There’s something hauntingly beautiful about Venice in November. The fog draping the city like a veil, the deserted streets at night, luncheons by the canals wrapped in blankets—it’s a quiet kind of magic.

For years now, I’ve made a ritual of visiting Venice every November. Wandering its labyrinthine streets, defying my lactose intolerance with far too much cheese, and marvelling at the sheer audacity of its architecture.

November in Venice stirs something rare in me—a fragile kind of vulnerability. It’s the city I lose myself in to piece myself back together, the haven I retreat to when limerence takes hold, and the escape I gift myself once the year’s final tasks are laid to rest.

It’s also where I allow myself to indulge—the only drink I have all year, the thoughts I usually banish, and the emotions I try to keep tightly locked away.

Autumn has arrived at last! Mornings now bring the sight of my breath in the crisp air during dog walks, the jumpers have made their return from the back of the closet, soups are simmering on the stove, while I cradle a warm cuppa tea in my hands.

September slipped by quietly, save for the three-day rainstorm that turned my basement into a makeshift swimming pool. Not to worry, my belongings are safe.

Truth be told, September was otherwise rather uneventful. I wrapped up a few home projects, tackled some overdue cleaning and reorganising, and tried to make sense of how this flat can work for me going forward.

I spent a good bit of time in my head—September tends to do that to me. It carries this quiet sense of new beginnings, a habit carried over from the back-to-school days that still sneaks up on me every year.

Two months back, I boxed up my entire life. Ten years, tucked away into some 40-odd boxes.

Thought I’d share a few of the long-lost treasures I stumbled upon.

• a very expensive DaVinci Maestro brush. That specific one usually retails for around 1000 quid. Benoît, if you'd like it back, tough luck. I'm keeping it!
• The wedding ring of the late father of a guy I briefly dated ages ago. I remember him losing it, us tearing apart my flat, his flat. It wasn't to be found, and now here it is. I'd love to return it, but I can't for the life of me recall his name. So, if we dated sometime around 2014-2016, and you're still looking for that ring, please send me an email.
• My favourite scarf. I lost it sometime last winter. I was very upset. I even accused people of stealing it, that's how upset I was. Turns out, it was in the basket with all the dog toys.
• A lot of cash! I hardly ever carry cash. But I regularly order things of off the internet for neighbours who usually reimbursed me with cash. I found a total of 230 euros plus some coins. Whoop!
• So much loose candy. Have I ever bought peanut M&Ms? No. Did I find almost a handful behind the couch? Yup.
• The credit cards I thought lost last summer, shortly before going on a trip. You can imagine how much fun I had getting replacements in time.
• My favourite pair of underpants, tucked away in the lining of my laundry basket.
• A trillion dog treats. They were everywhere. In all my bags, coat pockets. Behind the couch, the bed, the dresser, the washing machine.
• The Cartier Love bracelet I treated myself to a couple of years ago. At the time, it felt like a splurge, but I rarely wore it. And now? Sold it for even more than I’d paid. Cheers to that.
• A flea hairbrush. Ah, the perks of being an aunt.

It's been a while, hasn’t it?

Life has been pretty busy lately—moving, working, and, oddly enough, enjoying summer. Me, actually liking summer? What? I know, it’s baffling for you and me both.

So, let me catch you up on my recent shenanigans.

I have moved! Packed up a decade into forty-odd boxes and left my old home on a sunny Thursday morning. The move was as smooth as moves go—no major hiccups, though quite a few deep scratches in my wooden furniture pieces. Nothing I can't fix, still a bummer.

And now, here I am in my new place! I cleaned floors and painted walls, built furniture and sorted things. Stef came to visit for a week, and we knocked out so many tasks—even built a desk I designed!  If you're reading this, Stef, you're the bomb dot com! Thank you! I’m still not fully done, though—crown moulding needs installing, closet doors need many coats of paint, and the basement compartment is a mess. But there’s no rush; I'm learning to be patient with myself.

While Stef was here, we were supposed to go to the Taylor Swift concert in Vienna, but as you probably know, it got cancelled. We were bummed, I tell you. I’ve got a complicated relationship with Taylor these days, but I was still excited for a safe space where I could yell my little heart out, dance for hours and just have fun. We thought about joining the crowd at Corneliusgasse but couldn’t muster the mood. In hindsight, after seeing all those TikToks of people singing, dancing, and swapping friendship bracelets, I wish we’d gone. Oh well.

