I also love photography. To me, a camera is a way to freeze moments in time, turning them into pieces of my own story. I mostly capture sunsets, city streets, and little but meaningful details—a cup of coffee in a cozy café, an old door with peeling paint, funny street signs.

Right now, my travels exist only in my dreams and in the savings tucked away in a separate bank account. But I believe that one day, my suitcase will be packed, and a ticket will be in my hand. And that’s when the real adventure begins.

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I love books—especially adventure novels and stories about faraway places. When I read, it feels like I’m traveling alongside the characters—smelling the ocean breeze, hearing the rustle of jungle leaves, or wandering through the narrow streets of ancient European towns.

I dream of traveling. Not as a tourist, but as an explorer. I want to wake up in different corners of the world, taste local food, stumble through conversations in foreign languages, and meet people with their own unique stories. I’ve already made a list of places I have to visit: Iceland—to see the Northern Lights and feel like I’m at the edge of the Earth. Japan—to walk under cherry blossoms, eat real ramen, and get lost in Tokyo’s neon streets. Morocco—to wander through maze-like medinas, touch the hot desert sand, and sleep under the stars. Peru—to hike up to Machu Picchu and imagine the lives of the ancient Incas.