Everything, Always

I just turned 30.
And for some reason, I keep thinking about being 16.

Sixteen — that strange, electric age when everything feels like it’s just beginning.
When you know nothing, but feel everything.

I remember thinking:
“I’m 16, and I don’t know a damn thing.”
It wasn’t defeatist. It was honest.
A quiet admission of being wide-eyed and unfinished.

Remember that movie — the one where the teenage girl wakes up at 30, stunned by the life she’s living?
Some dream-stitched version of adulthood where everything she ever hoped for came true?

Yeah. That’s not my story.

Because at 16, I didn’t dream of this.
Not because it isn’t beautiful — but because I didn’t even know it was possible.

Back then, I dreamed simply:
Of kissing a girl.
Of living near the sea.
Of finding something — someone — that made life feel real.

And when it came to the future?
My plans changed weekly. Architect. Actress. Detective. Psychologist.
I was everything and nothing. And in a way, I still am.

I still want it all.
How do you choose just one path when the whole world calls your name?

Sometimes I tell myself: maybe there are more lives waiting.
Maybe in another lifetime, I’ll choose one thing and do it fully.
But in this one?
I want to touch everything. Taste everything.
Be everything.

And now that I’ve crossed this threshold — 30 — I realize just how far I’ve come.

At 16, I never imagined I'd live in so many countries.
That I’d make friends on trains, in hostels, in classrooms lit by fading European light.
That I’d fall in love with women whose eyes held galaxies — and break open from it, too.
That I’d sit in cafés speaking Italian over cacio e pepe and feel… proud.

I never imagined that love could both shatter and shape me.
Or that every heartbreak could become a lesson in resilience.
I didn’t expect to grow into someone who lives, and loves, this fiercely.

But I wouldn’t change it.
Not the mess. Not the ache. Not the detours.
They built me.

And if I could go back, just for a moment, and whisper to that 16-year-old girl —
I’d tell her:

“You’ll live in Milan.”
“You’ll graduate from one of the top design and engineering schools in the world.”
“You’ll live your art — not just dream of it.”
“You’ll speak new languages. You’ll dance barefoot in foreign fields. You’ll fall in love — wildly, inconveniently, beautifully.”

And you’ll survive it all.

Politecnico was my biggest dream.
And I did it.
Me — the girl who once only dared to imagine it.
Now living it.

Living in Italy was magic.
But calling Copenhagen home — that’s what grounds me.
That’s the quiet joy, the steady pride.

Yes, I love my life.
With all its chaos, with all its questions. It’s mine. It’s real.

A month ago, I turned 30.
But I was buried under exams, swallowed by doubt.
I forgot to celebrate myself.
I forgot to be grateful.
I forgot to say:
“Look at this. Look at you. You made it.”

But today, I remember.

I remember how impossible all of this once felt.
How faraway and untouchable it seemed from that teenage bedroom.
And I remember that we’re so quick to chase what’s next —
We forget to honor the now.

So, I’m getting two tattoos.

One will say:
“Memento Mori.”
Because I need the reminder:
Life ends. So live it.

The other will say:
“Live Passionately.”
Because that’s the fire in me.
That’s my compass. My signature.

I live deeply. I love loudly. I create, constantly.

Just last night, I had my first full date in Italian — hours of language, of laughter.
And it exhausted me.
But I walked home glowing.
Because I was proud.

Soon, exams will come.
Then Umbria — a beautiful event.
Then summer.
Berlin. Psytrance. Work in Copenhagen.
Back to Milan.
Then: my final thesis. On how design — color, shape, texture — can transform how we think and behave.

After that? Who knows.

Maybe freelance life.
Maybe surf camp in Portugal.
Maybe DJing.
Maybe building something entirely my own.

Because life is chaos and beauty and heartbreak and wonder — and I want all of it.

I say this with gratitude, but also with caution.

Because my 20s? They were… wild.
So much proving.
So much time spent in the wrong places.
Especially in relationships that asked me to shrink.

So, if anyone in their 20s asks me for advice, it’s this:

Do not waste time in love that asks you to dim your light.
Don’t stay where your dreams feel inconvenient.
Don’t apologize for being too much.
Don’t fold yourself into smaller shapes just to be held.

Because love should be a shelter — not a prison.

And freedom?
It’s non-negotiable.

I tried to want less.
To need less.
To be easier to love.
And in doing so, I lost myself.

But your fire — it will always find a way out.
So let it.

Because the right ones won’t fear your fire.
They’ll sit beside it.
They’ll warm their hands by it.
They’ll protect it with their own.

And when you doubt yourself — because you will —
Remember who you were at 16.

That girl, she’d look at you now and say:

“You did it. And you didn’t just survive — you lived.”
“You burned. You bloomed. You dared.”

And she’d be so, so proud.