This summer has been unbearably hot, but my new north-facing, breezy balcony made even the worst afternoons bearable. My flat stays cool, and there’s always homemade iced tea in the fridge. Honestly, life could be a lot worse.

All in all, I absolutely adore my new flat—my new home! Rufus is a very happy camper too and has already claimed all the cosy seating options as his own.

I am a creature of habit. My mornings are etched in routine: I wake at 6am, head to the bathroom, and brush my teeth while I shower. I feed the dog as I wait for the kettle to boil. With my tea in hand, I scroll through Reddit or read my current book. Afterward, I take Rufus for a walk, grab a cuppa coffee, return home, do a 20-minute yoga session, and then begin work.

I stick to the same coffee shops and restaurants. I enjoy rewatching shows and movies and rereading books. Each year, I take three city trips, usually to Venice, New York, and London. Fridays are for ordering groceries online, Sundays for prepping them.

I am devoted to my routines, altering them only occasionally to fine-tune the minutiae of my day. Yet, within these confines, I find space for change. Over the last decade, I have redecorated and refurnished my flat countless times, painted the walls a new colour at least once a year. I've built a walk-in closet on a whim. I frequently immerse myself in crafts—pottery, bookbinding, furniture building, miniature making, embroidery.

I am never bored. There are always things to do, books to read, movies to watch. At heart, I am a homebody, surrounded by a tight-knit circle of friends and a delightful gaggle of surrogate nieces and nephews.

And now, here I am, on the precipice of significant change. This flat has been more than just my home; it has been my sanctuary for the past decade. And in less than a fortnight, I will bid it farewell.

I was just 27 when I first turned the key in that door. So young then, full of uncertainties about who I was and what lay ahead. Now, a decade on, I may not have all the answers, but I've come to a place where the questions no longer weigh heavily upon me. Perhaps this is it—no longer in pursuit of an elusive identity, but embracing what is and where I'm at in life.

My life has revolved around this flat. It has been my home base, my office, my atelier, my library—the place where I have always felt safe. I returned here heartbroken and cried myself to sleep. I celebrated milestones with friends, cooked dinners for too many people in a kitchen far too small. I got to know my neighbours, both within the flat complex and the wider neighbourhood. I spent nights awake, working on projects. I quit jobs and decided to go freelance full-time. Highs, lows, and the quiet in-betweens. I dyed my hair and painted my walls to reflect my shifting mood. I gave up and let go. This is where I welcomed a rescue pup into my life, where I spent hot summer days perched on the windowsill, and cold winter nights wrapped in thick blankets. Where I ceased loving long-lost lovers and discovered how to love myself.

Leaving feels like not only ending a chapter but closing an entire book. I am not be heading toward greener pastures, but rather, toward something else entirely—something fresh and unexplored. Not necessarily better, but different. And I can't wait!

It's the end of June, it's the end of a lot of things. This was my last full month in my flat, my home for the past decade. I can't believe how fast these last few weeks have flown by.

Change is a peculiar thing. For so long, I had lingered on the precipice, hesitant to move, always looking but never committing. Then, in a millisecond, the decision was made, as if by some unseen force, pulling me from indecision into action.

This month was primarily devoted to planning the move. My mind was constantly occupied with tasks to complete, details to organise, and a seemingly endless list of things to do. As a result, I found myself unable to focus on much else. My time was divided between work and planning the move, leaving little room for anything else.

How the fuck is it May already?It feels like the year just started, and now we're practically halfway to Halloween.

April was fun! Following a severe migraine attack, I intended to take just a day or two off but ended up taking a two week break to dedicate some time to continue work on my miniature projects. I had begun crafting a miniature record store last year but hadn’t found much time to continue. During my break, I completed the exterior, most of the furniture, and even installed some functioning doors. Additionally, I cut, folded, and glued over 1200 tiny records. I'm still not done but we're getting closer! More on that soon!

In my first week at work, I logged over 60 billable hours and felt so productive that I ended up completing a bunch of projects around the flat. I put up some peel-and-stick tiles in the kitchen, installed floating shelves in the living room, and even organized my basement compartment. Does anyone else find they manage to squeeze in even more tasks when they're super busy?

