My story
The fire didn't create my wounds. It made visible the ones I already carried. Then came the embers — almost extinguished, and it's in them that the warmth remains.
My reconstruction resembles them: slow, quiet, almost invisible. I erase nothing of what happened. I simply carry it differently.
Since then, I've opened a villa above the sea, written a book, and learned to make my body an ally rather than an adversary — on a yoga mat, or in front of a punching bag.
« I am not my scars.
I am the way I move through the world. »
