February 4, 2026 • Pain without love

Sometimes I wish I didn’t feel as much. Maybe my heart would feel lighter then. Would I finally drift above the chaos of the storm?

Maybe my mind would find stillness.
Could I hear the birds sing, hear the wind cry?

Perhaps I wouldn’t keep drowning,
and finally learn to stay afloat.

But without darkness,
would I ever have known light?

Would a life without valleys
keep me from the peaks.

Could I settle for a hill,
when a mountain waits for me.

Should I choose black and white,
when this world is painted in color.

Or does my hurting show me,
how well I’ve known love?

For how could I hurt,
for things I’ve never cared about?

Maybe the longing for a simple life,
speaks of the boundlessness of my heart.

It reminds me to be alive.
Oh, how it can hurt sometimes.

And yet, I cherish it.

March 13, 2024 • Muren rond m’n hart

Soms twijfel ik of ik ooit nog zo verliefd kan worden zoals vroeger. Wat als mijn rationaliteit mijn gevoel overschaduwt? Wat als ik ongemerkt een muur heb opgebouwd die steeds ondoordringbaarder wordt? En dat ik dát zie als bewijs dat niemand mij echt liefheeft? Wat als ik onbereikbaar word voor het gene waar ik juist zo naar verlang?

Waarom geloven we dat sommige liefde tijdverdrijf was? Is dat niet een smoes zodat we ons minder zwak voelen? Zodat we niet hoeven toe te geven dat de liefde die we gaven, niet werd ontvangen? Misschien is het zelfbescherming, om de schuld niet te hoeven dragen. Zodat we ons niet dom voelen, omdat we keken naar woorden maar daden niet zagen. Want het is makkelijker om te doen alsof we ongeschonden zijn gebleven, dan toe te geven dat we ons vergist hebben.

Maar waarom bouwen we muren zodra ons hart pijn voelt? Weerhoudt dat ons er niet van om de liefde te ontvangen die we juist verdienen?

Je hart weggeven is eng. Iemand kan ermee doen wat ie wil. Ons hart kent de pijn van wonden die waren, en littekens die overbleven.

En wat als je je bij de juiste persoon terughoudt? Wat als je door die muren de liefde misloopt waar je altijd van hebt gedroomd?

Soms twijfel ik of ik ooit nog zo verliefd kan worden zoals vroeger. Wat als mijn rationaliteit mijn gevoel overschaduwt? Wat als ik ongemerkt een steeds ondoordringbaardere muur heb opgebouwd? En dat ik dát als bewijs zie, dat niemand mij echt liefheeft? Wat als ik onbereikbaar word voor het gene waar ik juist zo naar verlang?

Zoals ieders hart, draagt het mijne ook littekens. Van keren dat ik het weggaf en het in stukken terugkreeg. Van momenten dat ik het opende, en het werd dicht gesmeten. Of wanneer ik koos om te luisteren, terwijl de ander het negeerde. Hoe logisch klinkt die voorzichtigheid dan?

Maar ik wil niet voorzichtig zijn. Wat als ik grenzeloos lief wil hebben? Dat niet mijn hoofd, maar mijn hart weer de leiding neemt. Dat ik mijn hoofd kan negeren als het me waarschuwt voor pijn uit het verleden. Want de bewijzen die het aandraagt zijn verleden tijd, waar ik ze wil laten.

Misschien klinkt dat naïef, maar is het naïef om opnieuw te willen beginnen? Om ieder mens weer met die blik vol nieuwsgierigheid te zien, zonder dat je hoofd zoekt naar gevaar? Om weer te geloven in goedheid in plaats van een angst van vroeger?

Was het maar zo makkelijk. Zoals een kind dat zich brandt aan een pan, leer je op je hoede te zijn. In de liefde leer je dat je hart openen risico’s heeft. Dus raak je voortaan elke pan, heet of niet, met ovenwanten aan.

Maar wat als we het anders zien? Littekens zijn er omdat je je hart opende. Ze staan voor de liefde die je ooit gaf. En we kunnen geen littekens krijgen van mensen om wie we niet geven.

Die littekens herinneren ons aan liefde. Aan kippenvel bij een aanraking. Aan verdrinken in iemands ogen. Aan de warmte van hun stem.

Dus waar bescherm je je tegen, als je kiest om je hart gesloten te houden? Vermijd je het risico van pijn of ontneemt je jezelf de liefde die je verdient? Als je haar de ruimte niet geeft om te groeien, kan ze je nooit bewijzen hoe mooi ze is. Je ontneemt jezelf het bewijs dat het risico misschien wél de moeite waard is. En zo zal het verleden altijd doorleven in het heden.

August 4, 2024 • The Last Act

Forgiveness is a tricky thing.
It’s the last act of love before letting go.

And maybe I don’t want to forgive you, just so I can hold on to you one second longer. Just to keep you close for one more day. To feel your presence until I find peace in your absence.
But I do forgive you. Maybe that will change. Maybe I’ll feel different tomorrow. But I can’t stay angry for the way things ended, because I know it was never for nothing. We were never for nothing. You just never intended for it to go this far.

