In 2016, a professionally painted mask won me a competition. Ten years later, my very young classmate recreated it, and I won again. Between a full moon, a week of goodbyes, and a song that sounds like unlimited youth, I kept thinking about Pirandello, and how easy it is to wear a mask, or to become a spectator in your own Life...

There's a version of me, sitting on a park bench in 2016, who made a promise he didn't fully understand yet. I kept it for ten years — no apps, only chance. Then, on the last night of June, sitting in St. John's, I downloaded one again...

Canada Day began behind a coffee counter, my first shift in hospitality in nearly ten years, and turned into one of the best summer days I have ever had. A few days earlier there was a staff party at Clarke’s Beach, a school bus I boarded for the very first time, and “Mr. Brightside” sung so loudly that people teared up. Then came the road up to Twillingate, and I still haven’t arrived...

I was in St. John’s when a colleague showed me a photo of an iceberg in Twillingate, five hours north, and I knew I needed to see it. I said one sentence out loud, backed by a very strong desire. What I found there was bigger than the ice: people who sing, fish, and fix anything, and who welcomed a random Italian like one of their own. I left amazed, and I’m still thinking about how ordinary Life can look when it’s this extraordinary...

The difference, I've learned, has nothing to do with what happens — and everything to do with whether you're paying attention. I found a small ritual that forces me to stop, once a week, and actually reckon with the time that just passed. It's not always comfortable. But it's changed the way I experience Life entirely...

A song stopped me in the middle of a Shoppers aisle, a few minutes before closing. I’d never heard it before. I had just come off a powerful workout, after a phone call to Italy with a dear friend, and a voice over the speakers was singing about how much can change in a year. I raised my phone to the ceiling to Shazam it, and realized the line was as real as it gets. But to me, a lot can change in a week...

We don't truly regret what we did. We regret what we didn't do. How many people are serving that sentence right now? The one who said nothing — not because they had nothing to say, but because saying it felt too revealing and somehow dangerous. Almost said it. Almost went. Almost tried. Almost is the heaviest word in the language. And it follows you everywhere...

It's easy to take a photo when everything is going well. But the ones I keep going back to? Never the perfect ones. There's something about reaching for the camera at the wrong moment that tells you everything about what actually mattered...

For years, I've had a habit that sits somewhere between confidence and delusion. Before the interview. Sometimes before the application. I open Google Maps and change my work location to a place that exists only in my imagination. Most of the time, it feels ridiculous. Until one day, it becomes my commute...

We often already know the truth about our relationships, our choices, and our direction in Life. The difficulty is not discovering it, but admitting it in time to do something with it. Because once time passes, honesty still arrives—but by then, it no longer has anything left to change...

From seasonal jobs to spontaneous adventures, I've learned that Life rarely announces its most important moments in advance. More often than not, they arrive disguised as side quests...

For years, I saw every city, relationship, and chapter of life as temporary. Then, in a quiet Dutch cottage, I found myself wishing one moment could last beyond its expiry date...