Tunnel vision, but make it chaotic.

Focus, they say. Easy for them to say when their brain isn’t juggling seventeen tabs at once.
Mine feels more like a tunnel: narrow, unpredictable, and occasionally leading straight into a wall.
Still, every now and then, the light lines up just right. And for a brief moment, it all makes sense - until it doesn’t again.
Work in progress, permanently under construction.

 

Location: Home, Portugal. 

Somewhere between order and chaos… that’s where I find myself.

There’s something hypnotic about watching chaos and order try to coexist. On one side, pure movement, light bending through color, emotion shifting like water. On the other, clean lines, control, precision.
It feels like watching two parts of myself in quiet disagreement: one that dreams in rainbows, another that plans in patterns. And right in the middle, where they blur together, is the moment I feel most alive.
Maybe that’s the point - we’re all just trying to live in that narrow spectrum where feeling meets form.

 

Location: Home, Portugal.

Half hidden, half light.

Sometimes it feels like I’m documenting something that’s still being built: not just in front of me, but within me.
The light, the shadow, the makeshift screen… all part of a small stage where I’m both the observer and the scene.
Even behind the curtain, the story finds a way to show itself.

 

Location: Home, Portugal.

Heels in print, sneakers in practice.

When the book says heels, but reality says comfort.
I’ve always loved the idea of shoes as symbols - they carry stories about style, status, and even identity. This book promises elegance, glamour, the kind of high fashion that struts on a runway. But then there’s the reflection: my Converse, the ones I’ve always gravitated toward.
High fashion on the cover, high tops in the mirror.
Somewhere between what we’re told to wear and what we choose to wear, our real self walks out. And mine, more often than not, is laced up in colorful sneakers rather than balancing on heels.

Location: Home, Portugal. 

Two versions, one reality slip.

Sometimes I wonder if, in another reality, I’m standing just like this, holding the same circle, but seeing it from a different angle. One self tangled in leaves, the other etched in shadow.
It’s still me, but slightly shifted, living parallel lives that almost touch.
Two selves, two dimensions, meeting for a moment in-between.

 

Location: Home, Portugal. 

Even fakes can watch.

A wooden hand holding a Polaroid of painted eyes - fake watching fake. And yet, somehow, it still feels like the image is staring back. That’s the trick of it: props and paint, shadows and paper, all conspiring to give the illusion of being seen. Playful, absurd, and just unsettling enough to make you wonder who’s really looking at who.
 

Location: Home, Portugal. 

When the world fits in your hand.

Turns out the planet isn’t that big after all. Just a shiny little marble sitting on the floor, waiting for someone to pick it up and accidentally drop it behind the couch.
The shadows? That’s just us, fighting over who gets to play with it first.

 

Location: Home, Portugal. 

Softness rooted in strength.

There’s something both romantic and surreal about dissolving into the background, becoming part of the earth instead of standing apart from it.
That’s the most feminine kind of strength - to hold softness, fragility, and still be rooted in something bigger.

Location: Home, Portugal.

Looking inward, even in shadow.

It feels like carrying a second gaze, one that doesn’t let me hide. A quiet silhouette on the outside, but inside, the eye keeps watching, keeps questioning.
Maybe that’s what it means to really see yourself: to catch the parts you’d rather leave in the dark, and still hold them in the light.

 

Location: Home, Portugal.

 

A crystal ball that whispers "now".

No fortunes, no grand revelations: just me, peeking into the glow of glass and light. If this is a crystal ball, it doesn’t bother with the future. Instead, it reflects back the small, strange magic of now. A hand, a circle, and the prediction that everything in life is uncertain.

 

Location: Home, Portugal. 

First contact, documented.

Forget flying saucers and desert landings: turns out aliens prefer stone paths and grassy fields. Two shapes, two worlds, one strange visitor who clearly didn’t get the Area 51 memo.
Maybe Earth isn’t their final destination. Maybe this was just a quick stop for sightseeing.

 

Location: Home, Portugal.