I’ve been meaning to use this journal for more fun, mundane things. So, here’s a list of things I’ve incorporated into my daily routine that really work for me and have helped make life a tad easier and calmer.

• After applying my skincare, I rub whatever is left on my hands onto my elbows. They’ve transformed from crusty and dry to absolutely baby-smooth!
• Invest in a water flosser, an electric toothbrush, and a tongue scraper. My dental routine’s got almost as many steps as my skincare these days and my dentist is very pleased with me.
• Don’t wear gel nails for too long. I adore the simplicity of a good gel manicure, but let me tell you, after a few months, my nails turn brittle and start snapping left and right. Now, I just go for regular manicures every once in a while and carve out an hour every [well, most, ish] Sunday to do my own nails.
• Get yourself an emotional support water bottle that turns hydration into a fun activity. I switch between a few favourites, but my current top pick is this baby right here [affiliate link].
• Pick up a no-screen hobby. I tend to hyper-focus on one hobby at a time. Right now, it’s crafting miniatures from scratch. Before that, it was book-binding, and even before that, leather-work. Just step away from the screen. Your downtime shouldn’t just mean switching to another tab.
• I'm not one to preach the no-screen-time-before-bed rule. You do you. I sometimes catch myself scrolling through Reddit way past my bedtime. We all know it's not the greatest habit. What has helped me switch to reading at night is keeping my current book on my pillow.
• Go schedule your annual checkups! Once a year, I take a moment to schedule all my checkups for the same week. I call it my medical week. I try to pack in multiple appointments each day—OB-GYN, ophthalmologist, dermatologist, dentist, internist, endocrinologist—you name it. Years ago, I even managed to squeeze five appointments into a single day.
• Speaking of checkups, get your blood tested at least annually. I make it a point to get a full blood panel at least three times a year—even before my Hashimoto's diagnosis. I often show deficiencies in iron, vitamin D, and B vitamins, to name a few, and I like to adjust my daily vitamin intake accordingly.
• And speaking of vitamins: Listen, if we're being honest, no one takes them daily. But try to stick to the 80:20 rule. Sure, some mornings I forget, or I just can't stomach anything other than my daily prescription meds. But I take them often enough to make sure my body gets everything it needs.
• Find yourself a comfort show—especially if you're dealing with anxiety or bouts of depression. For me, it’s "The Good Place." Whenever I feel my mood starting to shift, I turn on that show and it makes me feel better—or at least somewhat safe.
• Try out ingredient prep. If you're anything like me, you might have tried meal prepping, but it hasn't worked for you. I just don't wanna eat the same thing for days. What I've been doing is prepping multiple ingredients on Sunday. I chop all my veggies, wash all my fruit, and whip up a few different dressings. I also like to cook a sheet pan of veggies, a grain, and a protein, which I can then mix and match into different meals throughout the week.
• Have anything to add that makes your life easier and better? Let me know!

May was a month brimming with changes. And it was a busy one too.

I've always been a bit of a loner. Don't get me wrong, I adore my friends to pieces, but I'm so used to working through things on my own that I struggle to ask for help or accept it when it's offered. I've been working on that, and this past month, I took all the help that came my way.

One of the major changes this month was moving out of the office I had shared with a friend for about two years. I don't want to go into details, but since the rental agreement was in her name, I decided to vacate the space. For now, I’ve moved my workspace back into my flat. I might eventually find a new office, but with everything else going on, it probably won't happen this year.

And here's the other monumental event that unfolded this month: I signed the lease for my new flat! Like, what? I've lived in my current place for an entire decade. A whole decade! When I first moved in, I was in my mid-twenties, practically a kid still figuring out who I wanted to be. Now, ten years later, I stand on the precipice of departure, bidding farewell to the place has been my home for the majority of my adult life. With the moving date set for July, I still have ample time to acclimate to the impending transition. I'll write more about this soon but for now, let me say this: I am both excited and anxious at once!

Well, hello Spring! March unfolded in an unremarkable yet positively serene manner. It was a period devoid of significant lows or soaring highs, characterised instead by a steady contentment.

