How one week in the jungle became a year-long initiation.
I didn’t plan to stay.
I came to the jungle for quiet refuge—just one week to breathe, to unplug, to remember myself. What I didn’t expect was that the land would remember me too. And once it did, I couldn’t leave. Not really.
That first trip was meant to be a pause—a little exhale from the noise of the city, the industry, the endless doing. But the jungle had other plans. She stripped me down. Showed me the rhythms I’d forgotten. Taught me how to listen again.
I learned how to build a fire.
Not just literally, though I did that too—with my own two hands and a spark of stubbornness. But I also learned how to tend the fire inside me. The one I’d buried under deadlines and design briefs. The one that speaks in symbols, stories, and silence.
I found beauty in the chaos.
Romance in the everyday.
And a deeper connection to the way I create—slow, intentional, sacred.
In the stillness, my creative voice returned—not as a whisper, but as a roar. I began designing not just for clients, but for something greater. Something truer. And when I left, I wasn’t the same. I couldn’t be.
So yes, I came for the peace.
But I stayed for the fire. And it made me.
