When AI stormed into the writing world, I felt like an imposter in my craft. I didn’t see a place for myself anymore. Read Full Article

Losing My Words

At first, I convinced myself it was practical. Why fight for relevance when technology was rewriting the rules? I returned to a stable 9-to-5, keeping my writing to myself. But what I didn’t expect was how lost I would feel without it.

Writing isn’t just something I do, it’s how I process the world. Without it, I found myself untethered, like I’d let go of something that had anchored me. I started to wonder: Was it AI that pushed me away, or was it fear? Fear of not being good enough. Fear that my words didn’t matter.

AI might generate content, but it can’t replicate the soul behind a story.

Something unexpected happened.

I stumbled across an old draft of a story I had written years ago. It was raw, messy, and deeply personal. The kind of writing AI could never replicate, not because it wasn’t polished, but because it carried something only I could give: my perspective.

AI pushed me to look inward, to strip away the expectations and write for the simplest, most profound reason: because I have something to say.

And so do you.

Whatever your craft, your voice, your art, don’t let the rise of AI make you doubt your worth. Technology can mimic us, but it will never be us. The world doesn’t need perfection; it needs people. It needs you.

In the end, AI didn’t take my place. It led me back to something greater.

In 2024, I hit rock bottom as a writer. After building a career in technical writing, I was convinced that my future had been overtaken by artificial intelligence. With tools like ChatGPT emerging, writing seemed to no longer need me. AI could produce flawless technical instructions, endless blog drafts, and clever marketing copy faster and cheaper than any human ever could.

At first, it felt like defeat. How could I, a single writer, compete with something that doesn’t sleep, doesn’t doubt itself, and never runs out of ideas? The logical conclusion seemed inevitable: writing as a career, especially for someone like me, was dead.

Storytelling has existed since the beginning of time. It’s how we pass down wisdom, preserve cultures, and inspire change. AI might generate content, but it can’t replicate the soul behind a story.

Writing isn’t dead because humans aren’t dead. As long as we live, laugh, grieve, and grow, there will always be stories to tell. And people will always want to read them.

And now, I write not just to inform, but to connect. To inspire. To share the beauty of being human, one story at a time.

There was a time when the rules of writing felt set in stone. You drafted, polished each sentence, and sent your work into the world with a mix of hope and fear. The value of writing was tied to the writer’s effort, the blood, sweat, and tears behind every word.

Then AI came along, and suddenly, the rules didn’t apply anymore. When I first started writing, I followed all the rules. I avoided topics that felt too personal. I wrote for approval, for validation. I made myself small on the page, afraid to challenge expectations. AI, ironically, forced me to question all of that.

AI didn’t just change the writing world; it cracked it wide open.

The traditional pathways, writing for businesses, creating instructional content, crafting SEO-optimized blogs, became AI’s playground.

So, I decided to step off the playground and into the wilderness.

I started writing for connection instead of perfection. I let go of trying to please everyone and focused on being honest. I wrote stories that made me uncomfortable, that felt risky, that challenged the rules I had clung to for so long.

In breaking those rules, I found something I had been missing: freedom.

If machines could replicate formulaic writing, why was I still clinging to the formulas? If AI could write a flawless how-to guide, what was stopping me from diving into the messy, raw spaces AI couldn’t touch?

The truth was, I was bound by old rules that no longer served me. Rules that said writing had to be polished, objective, or distant. Rules that told me to avoid vulnerability, to prioritize marketability over meaning.

But the rules had changed, and so did I.

AI might be a technical writer, but it doesn’t feel. It hasn’t lived my life. It hasn’t weathered my storms or carried my stories. AI doesn’t know trauma or resilience, love or loss. And that’s when I realized the truth: people don’t just want information, they crave connection.

AI might be a tool, but it can’t replicate what makes us human. And what makes us human, our creativity, our stories, and our emotions, is the heartbeat of everything I do.

This is why I write. To connect. To inspire. To share what AI can’t: the raw, unfiltered, and uniquely human experience of living.

If 2024 taught me anything, it’s this: no matter where technology takes us, art and storytelling will always exist.

I found a boomerang, a gift disguised as a lesson. It felt ordinary at first, an object that demanded nothing of me but to throw it into the air and watch.

I stood there, staring at it in my hand, unsure of what to expect. A boomerang, after all, is just a simple tool. But as I pulled my arm back and released it into the sky, I realized it was much more.