Though, one thing has been on my mind a lot these days: death. I do realise that mentioning it might not align with the absence of lows. It's a complex reflection, perhaps not a low in the traditional sense, but certainly a profound contemplation that's been on my mind quite a bit. My grams celebrated her 91st birthday this March. She's still quite active and healthy for her age, but we're all too aware that our time with her is limited. And then there's Rufus. My goodest boy will turn nine this June and we had a little health scare earlier this month. He's fine, don't worry! But the signs of aging are there—a few grey hairs around his nose, a bit of a decline in energy. I hate the thought of navigating life without him, or my grams.

On another note, work has been steady—a lot of complex token work, long days writing documentation, and in general a lot of fun. I've also been drawing a lot, not just for my daily drawing project but also for other side-projects. More on that soon-ish.

It's 4pm on a Friday. Spring has erupted in a riot of colours, and an ice cream craving washes over me. I pop over to my neighbour's door, where she's caught up in a meeting and her kids are stifled by boredom. Seizing the opportunity, I take them out for an ice cream treat. En route, a playful squabble erupts over who has the honour of holding Rufus’s leash. Today, they're treated to two scoops each instead of the usual one, because as an aunt I don't have to say no.

Upon our return, they dash into the community garden, mingling with other children from the building, their laughter melding with the afternoon air. I venture into another neighbour’s flat, where we settle into their garden, drinking coffee and soaking up the first sun of the year. Later that afternoon, one of the kids knocks on my door to play MarioKart.

On Saturday, my neighbours from the garden, kindly offer me a lift to the supermarket. Together, we navigate the aisles, turning the chore into an adventure. Amidst the shelves, their son spots a toy he's drawn to. And I say yes, because as an aunt I don't have to say no. And he has a birthday coming up anyway. Post-shopping, we collectively decide to share a meal. The kitchen comes alive as we prepare protein oat pancakes, and their son sneaks fruits off the counter to share with Rufus. The day unfolds with us spending all our hours together, a welcome respite for the parents, still hungover from the previous night's festivities. Seizing the opportunity to give them a break, I take their son out for a leisurely walk. Our journey leads us to a children's store, where he selects a detective set, his excitement barely containable. We walk past a shoe store and he sees ‘the coolest pair of sneakers in the world'. I knew he needs a new pair, so I buy it for him. Because as an aunt I don't have to say no.

We spend the afternoon in their garden. Rufus basks in the sun and chases the mouse that has claimed dominion over the space. We alternate between sips of coffee and lemonade, the day seamlessly transitioning into an evening where we come together to cook dinner. As we dine, bits and pieces of their meal are affectionately shared with Rufus. Their son declares me the best aunt on the planet, snuggling up beside me and Rufus—a significant leap from just a few weeks prior when he harboured fears of even touching the dog.

I return to my flat, a space that's become a repository of memories from all the children in my building whom I affectionately regard as my nieces and nephews. The front of my fridge is adorned with their artwork, inside there's always a cheese string or two, ready for when hunger strikes them. And nestled between the cushions of my couch, I find the occasional leftover snack package or two. Each detail serves as a testament to the unexpected family I've found within these walls.

On Sunday, I wake up and meet up with another neighbour and her dog. We venture to the dog park together, letting our pups run free while we catch up.  Later, I find solace in a quiet lunch, accompanied only by the pages of a book, before the day transitions into an afternoon of coffee and conversation with yet another neighbour. Then, a text message arrives, an invitation from the garden neighbours, asking if I'd like to join them for a walk.

Despite never having been much of a people person, nor leaning towards extroversion, the discovery of this apartment building and the community within it has filled me with gratitude. On days when the shadow of depression looms near, I find solace and distraction within this network of support. Watching over their children, entrusting my dog to their care in my absence, spending sunny weekends together, the communal act of cooking and sharing meals, forges a bond that transcends mere neighbourliness.

I have a love-hate relationship with spring. As the final days of winter wane, I find myself yearning for its arrival, eager for the promise of renewal and warmth. Yet, the moment spring blossoms, it also heralds the impending approach of summer—a season I view with a sense of dread. The very essence of spring, with its fleeting beauty, becomes a poignant reminder that the swelter and discomfort of summer are just around the corner, tainting my enjoyment of spring's fleeting charm. And yet, here I am, basking in the gentle embrace of the sun's warm rays, cocooned in my winter coat and scarf, cradling a strong cuppa tea. Around me, the world is slowly awakening, and Rufus, ever the embodiment of joy and curiosity, dashes about, chasing the first butterflies of the season.

