to stop doing the newsletter, I felt like I had to start a new project just as the new year was about to begin. That’s what I’ve been doing all these past years: initiating self-projects that I would never finish or continue for long.

It’s kind of easy to kick off things; you're carried by the dopamine rush a new fresh idea gives you… but because of that, it’s also easy to quit halfway through and start something else because it’s more stimulating than sticking to something for longer.

It’s not just self-projects, it’s everything: relationships that you start and, when they get tough, you just end; jobs that get tedious and make you think about surrendering and leaving; new skills that take a learning process that becomes too painful and boring to stand… and on and on.


Now that the new year is about to begin, we are bombarded with the idea of making a list of resolutions, a list with commitments or new things to do and try. I used to love this and take the chance to start something new, but not this time.

After experiencing this year heartbreak, rejection, doubt, and pain in different areas of my life, I’ve come to realize that there are a few things I would stick to no matter what, things I love too much; so, I’d rather commit and cultivate those even when they get tedious and tough, than starting new stories I’d eventually run away from.

I just need to remind myself that, when things get hard, when I’d like to quit, above all, love is there; stronger than the dopamine of a fresh new project, relationship, or adventure; stronger than the thrill of the unknown; love is always there, because love is for the long run

Thanks for reading!

Hope you have a wonderful christmas and a lovely start to the new year.

Yours,
H.

It almost happened at the same time, completely unintentionally: starting to meditate, going for a solo trip to Vietnam, and beginning to read Robert M. Pirsig's 'Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.' All these experiences were speaking the same language, and the message was simple and clear: be present, here and now.

It was something that transcended the Western dichotomy of 'good and bad,' 'past and future'; it was the overcoming of judgment, even of temporality.

It's the concept of MU, an ancient idea discussed by Pirsig in the book.

I've felt that wholeness while meditating; while on the back of a rugged bike, not knowing where I was going or what time it was, and not thinking about it; realizing I'm all I need; smiling when cycling in the middle of a motorway, soaked wet and with no connection at all; running around trails and feeling my footprints getting stamped in the mud; sweating and getting bitten by mosquitoes while lurking through the weeds.

There were moments of loneliness, sourness, and confusion, but they were just a part of it, part of that wholeness that only MU can describe. I hope this video has encapsulated some of that.

Thanks for reading…and watching!

Yours,
H.

It’s 31st of October, the day prior to my birthday, the day of the dead, halloween. I’m lacking sleep and I haven’t stopped at all in the past weeks but it would be a shame not to wake up early and go for a run to cherish the rare blue sky that tints London today.

I’m not setting a specific mileage goal or aiming for a pace faster than 4.40, I just want to keep it simple and go. I chose not to take the usual routes and all of a sudden I find myself running around the tombstones of Camberwell new cemetery. Surrounded by death, I never felt more alive.

I observe all of the graves and I realise that one day, this body that now is moving fast along the road will be down there, rotten in the ground, eaten by the worms, forgotten, a name and a date set on stone. Somehow it doesn’t feel traumatising or daunting at all, but natural. I think about death, I think about mortality a lot, and sometimes I wonder if the fact of being born the day of the dead has something to do with it.

I think about mortality when I’m angry, when I’m overwhelmed, when I’m lonely, when I’m sad. I think about it to remind myself not that ‘nothing matters’, but to balance out the situation and question myself, what does it really matter?

And what matters is usually so simple and small that we tend to overcomplicate our lives picturing future scenarios and getting anxious about things that are gone or will never happen in real life.

And what it matters it’s probably all you already have, and it’s here, it’s now, it may just be a day with a clear sky, someone’s smile or a silly accident that made you laugh. And it may come unpredictable and unplanned, and it may be so subtle you won’t even notice at all.

So whenever I feel lost or am seeking meaning in the midst of darkness, I pictured the image of my skull, I tell to myself as the ancient stoics ‘memento mori’ so I can get back to the present moment and remind to myself that, in this very limited time we have, I want to be limitless, spread my view to the wide open, express gratitude for every single second, forgive to the ones who once hurt me, apologise to the ones I once hurt, keep moving like the wind, restless, silent, ethereal, eternal.

Thanks for reading!

Today my grandma turns 92, even though she has spent all her life taking care of others, I always remember her telling me about her running like a goat through the rocks when she was a child, I guess that’s where all of this comes from…and although I can’t be at home with her to celebrate her life, I can feel her close.

Yours,

H.

It was the first day back at work after two weeks of solo travel in Vietnam. After hitting the gym in the morning and cycling to the studio, I felt like I had already caught up with the city's crazy fast pace. I had my time of silence and stillness, and now it was time to return to the noise, the madness, and the non-stop kind of life.

