I have been quiet for a while. I had to regroup and took some time to write my story — to make sense of the chapters that shaped me and the ones I’m still living.

Especially my London tea time has been like Alice in Wonderland. It started as a tea time with a stranger opening portal to new worlds. I was curious, wide-eyed, sipping my tea without realizing I was already tumbling down a rabbit hole of change, pain and self-discovery.

This London moment was when an innocent event turned into series of events that on one hand taught me so much but nearly crushed my very soul.

Today, many years later,the scenery shifted, but the curiosity remains, tea is still being brewed.
Only this time, I’m no longer following the rabbit. I’m writing my own story.

I stepped out of the comfort of the known, stepped away from a bond so strong and formed through trauma and into a new chapter — barefoot, bold, and a little bewildered — wandering the streets of New York.

But the real story of that tea time — and everything that followed — is one I’m only beginning to tell.