Like Coming Home
Home is sometimes less a place than a feeling. On a warm summer’s day in Hungary, I found both through the lens of a phone.
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The Ritual
Grief does not end with time. It becomes a ritual—a quiet returning to those we continue to love.
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The Essence of Stories
Perhaps the stories we inherit are not carried forward word for word, but in the feelings, images, and truths that remain long after the details have been forgotten.
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The Blanket
Some things are not waiting to be finished. They are waiting for us to become the person who knows what they were always meant to be.
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The Common Thread
A poem about the quiet connections that endure across generations, and how ordinary acts can bring us closer to those we never had the chance to know.
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The Threads Have Always Been There
Sometimes the answers we search for are not waiting to be invented, but quietly waiting to be recognised.
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Broken Mosaics
The more I uncover about my family’s past, the more I realise how many stories I have accepted without ever knowing where they began.
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Sunday Lunches
My strongest childhood memories are not of places but of Sunday lunches: paprika-scented kitchens, opera drifting through open windows, and my father’s stories unfolding around the table.
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We Got Lost on the Way Home
We were supposed to be going camping in Austria. Instead, we got lost on the way home. A story of family, migration, and the journey that brought us to Aotearoa New Zealand.
