Think of me as a narwhal lost at sea with no direction of finding home. See me as a free-spirited dandelion fluff with no care of where the wind takes.
The past 2 years saw me exploring the world and growing up faster than I ever had, and these days all I ever do is daydream of how that’s over. I spend my days trying to be a better creative, crushing paper balls filled with sketches of fail. I spend time dabbling in calligraphy practice until my fingers are stained with quink. I waste hours in the kitchen trying to make nature’s seedlings taste like magic. I no longer partake in ridiculous discussions or be in a social setting just to be part of something.
Amidst of these, I am in fact a transient nomad with literally no place to call home (yet).