A reflection on Spirit, grief, and the strange courage it takes to keep dreaming in a city that makes no sense and still makes you say, “God, I love it here.”

On letting go of performative strength and reclaiming grounded power.

“I don’t know” isn’t a flaw, it’s a fertile beginning. It’s the pause where self-trust is built, where clarity grows in the quiet.

The role hasn’t arrived, the love hasn’t landed, but I have the rooftop and the stubborn, echoing belief that it’s still worth asking the questions.

A meditation on neutrality, imbalance, and the seductive myth of evenness.

I was trained to connect with strangers on doorsteps. The secret? Listen closely. Feel for the opening. Spark, don’t force.

That instinct of presence, curiosity, connection has shaped every role I’ve had since. And I carry it with me, always.

I gave my heart to a small collective and it broke me open. Now I’m turning toward the bigger one, ready to care out loud again, even when it hurts.

We’re not just lonely — we’re opting out of connection altogether. This short essay explores our shift toward chosen aloneness, what we’ve lost in the process, and how we might begin to come back to each other.

An exploration of self-blame, spiritual pressure, and the grace of standing still.

There is no such thing as a neutral truth. From the way we measure our height to the way we define identity, every “fact” is loaded with history, power, and cultural memory. In this essay, I explore the politics of narrative in the age of AI, and why discernment, not data, is the real power skill of our time.

I always loved Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, but I didn’t know it saved my life until my mom told me it saved hers. This personal essay traces the unexpected legacy of one joyful movie across generations, and how it rewrote my family’s story before I even knew I was in it.

A poetic essay for anyone who’s ever made it out and wondered what to do with the air.

This isn’t about robots. It’s about what happens when the labor stops — and we’re finally left with ourselves.

This piece sits at the intersection of cinema, creativity, and spiritual resonance. It’s not a sermon. It’s a story — about the moments that feel like God, and the art that brings us closer to our own aliveness.

What happens when we train machines to solve problems but not understand people? This essay explores how we got here — and what we must do differently.

A hundred-year company doesn’t endure because it resists change, it endures because it remembers who it’s for.

I used to build my faith like a monument - clean lines, no cracks. But marble doesn’t breathe.

I left the doctrine. I kept the hunger. Now I bake with honey.