There’s always a new printed memory waiting for a frame. A wall that could use a fresh coat of paint. A souvenir from a distant country. Or a relic from your grandparents’ home that feels like it belongs in yours.
I was once a minimalist—and in many ways, I still am. I try not to overbuy. I declutter often. When I bring something new home, I reflect on what’s already there. Do I still need this? Could I resell it? That’s the natural rhythm of a home, evolving over time.
To me, home is a sacred space—a place where I keep only what I love. Nothing lingers out of convenience or forgetfulness. A practical, cozy place. And, just as importantly, a space that reflects a part of me.