Lisbon felt like a city that never ends, only turns, each corner revealing another café, another temptation to stay. It is older than Paris by a thousand years, and it shows in the way time lingers here, as if reluctant to move on. The rain arrived with a sense of theatre, soaking us into laughter as we dashed between doorways and found warmth in tiny cafés and shops. We sipped Ginjinha and grew pleasantly philosophical, wandered through markets alive with the scent of the sea, and met a glove maker who needed only a glance to know our size, proof that magic in Lisbon is a practical trade. The days slipped by too quickly, as good days always do. But I left carrying what mattered most: the memory of family beside me and the impossible wish to never have left at all.
Madrid is a city that refuses to be hurried. We wandered its streets as though time were something to be tasted, not kept. The El Rastro chattered, the Mahou sparkled, and even our hotel sighed as if remembering grander guests (see last photo of piece of art that flung off the wall and landed on bed while sleeping 👻).
In the end, I learned nothing practical, only that idleness when done properly can feel like art.
Ten years, and still
I wake beside you as if love were something newly born,
a quiet revolution in the shape of a man.
You brought order to my storms,
laughter that echoed through my silences,
and a courage that wrapped around me like dusk - familiar, gentle, and full of promise.
You brought Mexico into my veins:
the songs, the sun, the language of family.
You taught me to trust the ground beneath my feet,
to dance when no music played,
to be both strong and foolish in love.
Gracias por todo, Eugenio,
for this life stitched together with joy and wildness.
For ten years.
And the endless poetry still to come.
I’ve been thinking about what it means to get older. To really live into your life. And I’ve decided it’s not about milestones or checklists, it’s about who shows up at your table. Who sticks around when the wine runs out, or when things get messy.
To all of you. The ones who came, who toasted, who hugged, who reminded me that love isn’t a grand gesture, it’s a consistent presence.
Thank you for being here.
Through all the highs and lows, the dinners, the long texts, the quiet check-ins, the loud celebrations - you’ve shown up.
You’ve let me reinvent myself a dozen times, and you’ve always clapped like it was the best show you’d ever seen.
You’ve made me feel known and loved in this life, and that’s not something I take for granted.
You make aging feel like something to look forward to. J
Keith, In a world that rushes by, you were our gentle pause.
A small heartbeat wrapped in fur, a quiet, steady joy.
He understood something most of us miss: that life isn’t about doing more. You loved the simple things, a patch of sunlight, joy in the crinkle of a bag, the sound of our voices.
You taught us that happiness isn’t loud.
He’s gone now.
But he made it count.
Now there’s just a silence where he used to be - not loud, but heavy.
The kind that stays with you.
The kind you don’t really want to fill.
I can never post anything on time. I got this instax camera recently and although the photo quality is kind of shit there is something freeing and joyful about the imperfect quality- quitting the over contemplation and retaking the same photo 8 times. So I put my phone down and I was so lucky to capture a bit of joy that Christmas with family brings. I don’t think the best of cameras could ever accurately capture just how perfect I think these people are nor the amount of love and admiration and sheer luck I feel for having them in my life. 🎄❤️💫
Heart’s full from a week with good friends traversing the smells and wonders of Mexico City - Celebrating my favorite people Eugenio and Hannah’s Birthday. 💫🩵
