Reflection on the past | 13.07.2026 edition

Another year.

If someone had asked me a year ago where I thought I would be today, I don't think I could have imagined this version of myself.

This year wasn't defined by one extraordinary achievement. It was shaped by hundreds of quiet decisions. Decisions to continue. To learn. To build. To care. To begin again.

Some days were incredibly heavy.

I experienced loss that changed me. Saying goodbye to Leno left a space that words still struggle to describe. Loving an animal means accepting that one day your heart will carry both gratitude and grief at the same time. He will always remain part of my story—not because of how long he stayed, but because of how deeply he was loved.

Life, however, has a gentle way of asking us to keep moving.

Luna continued to grow. Gloria entered my life. Together they brought countless veterinary appointments, questions, worries, moments of relief, and lessons I never expected to learn. Caring for them reminded me that love is rarely found in grand gestures. More often, it lives in the ordinary things we choose to do every single day.

Professionally, this year changed my perspective.

For years I believed I was becoming a graphic designer.

Somewhere along the way, I realised that wasn't the destination.

I don't simply want to design things.

I want to document stories.

I want to publish books.

I want to preserve knowledge.

I want to create objects that people return to years later, carrying the same quiet meaning they had the day they were made.

Little by little, QUVVNIV stopped feeling like a portfolio and started feeling like a living ecosystem—where editorial design, illustration, photography, publishing, handmade editions, nature and storytelling all belong to the same philosophy.

For the first time, I stopped thinking project by project.

Instead, I began thinking in decades.

What kind of work deserves to exist ten years from now?

What stories are worth preserving?

What can I create that might quietly outlive me?

One project that became especially close to my heart was Celebrating Women Through Art & Storytelling. It became more than a collection of interviews and illustrations. It became a reminder that every woman carries a story capable of inspiring someone else. I hope that one day a young girl will open those pages, recognise a part of herself, and realise there isn't one correct path through life—only the courage to build one that is truly her own.

This year also reminded me that uncertainty does not mean failure.

Plans changed.

Work changed.

Some opportunities quietly disappeared while others arrived unexpectedly.

Instead of seeing that as losing direction, I slowly learned that growth often looks exactly like this: adapting without abandoning your values.

Perhaps the biggest change happened within me.

I noticed that I ask different questions now.

Less often, "Is this good enough?"

More often, "Will this still matter years from now?"

That small shift has quietly influenced almost everything I create.

I've become slower.

More intentional.

More patient with the process.

I've learned that craftsmanship is not about perfection. It is about respect—for the work, for the people who experience it, and for the time invested in creating something meaningful.

There is one person I cannot write this reflection without mentioning—my beloved partner.

This year reminded me that dreams are rarely built alone.

Behind every project, every long drive to another veterinary clinic, every difficult appointment, every conversation about the future, every small victory and every setback, there has been someone quietly choosing to stand beside me.

Thank you for believing in my ideas even when they were still unfinished sketches.

For celebrating every step forward with me, but also for carrying part of the weight whenever life became difficult.

For sitting beside me in waiting rooms.

For driving countless kilometres for the cats we love.

For encouraging me to keep creating.

For reminding me to keep believing in myself whenever I found it difficult to do so.

For quietly supporting dreams that sometimes felt much larger than either of us.

Some of the most meaningful moments of this year carry your kindness, your patience, and your unwavering support.

People often celebrate the person standing in the spotlight.

I think there is something equally beautiful about the person standing just outside the frame, quietly making it possible for the light to exist.

Thank you, my love, for walking this journey with me.

None of it would have felt the same without you.

Looking back, I don't think this year made me fearless.

It made me steadier.

I still worry.

I still doubt.

I still overthink.

But I continue anyway.

Maybe resilience is not the absence of fear.

Maybe it is simply choosing to move forward while carrying it with grace.

As I step into another year, I don't wish for an easier path.

I wish to keep my curiosity.

To continue learning.

To remain kind.

To protect the people and animals I love.

To tell stories honestly.

To create work that outlives trends.

To build slowly, thoughtfully and with intention.

Because a meaningful life is rarely built through extraordinary moments alone.

It is built through ordinary days in which we choose, over and over again, to care.

So I close another chapter with deep gratitude.

For the people who stayed.

For the animals who changed my heart.

For the work that continues to teach me.

For every ordinary day that quietly became part of something much bigger.

Tomorrow, I will wake up exactly where I left off.

Still learning.

Still building.

Still caring.

And somehow, that feels like enough.