In the twilight of the '90s, my foray into blogging began. Barely brushing against adolescence, I navigated an internet that was the digital equivalent of the wild wild west. My days were spent weaving through chatrooms and forums, swapping Geocities links, and exchanging MSN chat IDs. My personal website wasn't just a digital scrapbook; it was a canvas for experimenting with my first lines of code – an iframe here, a splash of colourful scrollbar there. Our conversations unfolded in lengthy guestbook entries, in hotmail email exchanges, and in the quick-fire exchanges of ICQ chats. Amidst the dial-up connections and the static of the modem, the world expanded and contracted simultaneously. I was catapulted into a virtual cosmos, discovering the intricacies of lives sprawled across the globe. In this expansive yet intimate digital landscape, I, a peculiar outsider with idiosyncrasies, found not just a niche but a community—a belonging.

The digital landscape evolved gradually, ushering in the era of Myspace, which broadened my horizons beyond my immediate circle. In the German-speaking regions, platforms like Uboot and Studi.vz emerged, fostering connections within more intimate circles and bridging friendships. This new era marked the beginning of countless connections; I met hundreds of individuals. The adventure took me on train rides to unknown cities and across town to meet-ups. My communication expanded from writing emails and letters to conversing with many over Skype. It was glorious.

The internet once harboured the essence of a communal gathering spot, a digital agora where minds met and ideas flowed freely. Yet, as time unfurled, this space transformed, increasingly feeling like an endless stream of advertisements. Every interaction, every corner of this vast network, now seems tinged with the ulterior motive of promotion—be it a product, a personal brand, or the latest sponsorship deal. The authentic spirit that once animated its corridors appears to have vacated, leaving behind a landscape where genuine connection and unfiltered expression seem relics of a bygone era.

Don't get me wrong here, I am not condemning the age of influencers as a whole, I've navigated that realm myself, back when amassing ten thousand followers was deemed a significant achievement. However, as the influencer landscape matured, the onslaught of corporate interest became overwhelming. Before I stepped back from the influencer life, there was a month I found myself inundated with over thirty PR packages—a figure that, by today's standards, may seem modest, but was considerable at the time. Among these was a memorable shipment of dairy-based energy drinks, the taste of which could only be likened to that of rotten feet.

Sharing my life online transitioned from an impulsive act to a calculated strategy, to what seemed like a boundless audience.

Over time, I became reluctant to share the small things of daily life, acutely conscious of the real-world implications of online visibility. Engagements on platforms like Twitter, especially on contentious issues such as sexism and reproductive rights, often spiralled into prolonged periods of harassment. Furthermore, my involvement with refugee aid in 2015 inadvertently placed me on the radar of neo-Nazi groups, leading to my name appearing on multiple watchlists. This evolution in sharing—or the lack thereof—reflected a growing awareness of the complexities and risks inherent in living a life online.

The transition of Twitter's ownership served as the catalyst for my departure from the platform, prompting a retreat to the seemingly safer confines of Instagram. Despite this shift, a palpable sense of loss lingered—the absence of a space to share the tapestry of my life, from the nuances of my creative process to the milestones of my work and the depth of my thoughts. This longing underscored the complex relationship I have with social media: a balancing act between seeking connection and safeguarding my peace.

So here I am, embarking on a journey to craft a website that again resonates as a modern-day scrapbook of my existence. The distinctions between work and personal life, once meticulously maintained, have blurred into irrelevance. This space is dedicated to everything I am not just willing but eager to share—a curated collection of moments, thoughts, and creations that together weave the narrative of my life. In this digital haven, I reclaim the joy of sharing, unhindered by the constraints and concerns that once governed my online presence.

What's the latest addition, you ask? I'm rolling out a /now page, a concept I plan to refresh monthly—a dedicated corner for the trivia of daily existence, achievements, discoveries, favourites, and beyond. For those not in the loop, the /now page movement was initiated by Derek Sivers as a means to communicate the ongoing chapters of one's life. This digital space serves as a direct line to what's presently capturing my attention, engaging my thoughts, and influencing my days, inviting you into the continuous narrative of my journey.