As the day was coming to an end, it started raining. 'Damn, that's not what the weather app said this morning,' I thought. But there was no turning back; I only had my shorts and a t-shirt, and I had even forgotten to put on my helmet when I left the house in the morning. I set my mindset to 'Go damn fast' so I could get home as quickly as possible, although I knew I couldn't avoid getting wet along the way.

I started pedaling with loud bass tunes to maintain my speed and a flickering light on the back to stay visible in the dark. I crossed Hyde Park and made my way down to Westminster, relishing the raindrops on my skin.

As usual, when I got to the south, I began to feel the fatigue of the day hitting me hard. 'I just need to push a bit more, and soon I'll be home and warm,' I told myself. So, I sped up along Albert Embankment. My gaze was blurred by the drizzle and the rush, and my mind was focused on what would come next, but what happened now was a crash.

It was too late, and everything happened in slow motion. It felt like I was walking into fire, and I couldn't walk back.

A car was turning left, and I hadn't seen it. By the time I started braking, there was no scape. I saw the front of the car, and it hit me and pushed me to the ground. I saw the wheel so close, and I thought, 'This is it; it's over now.' Fortunately, the driver stopped in time.

I moved the bike to the side, and some people had stopped to help me out. I sat there on the ground, shaking, covered in mud. I couldn't talk, I didn't understand anything, and I couldn't grasp what had just happened.

I felt the fragility of life, how in one second, the victorious feeling of speed had put me on the ground, reminding me that everything can be gone in a blink.
I felt the fragility of life and how meaningless tomorrow could be when all we have is now.
I felt the fragility of life, and It was like a red light saying, 'Stop and look around!'

And now looking back I think about this red light, the only scar left from that. It reminds me to look at the bigger picture beyond the fantasy of the future and the distraction of detail.

Thanks for reading!

…and thanks to those who helped me out in the street, and to Tim and Julz that helped me out in the gym.

H.

While I was in Spain last month, I went to visit my grandparents in the care home they have recently moved to.

One day, we stumbled upon a small 'musical session,' where my granddad, who, besides being a tailor, a writer, and a councilman, was also a musician, took the session seriously, adding a bit of gentle percussion by playing a stick to set some rhythm alongside a younger but still old man who was playing the guitar.

After the session, my granddad approached the man to give him a signed copy of the book he wrote based on his memoirs, titled 'Roads with Stones Can Also Be Walked On.'

As I've always thought, all storytellers are, first and foremost, people who love life so much that they don't just live it but build a narrative afterward.

This book may not be a literary masterpiece, and its wisdom may be the same as the one your grandparents will impart when you talk to them, but what is special about it is that these stories and the way they are told are unique and real. They are built on real events and genuine emotions that will forever live on those pages and in those who have lived and read them.

And that reminded me not only why I love writing so much but also why I enjoy reading novels and biographies from the past.
While nowadays, most YouTubers, TikTokers, and content creators prefer to follow trends and recreate videos that have already been made a thousand times, I value the individuality, diversity, and purity of those who used to tell raw stories that didn't follow any pattern, that weren't post-produced.
Stories with names and places, sets of scenes, not proverb after proverb telling you how to become successful and leverage your daily routine. Stories with open ends. Stories where nothing really happens. Stories that don't need an end or a closing proverb.

So whenever I have doubt if my voice is right or wrong, I step back and ask myself if it feels true, and if it does, it's enough.

Thanks for reading!

Yours,
H.

I'll forever embrace my insomnia if it keeps me awake to write.

I remember that silly Green Day song ‘Wake me up when September ends’. Mum used to play it on our way back from our holiday, and I don’t need to listen to it to see the green mountains from the north rolling down as we drove to the dry-flat-malt land where I belong, where the present hits like a beam of sunlight.

I need to go back to school and I feel like Rod Stewart in “Maggie May”.

I’ll lock up the chaos and the long days by keeping it up with the night, by scheduling my emotions into a short time frame so I won’t allow myself to feel any passion, happiness or hurt.

I’ll dive into the grey, accepting this cycle every single year, embracing the greek tragedy Nietzsche described, keeping up with the voices in my head, cancelling the outer noise with symphonies of silence and isolation that will never harmonise.

I need to sit down and do my homework. I need to be accountable for all the self-imposed demands that keep me on the run.

I need to get my grades right. I need to hit all the marks that no one cares about. I need to raise the bar so high so it can hit the outer space and travel in time.

