I have always been the kind of person who speaks before I overthink. Ideas, questions, and opinions tumble out of me, not because I want to argue, but because I can’t help but wonder aloud about the world. Ever since I was young, I have been asking “why?” and “what if?” more often than most people had patience for. I didn’t always have the right words or the sharpest reasoning, but I had the desire to talk things through, to see where a conversation might lead. That curiosity has never left me. If anything, it has only grown stronger.

Writing became my way of shaping that restless curiosity. I discovered that when I put words on paper, thoughts that felt scattered became something I could hold, something I could share. Writing gave me a way to extend a conversation beyond the people in the room—it let me reach others I might never meet, people who could agree, disagree, or see something I hadn’t seen myself. In that way, writing has always felt like dialogue to me: not about proving a point, but about keeping the exchange alive.

I have never been satisfied with surface answers. I like peeling things back, asking what lies beneath, and seeing how small details connect to bigger forces. My background in international business trained me to think about systems—markets, policies, global patterns—but what interests me most are the human stories tucked inside those systems. The way culture shapes choices. The way mental health affects the economy. The way technology opens doors while closing others. Numbers don’t move me; people do.

My interests have always been broad, sometimes too broad for comfort. I’m fascinated by film and music because they show us who we are when we stop trying to explain ourselves. I love art and creativity because they remind me that meaning doesn’t always need to be rational—it can just be felt. I follow technology because it is the language of the future, but also because it raises questions about what kind of future we actually want. The environment pulls me back again and again because it underpins everything else, the stage on which all our stories unfold. And wellness and mental health matter deeply to me, because behind every system, every cultural shift, and every innovation, there is always an individual trying to make sense of their own inner world.

What ties all of this together is my need to keep learning and my equal need to share what I’ve learned. I’m not the kind of person who learns something and files it away. I want to talk about it, write about it, test it in conversation, and see how others respond. For me, knowledge is alive only when it’s exchanged. That’s why I write: to capture what I’ve been turning over in my mind and offer it to others, not as a final answer but as an opening.

I know I can be opinionated, and I’ve learned to embrace it. Having an opinion is not the same as having certainty. To me, an opinion is a spark; it’s what starts the dialogue. Listening to other perspectives is what gives it fire and shape. Some of my most valuable lessons have come not from being right, but from being challenged, even proven wrong. That balance between conviction and openness is what I try to bring into every piece of writing I do.

At the heart of it all, I believe stories matter. They are how we connect across differences, how we understand ourselves more clearly, and how we imagine better futures. I don’t expect everyone to agree with me—if anything, I hope they don’t. What I want is for someone to pause, to reflect, to see a familiar thing in a new light. That, to me, is the highest compliment a reader can give.

I write because I am curious. I write because I never want to stop learning. I write because I want to share what I’ve found, even if it’s messy or unfinished. And I write because words, when used with honesty, have the power to bring people closer together, even in a world that so often pushes us apart.