The one who wandered off the path, picked up shells that weren’t shiny, and believed that everything, even silence, had something to say.

I grew up in South Africa, where the sun doesn’t just shine, it roars. The rivers were wide and slow and full of secrets. I remember sitting on the bank for hours, toes in the dust, just watching the water move. It was never in a rush, but it always got where it was going. I think I wanted to be like that. Still do.

I loved animals more than people, sometimes. They didn’t pretend. They just were. Dolphins, especially, the way they’d appear when you least expected it, like a gift. Like magic you didn’t ask for but were lucky enough to witness.

I never really fit into the boxes other people built for me. I didn’t want to be quiet. I didn’t want to be told who I was, or what kind of woman I should be. And if someone said, “Don’t,” you could be sure I’d try it. Twice.

But I wasn’t trying to prove anything. I just wanted to feel everything.

The joy. The risk. The music at 2AM. The kind of love that shakes the dust off your soul. I wanted to live a big life, not in a loud way, but in a way that left echoes.

And yet… there were moments that chipped at me.

Times I was made to feel too much. Too soft. Too strong. Too pretty. Too bold. I was told to quiet down, to stay in my lane, to be nice, to be grateful. But here’s the thing, I am grateful. Fiercely so.

But I will never apologise for wanting more.

A late-night laugh with someone I love.

The way the sea air feels like home even when you’re far from it.

The spine of a book that makes you cry.

Being the first one on the dance floor, and not caring who’s watching.

The kind of compliment that sticks with you, not because it’s big, but because it’s true.

I started collecting moments like that.

And I realised, in time, I wanted to create something that could hold them. A reminder. A spark. A feeling you could wear, and be worn by.