When I think of you, my heart aches. It searches for you. I keep imagining the moment we’ll meet again, the moment I’ll look into your eyes and see our memories surface. I’ll look at them and admire us for what we once were, and for everything we could never be.

That look won’t be filled with pain or sorrow. It won’t be the look of someone who regrets our time or feels ashamed of what has past. It will be the look of someone proud of the brief moments we shared. Someone who understands that, whatever it was, there was love woven into our story. And that we are proof that caring for someone is never a waste of time.

November 3, 2025 • Envious of Boredom 

Sometimes I’m envious of today’s older generation. Sitting in IKEA, I watch people make the most of their autumn holiday. Diagonally across from me, an elderly couple sips their coffee. Their bodies are turned not toward each other, but toward the crowd they’re observing. Do we actually need less as we get older?

Children constantly seek stimulation to avoid boredom, but what about adults? Maybe we don’t get bored any faster, we just find it easier to be content.

Though watching the lady yawn and the man stare at his coffee, I’m fairly certain they are bored. Or maybe “boredom” means something entirely different to them than it does to me. Perhaps I envy their ability to simply be bored, because my generation seems to have forgotten how.

When the train is delayed, I scroll through Instagram. While cycling somewhere, I finally listen to a voice message from weeks ago. On a free afternoon, I can finally watch that one series. When was the last time I left the house without earbuds? Or the last time I lost myself so completely in a daydream that it felt like I was somewhere else? Could they still do that? To find satisfaction in almost nothing.

What if we’ve lost that ability because of the constant distractions we carry with us? They grew up in a world without these distractions, without overconsumption or material excess. Mobile phones didn’t even exist. Their attention spans are sharper, their concentration still intact. Everything my generation likely no longer possesses.

When I’m old and wrinkled, sitting alone in IKEA watching the people around me, will I feel that same quiet satisfaction? Or will I be hunched over my iPad, trapped by distraction, waiting for some kind of liberation? I hope that one day I no longer see boredom as an empty void in which I vanish, but as a blank space I can shape myself.

Perhaps that’s what growing older really is: learning to sit with the stillness. Not needing to experience everything, but observing the world that still does. And maybe it’s not about needing less, but about letting more simply be.

Letting go. Beautiful words. Words with many meanings and layers. But can we ever truly do it?

February 14, 2024 • Letting Go

Is letting go a fictional phenomenon that we are all too eager to convince ourselves of, in order to feel better? Do you need to believe in letting go in order to actually do it?

I have no idea. Maybe I’ll never know. I don’t think we let go of people because we want to. Or because we try so hard. It’s not a step-by-step process that you follow and then get the result you’ve been longing for.

I think letting go just happens. It’s the people you thought you could never live without. The moments you thought you would never forget. And before you know it, five years have passed. You think back to that night when your heart was shattered to pieces. How it was torn apart. How you sat on the floor, crying, begging for relief. And how you thought you could never lose the pain.

Letting go isn’t forgetting how it once felt. It’s being able to feel how it used to be without losing yourself. It’s standing still in the pain. The pain you remember like it was yesterday, without drowning in it.

March 26, 2023 • The Instagram Complex

Today’s world is brimming with technological advancements that once seemed like science fiction. But have we been embraced at the cost of our mental well-being?

Social media, originally designed to connect us, has become an endless competition for the perfect post. As we scroll, we trade satisfaction for loneliness, constantly compare ourselves to unrealistic beauty standards, and watch our self-image deteriorate. We create an alternate reality filled with highlights and edited images, showcasing lives that often have little to do with the truth.

At the same time, we continue to conform to the standards we collectively uphold. Natural imperfections, a pimple, a messy hairline, or an unmade-up face, are carefully hidden online. Who we truly are fades into the shadow of who we want to appear to be. It offers benefits, such as access to information and connection, but its darker side lies in the pressure to be perfect and to constantly prove our worth. This behavior is unsustainable.
As long as we keep striving for the unattainable, it paralyzes us.

The question is:
how can we create a counter-movement?
Perhaps it starts with something simple: reflection. Think before you post. Ask yourself whether you’re sharing to impress others or to truly contribute something meaningful. Because if your post doesn’t reflect your reality, who are you really showing?

ITALY • POMPEII • ‘23

September 10, 2024 • Growing Old

Man, I'm so afraid of growing old. Afraid of having regrets. Afraid of forgetting the dreams I once had. Of getting swept away by the current of normality.

Older people often say:
"Enjoy being young while it lasts." Those phrases make me anxious. They put so much pressure on being young. Like we’re all on a timer that’s running out. As if we have to do everything we want before time’s up, because afterward, it’s too late.

What if I’m forty-five, and I want to do something different with my life? Do I have to resign myself to the idea that my best years are behind me? Why have we even put a limit on that? Shouldn’t we keep encouraging each other to pursue our dreams, to take risks, to believe that even after a certain age, life is still wide open?

So, to everyone desperately trying to hold onto being young: don’t waste your time.
Being afraid of getting older stops you from living in the present, from realizing what you have, from appreciating what you can enjoy right now. The world is open to you. And if anyone says otherwise, you now have my personal permission to flip them off. Because anyone who tries to dictate how your life should look like, isn’t worth listening to.