When people say they are too much in their heads and describe the narratives they have with themselves, I do recognise that on some level. But it is not the same for me. Thoughts jump front and centre, interesting ones and less interesting ones. And when I want to engage, the thought is gone before I can even complete it, because another one jumps on stage in rapid succession. But those thoughts are not really gone; they still hold space inside my head, making it feel too full. They create a chaos that cannot move or flow freely, like too many fish in too small a fish tank.

It's all storytelling. That line hit home and resonated deeply with the idea that I am the architect of my life. I may have no influence over what people think or do, or when things happen to me, but I can decide how to react—how I want to cope with it. What decisions do I want to make, and why? What story do I want to tell about myself?

Blood, blood seems to intrigue us humans. Not only is it vital to life, but this substance carries a magical essence that binds us to each other. It connects us on a deeper level beyond the technicalities of legal rights and the necessity to survive. It links our souls, our minds, our love for each other. This connection, especially that of immediate family, is sacred.

When I was at their concerts, I felt truly free, able to be myself, and happy. When I wrote to him, I felt safe, a sense of kinship, and when he thanked me for my letters, I felt seen. So I poured my heart out. It may sound silly, but Robert and The Radios were my lifeline in those days.