I already got a ticket back. Days are getting shorter and hope won’t make them last.
I have to make it to the airport in time. It’s already too soon to be late.
I have to catch my shadow before it gets dark.

Thanks for reading!

Yours,
H.

One of my favourite scenes in cinema is in David Lynch's "Lost Highway" when Alice meets Pete. The combination of how the camera goes from one character to another, with Lou Reed’s "This Magic Moment" playing in the background, creates a moment of tension that couldn't have been better depicted.

I've been listening to this song quite a lot lately because, influenced by that scene, it makes me connect with a specific feeling that is hard to describe, and it takes me to specific moments of my life that are recorded inside of me as 5-second movies I can escape to.

It’s the feeling when I looked into someone's eyes before having the courage to say 'I love you,' holding seconds of silence, choking my own feelings in my throat, and yet enjoying the hush.

It’s the feeling when I looked for the last time at Lake McDonald, and in a split second, the cold water made my bloodstream rush.

It’s the feeling when I looked through that airplane window and questioned myself if my own victory could have been the biggest defeat as it meant losing you.

It’s the feeling when I looked at the darkness expanding through Venice Beach pier, and I knew that life put us together just for a single night.

It’s the feeling when I look at the distance that we create between each other to protect ourselves from getting hurt.

It’s a tension that doesn’t require action. And yet sometimes is painful, it’s also beautifully tragic and ironic. And that’s why maybe, every time I come back to these scenes, I can smile and drop a tear at the same time.

“Sweeter than wine, softer than a summer’s night…”

Thanks for reading!

Yours,

H.

Since I moved to Peckham, one of the buildings that amazed me the most is a massive Burger King located on the corner of the road. The glass structure rises into the sky like a car dealership, crowned by the old Burger King logo, which, since I was a kid, always looked more like a planet than a burger to me.

Somehow, the fact that this is one of the last few franchises that kept the old logo and didn’t have the ‘retro’ new one, brought me back to my childhood years when we used to go to Madrid on weekends, and eating at Burger King was somehow a ‘special thing.’

Today, as I cycled past, I saw a crane placing the retro burger logo in the middle of the front glass, and I felt sad. The building still looks like a car dealership, and its presence in the middle of that road is as unexpected as it is inconspicuous. Yet, the old logo is gone, and I thought, ‘One day, this visual will be the new vintage.’

Just as we’ve praised Polaroids and vintage ephemera we never grew up with, new generations admire camcords and anything Y2K.

And I wonder when we will leave the spiral of coming back to the past. When will we have the bravery to shape the future vintage?

Thanks for reading!

Yours,

H.

I haven’t faced the blank page in a while, was I afraid of trying to give order and clarity to the mess? Or was just afraid of facing the mess itself?
I can’t grasp the last month and all I got is a gallery full of blurred pictures that depict the speed I’ve been under, a few verses that don’t make a poem, a few ideas I can turn into a whole, scattered pieces, a broken glass, a broken heart, grains but not sand.

And still, over all the clutter, over all the dust that covers those pictures I keep scrolling up to, I know there’s some clarity and intention, I know I’m in the right road, in the right direction.

And still, sometimes writing is not about reaching a proverb or a certain end, but about the words themselves.

And still, life is not always about a goal to achieve, or a mountain to reach, to but about the moment itself.

And all of those snaps, will forever live as hazy photographs in our minds, as seconds that just happened to be there to be lived.

Thanks for reading!

Yours,

H.

A couple weeks ago, Jonathan asked in the slack channel to the other team members our opinion on something; as usual I disagreed with the rest, and they made fun about how I’m always the devil’s advocate. I tend to be quite opinionated, so that’s something I couldn’t disagree with.

I laughed about it, but a little part of me felt uncomfortable, and I asked myself ‘Why Helena? Why you always disagree with the rest?’

Right after finishing work that day, I had an appointment with my therapist, so I told him the anecdote to crack the session on, and he said: ‘That sense of feeling uncomfortable is a sign that tells you that you’re being yourself’

It may sound a little cheesy, but this change of perspective, reminded me the importance of sticking to your beliefs no matter what.

No matter what if later you realise it wasn’t that right.
No matter what if causes and awkward silence or a no-reply.
No matter what if what comes next is not an applause.

And if this matters to me is because back in the past I always used to be that shy kid on the corner, afraid of what people would say or think of me if I raise my voice way too much.

But in my search for discomfort, I've found that sometimes it's worth being a little loud, shaking the room, saying something nonsensical, being a little dramatic, and even a tad intense. Because even though it can be embarrassing, clumsy, or 'too much,' that's who I really am.

