enjoy my multifacetedness. this is pulled straight from my notes app on a flight back to SFO after a week of traveling.

duality, babe.

i’m lowkey obsessed with taking pictures and my aesthetic. like, borderline compulsive.

i’ve got a color palette in my head and a mental archive of pinteresty moments. it’s core to my being that i dress based on my mood, not fabric. and i love a meal plated with messy elegance, a vibe that screams me in my own language.

the dream is to turn my life into a work of art.

and maybe that’s why i hold onto things so tightly. it always feels right, and everything that belongs to me was never just a look, it’s curated for me because i know exactly what i like.

i’m a music re-listener, outfit repeater, show rewatcher, & hopeless romantic… whatever you call it. but there’s a comfort in repetition. in knowing what fills you up completely with your most specific tastes. from my toothbrush to my wardrobe, to my hyperspecific spotify playlists with threatening titles, there’s always only one style of everything — but it’s the one i like best. and wherever i go, i curate a very similar space, a similar atmosphere that’s somewhere in between girly and minimalistic and an occasional mess. it’s all kind of a good-looking chaos tho, idk i think intense duality is cool. like imagine you’re carmela soprano strutting down the street in fur and fake lashes, the next you’re sipping oat milk lattes in beige. that’s the vision. duality, babe duality.

but on the contrary, i hate to be mortifyingly known or perceived. i seriously cannot enjoy instagram becuase i feel most free when no one’s watching. so i try to compulsively overshare what i like in the pictures i take, while somehow still making sure nobody actually knows me. i spill my heart in pictures, showing glimpses of what i love, while guaring the rest like secrets. they only see the little life of mine that i handfully picked out and never the full.

and so i felt chronic.

insane.

throwing up because of my multifaceted softness vs. frenzy.

but i was never really insane, except on occasions where my heart is touched.

january last year cracked me open in the best way - it was when i started solo traveling.

first stop: new york city. divine chaos, electric and alive. went to all the museums alone and dressed however i wanted. met lots of cool people, great convos, never lonely. i still think about it now and then.

next up was: los angeles. not gonna lie, i wasn’t totally sold on it. too pretty in a manicured hollow way.

then came: tokyo. that place literally held a mirror to my insides. i learned so much there… about grace, about structure, and the stories that live in small moments. intricate and beautiful.

travel used to sound like freedom and it is, but what they don’t tell you is that it’s also the kind of perspective that humbles you to your knees, especially in places where life doesn’t pause for polish. no filters. just how it really is.

amongst the cities i’ve visited (solo or not), bangkok and kuala lumpur sit closest to my heart. in those places, people bend but never break. and watching it all, you get slapped with your own privilege: the invisible safety nets you didn’t even know were there. it’s jarring. and necessary.

funny thing is, tbh i barely remember the ease of developed countries. i’ve seen my share of cool cities across asia (still owe europe a visit), but the shiny ones blur together. they are cool, polished, forgettable. for me it’s the underdeveloped ones that brand themselves into my memory. places filled with grit, the ones that wear their heartbeat on their sleeves, where you see and can actually feel the real slice of life in the human heat and chaos, and most importantly, the rawness. it all burns… into your system. and you come out changed.

maybe that’s what traveling gave me — not an escape, but a mirror.

not the curated feed moments, but the ones where i’m lugging my suitcase through uneven streets, or sipping broth at 2AM alone in a stall that smells like fire and memory. i used to feel like i was insane for having so many selves, always shape shifting between soft and savage, loud and invisible — but when i travel, all those selves feel like they can breathe together.

and weirdly.. those are the moments i never photograph. i never do. i forget to perform and i forget the aesthetic and in forgetting, i remember more. they are tattooed into my memory. and growing up, i’ve learned, is exactly that: figuring out what fills you up, what no longer serves you, and letting go.

i’ve been realizing that not everyone’s going to walk my pace (and i can’t walk at someone else’s either) or get the vision. idk i’ve just stopped needing to feel real or to fulfill, i just want to be here. truly enjoy where i am at. satistfying myself and prioritizing me over anything. “and i think it happens to everyone as they grow up. you find out who you are and what you want, then you realize that people you’ve known forever don’t see things the way you do. and so you keep the wonderful memories, but find yourself moving on.” (quote from nicholas sparks, ‘true believer’)

gosh i’m almost arriving home.

idk i’ve been feeling so messy with how i want to be perceived and also why do i even care, or how i want to remember a place with an elegance that fits my beauty.

but traveling taught me some moments that aren’t made to be curated or captured. there’s nothing wrong with that. but for me the best way to remember is to let it live inside me.

and maybe this blog will be the space where those moments find home, where my experiences and thoughts live raw and real - in the most christa way possible.

and funny now that i typed that—

everything reminds me that the most christa way is when i don’t have a phone or camera in hand… and choose to never please anyone but remain soft at heart and find more and more beautiful places and people to visit! <3

i used to want to be understood. now i just want to understand myself, and maybe write it all down along the way.

with excitement,

christa