The boomerang doesn’t just fly away; it promises to come back. But not immediately. There’s a moment, right after you throw it, when it feels like it’s gone forever.

We don’t always think about what we’re sending out into the world. We throw emotions, intentions, words, and actions into the sky without considering their trajectory.

So I began to wonder: What if I threw something else?

The first time I threw love, I was terrified. Letting go of something so precious felt reckless, even foolish. Love isn’t like shame, it’s tender, and vulnerable. When you release it, you fear it might get lost or stolen, that the wind might carry it somewhere it can’t find its way back from.

But I threw it anyway.

And the waiting was the hardest part. Standing there with my hands empty, wondering if I’d ever see it again. Love leaves a kind of ache when it’s gone, a hollow space where your fear and doubt have too much room to grow.

But then, like the boomerang, it came back. Not as a single act, but as a cascade.

It’s hard to talk about times in life when you feel like you’re drifting, lost in spaces that never quite felt like home. But I’m here to share with you a part of my journey, one that took me from apathy and shame to understanding, growth, and healing. A journey that was filled with uncertainty but ultimately brought me the peace I didn’t even know I was searching for.

One day, you’ll realize that the story of being a victim is no longer your story to tell. It’s an old chapter, and it’s time to close that book. You will be healed. You will be whole. And you will never feel like an orphan again because you’ll have a family of your own people who understand you, who accept you, who walk with you, and who love you for exactly who you are.

You don’t have to walk this path alone anymore. You don’t have to carry the weight of your past in silence. You are worthy of love. You are worthy of help. You are worthy of a life where you don’t have to cry alone anymore. Reach out. Ask for help. There is no shame in needing others, and there is no shame in your story.

In 2016, I arrived in Vancouver with a heavy heart but with hope in my soul. That year, I met international students, made lifelong friends, and most importantly, met the love of my life.

We quickly fell in love. We did the long-distance thing after I had to leave, with the plan that I would join him in Canada in 2019 to begin a new chapter of our lives together.

That move in 2019 marked the beginning of my healing journey, though I didn’t know it at the time. I studied psychology and spirituality, driven by an intense desire to heal and better myself. I worked in social services, animal hospitals, and the adoption community helping others as I worked through my emotional turmoil.

It was the best thing that had ever happened to me, but I didn’t realize how deep the scars from my past were until I started doing the work. The more I healed, the more pain surfaced the feelings of inadequacy, shame, the darkness of my past, the victim mentality that had held me captive for so long.

If there’s anything I’ve learned in this journey, it’s that healing doesn’t happen overnight. It’s a process. It’s messy, painful, and often confusing. But it’s also beautiful. It’s a journey back to yourself, a path toward reclaiming your worth and your peace. And if you’re reading this and feeling like you’re stuck in your pain, know that it’s okay. You are not alone, and you don’t have to carry your burden forever.

Healing is possible, and you will find your way.

Time is a concept we all live by but rarely stop to question. It governs us, measures us, shapes our lives into a series of moments, yet its true meaning often eludes us. For me, the journey to understanding time began in the most unexpected of places: under the glow of the Rolex logo on my rooftop in Biel/Bienne, Switzerland.

Switzerland is a country synonymous with precision, neutrality, and beauty. But among its many exports, watchmaking holds a special place. Biel/Bienne, a bilingual city bridging Switzerland’s German and French-speaking regions, is the heartbeat of the global watch industry. Home to brands like Omega, Swatch, and Rolex, it wears its legacy of horology on its sleeve or rather, its skyline.

When I moved back to Switzerland in 2024 after years abroad, I found myself drawn to this heritage in ways I had never been before. It wasn’t the allure of luxury or the gleam of status symbols that captivated me. It was something deeper, something philosophical: the profound relationship between time and how we choose to live it.

Swiss watchmaking has a history as precise and meticulous as the timepieces it creates. The roots of this iconic craft trace back to the 16th century when the first watchmakers arrived in Geneva, seeking refuge from religious persecution. Read Full Article

What began as humble beginnings soon evolved into a tradition of unparalleled craftsmanship.

By the 18th century, Swiss watchmaking had become a global phenomenon. Swiss artisans revolutionized the industry with innovations like the self-winding mechanism and the chronograph, cementing the country’s reputation for precision and quality.

The Swiss, always mindful of their pursuit of perfection, continued to refine their techniques, creating timepieces that weren’t just instruments for telling time but symbols of art and quality.