Thanks for reading!

As part of my other project, I’ve interviewed my friend Daniel and we had a very nice conversation that you may like here

Yours,

H.

When I was a baby I had a stuffed dog I was obsessed with, it was kinda ugly, always dirty and as I used to lick the little label it had on it, this had turned into threads full of baby-germs. It didn’t matter, it was my favourite one, and surprisingly, considering how I tend to name everything I own, I never gave him a name.

My parents have told me the story that once, I lost the dog in the mall and some older kids who found it were playing with it; but Alvaro, my older brother, went there and fought to get my dog back.

I don’t remember that, but I know he has always been there, and he has always been before, easing the path for me.

A couple days ago I texted him “let me know if you want to talk” and he replied “you’ve read my mind”. Even though we’ve always been extremely close, I feel like since I’ve been living abroad the connection has got stronger.

So I call him, and there he is, shirtless cooking empanada, like most of the times we call, while I’m getting my pyjamas and ready to cook my standard egg-based dinner. As I talk through my concerns, he laughs and says “I’m the same, I’m the same”.

While we’ve always been so different when it comes to what we like and do, there’s a base, a spirit that bonds the two of us: is how excited we get when ‘Howling at the moon’ by the Ramones plays because dad used to play it in the car all the time when we were kids, is how we spot any visual interference because mum dragged us to every single art museum; but it is also the fear of what people think about us, the struggle of being ambitious, the desire of owning something and being afraid of risking everything, the seek of how to steer creativity in our lives, the constant journey to find purpose.

We always end up in a sea of doubt intermediated with laughs, and I can see how he now learns from me as much as I’ve learnt from him. But still, he was here first. He has provided me with the wisdom not to stumble over certain obstacles, he has given me the drive. Because he was here first, he had to face the unknown with no direction, he had to fall so that my little sister and I won't.

This is an ode to older brothers, to the guardian angels, those who didn’t had a choice, those who will put you first after them, those whose role is not just to lead to the ones we come after, but also to have a life of their own, those who also sometimes need you, little brother, to be their rock.

Te quiero Álvaro.

Thanks for reading!

Yours,

H.

The 176 is one of the few buses that takes you from Soho to South London, so it was expected it to be busy on a Saturday Night. We sat on the back seats of the lower floor where, if you’re taller than 150cm, you can barely fit your legs.

A black man who seemed to came back from a charity shop, wearing a faux coat, cowboy boots, a glittery jumper and a cloche hat, started talking to us; what started as a candid non-themed conversation, ended up discovering intertwined interests and interesting stories from Glastonbury back in the 80’s.

He invited us to join him and his partner, whom he talked to on an early 2000s slide-up phone, to have some cocktails in East Dulwich, and as we already had some margaritas we couldn’t say no.

He wasn’t just a character stuck in nostalgia, but a living young soul trapped in the body of a man on his 60’s deeply passionate and relentlessness: making movies, acting, writing music…

His appreciation of beauty, his loose gait and fresh talk rumbled in my spirit, turning into bright the darkness of the night.

In those two hours we spent with him and other friends he also met before in the same bus, he made me connect with something deeper, the remembrance of the joy to be alive, and the gift of telling the stories we live.

Thanks for reading!

Yours,

H.

Back in lockdown, I remember I wanted to re-design my portfolio website. After getting my first job as a junior designer, I didn’t care much about the portfolio anymore, but as I progressed in my career and started to question my identity as a designer, I thought I had to refresh it.

As usual, I’ve visited every portfolio existing on the internet looking for inspiration to make something ‘cool’. I got so obsessed with it that I will spend hours and hours designing and developing a layout, to then change it again based on something even ‘cooler’ that I’ve seen online. I was never satisfied and I was wasting enormous amount of energy on something ridiculous.

At some point I ended up making something that has barely changed through time. There’s nothing crazy, just a simple layout, images and few words. I knew it worked, but I needed to remind myself that it was good, so when last year I wrote a decalogue to guide me through the year, one of the things I wrote was ‘Don’t change your website, It’s fine’

I’m telling this story because a couple days ago I saw in are.na a quote that reminded me of it, it said: ‘Change nothing and continue with immaculate consistency’

It’s easy to erase the board and start again, bring new ideas, create new things, but it moves us away for bigger purposes. To find a simple idea, to embrace an unique intention and lead with it, whether you do it better or worse, it where the hard work is.

When you find something that feels right and pure, stick with it and find its way in; the rest will follow.

Thanks for reading!

Yours,

H.