jun is… a quiet kind of gravity. not obvious, not loud, but impossible to ignore once you notice it. there’s an effortless depth to him, a sense that he’s always observing, always aware of the subtle currents around him. he has a way of making ordinary moments feel charged with possibility, and the more i see him in those moments, the more i feel drawn to understand the layers beneath. he is patient, thoughtful, and a little unpredictable, the sort of person who stays with you even when you try to let go. i think there’s something in him that challenges me and comforts me all at once, and that combination is quietly magnetic.

i once accidentally locked myself in a public bathroom during a crowded festival and had to call for help from a stranger while people queued outside, unaware of my predicament. they were polite, a little amused, and i was drenched in humiliation. i laughed, but only after the fact, and it’s a memory that resurfaces whenever i need a reminder not to take myself too seriously.

wine, whiskey, gin, or even a smoky mezcal depending on the night and the mood. coffee is my morning ritual, grounding me in its strength, while tea in the evening is a quiet exhale. i think of it as savoring the little rituals of life, and sometimes i imagine the way a simple drink can be a bridge between two people, or a conversation without words.

dogs, rabbits, foxes, swans. without a doubt. dogs for their warmth and loyalty, rabbits for their quiet curiosity, foxes for their sly charm, and swans for their elegance and grace. i’ve always been drawn to animals that feel gentle but clever.

i adore italian food. creamy risottos, rich tiramisu, freshly baked bread… i love the way italian cuisine feels indulgent but comforting, like a hug on a plate. and i can't forget about french pastries. delicate and precise. croissants that flake perfectly, tarte tatin that’s sticky-sweet with caramelized elegance. i love the kind of food that makes you pause and savor.

i’ve been holding a sentiment for "lightning" by dean koontz. it’s the kind of story that lingers in your mind long after the last page, the tension pulsing like a slow heartbeat. the way the ordinary and extraordinary collide, the quiet suspense, and the moments of humanity tucked into chaos—they all feel like little sparks illuminating dark corners. i often find myself revisiting it, not for the plot alone, but to feel the pulse of that careful, deliberate storytelling and the thrill of noticing what others might overlook.

moulin rouge! every scene is a riot of color, heartbreak, and longing. satine’s every glance feels like it holds a secret, and i love the tension between chaos and beauty. no matter how many times i watch it, i always notice a tiny gesture or a note of music i’d missed before, and it feels like i’m discovering it for the first time all over again.

peonies, hydrangeas, and tulips. pressed blooms tucked into notebooks or hair clips are my little treasures, tiny fragments of beauty i carry with me through the day.

i suppose it’s when people dismiss what’s subtle, quiet, or understated—whether it’s art, a gesture, or someone’s feelings. it’s not so much rudeness as thoughtlessness, the kind that misses the delicate, hidden beauty in small things. i notice it because i cherish those subtleties, and when they’re ignored, it feels almost like a little betrayal of attention.