In addition to this, I've set myself a new challenge: to undertake a 365-day drawing journey. Drawing used to be a constant in my life, but over the past decade, it became sporadic. There were months where I didn't draw at all, followed by weeks of frenzied late-night sketching sessions. Now, I'm challenging myself to draw every day, seeking beauty in the mundane moments of life.

Furthermore, I've begun compiling resources to share, starting with a collection of type foundries. This is just the beginning, with plans to expand into a broader array of materials. My website is evolving into not just a personal archive but a hub of inspiration and shared knowledge.

I can't wrap my head around the fact that we're already through the first two months of the year. Dealing with a stubborn cold throughout January disrupted my typical routine of launching into the new year with vigour, setting fresh goals, and immersing myself in my usual productivity mode

If you've been keeping up with my Instagram, you're probably aware that my UK trip didn't quite go according to plan. I did manage to wander around London a tad, but unfortunately, I was confined to my hotel bed for the duration of my stay in Edinburgh. Thankfully, I did squeeze in a visit to Fopp in London to pick up some new records, and I made a stop at Daunt Books for some fresh reading material. And, perhaps most importantly, I finally got to catch up with Stefan IRL again. Hashtag BFFtime.

In addition, January signalled the conclusion of my end-of-year sabbatical. Just to fill you in: for the past few years, I've typically worked straight through from January to October without much of a break, then taken a sabbatical from November to December. Mid-January saw my return to client work. I'm continuing my collaboration with Migros on their multi-brand design system and have also been in discussions with several potential clients about new projects. If you're currently seeking assistance with design systems or product design – let's talk!

In 2023, I found myself fully embracing literature again. My aspirations were simple: to surrender to the allure of any book that whispered to me, immersing myself in the pleasure of reading, seeking a sanctuary where the cacophony of my mind could be silenced.‍

Here's the crux of it: I used to read all the time – whether nestled in bed with a steaming cuppa tea, amidst the hum of the subway, or lingering in cafes and eateries while awaiting companions. Books were my refuge, a sanctuary where my mind could both rest and roam freely. They were, unequivocally, my first and enduring love.

I've always been a voracious reader, though there were periods where I barely touched a book. Life's busyness or other interests would occasionally take precedence. Still, there wasn't a year that passed without me devouring at least a dozen books.

Then, I stumbled into a relationship that drained me of vitality, time, and, tragically, my sanity. It wasn't just reading that fell by the wayside; it was any semblance of joy. He usurped everything, leaving no room for solitude or personal pursuits. Even when miles apart, his grip remained tight, tethering me to the phone incessantly. And when he slept, oceans away, I found no solace in other activities. Exhaustion became my constant companion. But that's a tale for another time.

For nearly two years, I abandoned books, leaving an aching void in my soul. Yet, upon breaking free and rediscovering myself, I slowly rekindled my affair with literature. And read I did. Over the span of 14 months, I devoured 74 books. Therapy and heartfelt conversations with friends certainly played their part, but it was burying myself in books that truly led me back to myself.

In short: Take a plunge into the 57 books I devoured last year. And as an added treat – and with a hint of uncertainty regarding EU fair use laws – I even illustrated all their covers.

It's been some time since I've set pen to paper, or rather, fingers to keys.

Once, the ink flowed freely, weaving tales across the crisp pages of journals, the margins of novels, even the transient fabric of napkins, each surface a canvas for the words that danced within me. Until I found myself in a peculiar state of absence from the act of writing. My thoughts, once so vivid and urgent, now tangled in the labyrinth of my mind, too elusive for my hands to grasp, too chaotic to immortalise upon the page. Even when words dared to surface, there was no place online for their expression. The once-familiar avenues of Twitter felt increasingly discordant, while the relics of old blogs had long since faded into the digital ether, leaving me adrift in a sea of silence.

And so, here I find myself once more, nestled in a new digital sanctuary, a place suspended between the realms of labour and leisure. Here, amidst the ebb and flow of current projects and personal musings, I endeavour to carve out a space for myself. Whether this corner of the internet becomes a regular haunt remains uncertain, a question marked by the whims of inspiration and the demands of the everyday. Yet, in this virtual haven, I seek refuge from the constraints of obligation, embracing the freedom to chronicle the minutiae of daily life, the fragments of nocturnal reflection, and the snapshots of my creative journey.