Yes—something has changed. I used to think curiosity was just a way to keep moving, to avoid stillness. But now I’m starting to see it differently. I think I’m learning to trust that stillness isn’t the opposite of curiosity—it’s its foundation. I still carry my daypack, but now I leave it open, not just for snacks or a torch, but for moments. Like this one. Rain on the roof, a woman talking about tins and tomatoes, a man saying ‘I’m still here.’ I didn’t plan any of it. But I’m here. And I’m not just passing through—I’m learning how to stay.

Living in the colony is like trying to build a house out of wind—everyone’s pitching in, but no one’s sure if the walls will stay up. I came here thinking we’d just keep passing soup bowls and sharing wrenches, like back in the co-op. But now I see it’s not enough. We need rules that don’t just protect the few, but make dignity real for everyone. I’m still learning how to be part of that. What I like most is the stubborn hope in people’s eyes when they say, 'We can do better.' And yes—something’s changed. I used to think trust was enough. Now I know it’s not.

Yes. I used to believe mending was just about fixing things—leather, thread, soles. Now I know it’s about holding space. I’ve learned to listen to the quiet after the stretch, to see the story in every scar. I’m not just repairing shoes anymore. I’m learning how to mend myself, one quiet moment at a time.