To look at the earth not only as rock, soil and border lines, but through its memory, its consciousness and the silent bond it weaves with us… This piece shares the backstage of that inner journey in The Geography of Truth that leads from geography to the human being.

While writing What Remains Within, I realised that my heaviest burden wasn’t what I had lived through, but what I never said. This piece is a small confession about how suppressed emotions piled up in my “I’ll look at it later” folders and what changed in me when I dared to open that silent archive.

I did not write The Geography of Truth as a travel guide, but as an inner journey in an age of endless maps and lost direction. This piece reads places as mirrors of the inner life and asks what happens to truth when our bond with the earth grows thin.

I didn’t start this book with an idea, but with a pain lodged in the middle of my chest. What Remains Within is less a project and more the open file of everything I never managed to say to myself.

Every book has a cover, and an inner cover no one sees. Paths to Myself was born not from a clever idea but from a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding. This piece tells the story of crashing into yourself while trying to run away, naming the wound that started this book, and what it means to stop escaping even if you can’t find the perfect path.

Saying “love yourself” is easy – but how do you look at yourself when you’re tired, messy and full of regret? This essay goes beyond the cliché slogan and tells a self-love story that feels like coming home, where compassion becomes the first real step.

Since childhood we were told to “be good,” but no one taught us what to do with our jealousy, anger and shame. This piece explores shadow work as a courageous way to face your own darkness and let it become a doorway to genuine self-discovery.

When you play the “I’m fine” role for years and keep swallowing your feelings, you slowly turn into a shadow applauded on stage but exhausted inside. This essay from the heart of Paths to Myself tells the quiet story of the healing that begins when you stop acting and finally allow yourself to feel.

We often confuse being alone with being lonely. This essay from the heart of Paths to Myself explores what it means to sit with yourself without turning loneliness into a punishment, and how being alone can become a quiet doorway back to your own life.

The morning you can no longer recognise yourself… The moment you lock eyes with a stranger in your own life. This piece is an inner confession from the heart of Paths to Myself, reading the feeling of being lost not as a defect but as your soul’s invitation whispering, “Come on, let’s go back to yourself.”

When Lines of the Void ended, nothing really ended. This piece goes behind the scenes of my writing journey, the distance between faith and doubt, and how each book becomes a different face of the same wound; it looks honestly at what it means not to fight doubt, but to make peace with it.

Silence is not always peace; sometimes it is where long-postponed emotions finally knock at the door. This piece questions, in an honest tone, what it means to speak without words, to face the inner voice, and how meditation and mindfulness relate to this—reimagining silence not as an escape, but as a space of returning to yourself.

The inner journey rarely begins by candlelight; it usually starts with the feeling that life is collapsing from within. This piece looks honestly, without romanticising, at the question “Am I in an existential crisis or on the verge of a spiritual awakening?” and traces the thin line between depression, loss of meaning and a deeper spiritual search.

The modern human’s relationship with money and time is no longer just about planning; it has become an invisible form of worship. This piece is an inner monologue that invites us to dethrone money, time and success, and to face the quiet exhaustion of being trapped between them.

I wrote Lines of the Void not from an idea, but from a crack that opened inside me. Everything seemed full, yet I felt a deep inner emptiness. This piece is a personal confession, from the “never enough” fullness of modern life to the moment of stopping running from yourself while living through symbols.