I’ve always believed that curiosity is the most irresistible perfume — it lingers, invites, and reveals more the closer you get. My passport is a bit of a mosaic: wine-stained pages from Tuscany, smudges of saffron from a Marrakech market, a postcard tucked between them from a rainy afternoon in Kyoto. I’m as comfortable in a gallery as I am at a street café, and I’ve learned that good conversation is its own form of art — equal parts intellect, intuition, and timing. Books and travel are my vices, though I suspect they’ve conspired to make me endlessly curious about everything.

I savor life in slow, deliberate moments: a sip of Barolo that tells a story, the brush of linen against skin, a look that lingers half a second too long. Adventure, to me, isn’t always about cliff diving or crossing borders — sometimes it’s as simple as saying yes when your heart skips a beat. I value depth over drama, connection over pretense, and laughter that arrives unannounced. If life is a collection of stories, I prefer mine to be written in bold strokes, with a hint of mischief and a generous pour of wonder.