I was walking around Els Encants - a flea market in Barcelona, and found some old photos of strangers in a small box. Look at these happy-looking people:

They caught my eye immediately, and to my surprise, someone wrote comments on the back. I felt like I found someone else’s treasure. I learned that they all belonged to the same woman, Montserrat, and the text was written by someone else. By someone who loved her: 

Translation from Catalan:

Top picture: “This was taken when your shoes were still clean. What a way to show them off.”  Bottom picture: “So elegant, even clichés were scared of you.”

I stared at the tiny pictures, took the time to appreciate them, as if I was putting together a puzzle of someone’s life. I felt like a character from Amélie, collecting pictures of strangers, forgotten yet full of life. 

Some days later, I found a photobooth and took some pictures of myself. Who knows, maybe one day a girl in her 20s will see them in a flea market in the future. What I know for sure, is that I owe it to myself to experience wonderful things, and have great stories to share. 

Remembering that time goes by incredibly fast (how is it March already???) motivates me to go for it (whatever ‘it’ may mean at the moment).

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What is something that your 80 year-old self would be excited to share? What epic memories would you like to create? 

Sending love wherever you are

❤️

Ines

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From my heart to yours:

I wrote this poem as fast as I could some months ago, in hopes to shake off a feeling. A feeling of needing constant validation for my work, my worth and my choices.

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It’s a reminder that life is short, so I might as well enjoy the ride. Give myself the chance to at least try to follow my dreams. I owe it to myself and no one else.

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Sending love wherever you are,

Inés

❤️

Since I spoke Spanish at home, it has always been my go-to language. This means that when I would socialize as a teenager, I would introduce myself in Spanish and the conversation naturally flowed in that language. After being abroad for a while, I noticed that I was not speaking catalan with anyone, so at the slight chance of doing so I would. However, I noticed there is a non-spoken rule that people seem to follow: if we are both bilingual, the language that is first spoken is the language that rules the relationship. That’s why I have friends with whom I speak one language or the other.

I was fascinated to hear a true bilingual conversation in the metro last week. I was so happy I had to interrupt it after a while:

“Excuse me, I just wanted to say that it makes me so happy to hear one of you speaking Catalan and the other one speaking Spanish because… I think it is the first time I have witnessed this level of bilingual exchange.” They both smiled.

I asked them about it. They explained: “we never talked about this, it just happened this way so we went with it. It allows us to express ourselves the way we feel most comfortable knowing full well that the other one will understand.”

Isn’t that what we should all aim for? I am not suggesting you to run to language schools and learn Catalan and Spanish (or maybe I am), what I mean is that we may not express ourselves in the same way, yet we should make an effort to understand the other person. Sometimes I felt like I was talking to someone in the same language, yet I did poorly at trying to understand what the other person was feeling, expressing or needing. Or the other person did poorly, none of us are perfect here.

Maybe we can learn from these kind women in the metro. Allow each other to express ourselves in our most authentic way. Celebrate the differences instead of shutting them down. Building bridges with our words.

Sending love wherever you are

Ines Jima

If you are lucky, you will have at least one friend who passes the test of time and distance.

I call those people “root friends”. These are people that have been there for a long time, that have seen several versions of you. They saw you go through key milestones, they held you in the valleys of life, danced away sorrows, and celebrated your wins as if they were theirs (and maybe even got high with you).

I consider myself lucky to have two root friends in this life. These girls can hold up a mirror through stories (thanks to their elephant-like memory).

It is through the memories we shared that I can remember versions of me 12, 15 and even 20 years ago.

There is a thick layer of love that covers those years, even if at times we were not so close. It doesn’t matter, a root will always sustain you even when you can’t see it.

Stable and present, despite the winds and thunder of the ruthless passing of time.

Photo albums

Life is full of interesting twists and turns, and it turns out my two root friends had the exact same dream in life: to live in Australia. Those Aussies are lucky to have them… Meanwhile, we enjoyed their visit during Christmas back in Barcelona.

I had a fair share of moments with them over the holidays; browsing through old pictures with them unlocked a new feeling inside of me.

Photo albums touch a very soft spot for me. Seeing my friends as babies, and as young girls, makes me want to hold their inner child close to my heart.

Conversations about the passing of time give life a new color.

Sobremesa

I found myself having dinner with my two root friends, in a place I practically grew up in.

My oldest friend’s home, where we used to play, and laugh, and eat great homemade food, where the radio was on and the air was filled with sweet music.

Suddenly we are all there: my two friends, my friend’s parents, her brother, and me. All of us slowly collecting grey hairs (mostly me).

Six people doing what Mediterraneans do best: talk a great deal after a nice meal. We even have a word for it: ‘sobremesa’.

Let me tell you about this specific sobremesa of ours, because it felt like we were opening a box full of memories while adding a new one to the pile.

The conversation went places: from asking us what our professional aspirations are, to reinventing ourselves, to how weird it is to be a young adult and using dating apps, to how our relatives were doing. I mentioned that I like to write down all the stories my grandma shares with me, the dramatic and the joyful and everything in between.

Despite my friend’s father probably disagreeing with me, he said one of the most poetic things I have heard in a spontaneous conversation in a while. He was reflecting on a question I posed to my grandmother: “tell me about your happiest moments in life.”

What he said stuck with me:

“If I had to reply to this question, it would be rather difficult: happiness lives in the quiet moments of everyday life. For me, it would be to sit in a sunny spot during the winter and feel my cheeks getting slightly warm on a winter day, or to smell the crisp winter air.”

What was interesting later is that he dismissed those as answers to the big question of ‘what would be your happiest moments in life’, and mentioned the day my friend was born, for instance. We all laughed at the interaction she had with his younger brother, it was sweet.

The small things

While I do not have the experience of becoming a parent, I see what he means.

I also see how those quiet moments, those small ordinary life scenes, are the backbone of happiness. These moments might not get a specific picture in our box of memories to pull out while discussing ‘the happiest moments in life’, but they are the strings of the very fabric of a great life.

May we pay attention to those pockets of joy that slip into our days. May we understand that a happy moment does not need to be too loud, or shiny, intense, or Instagram-worthy.

May those moments multiply for you!

Sending love wherever you are

❤️

Ines Jima

As a Capricorn woman, I do love a plan (sometimes a bit too much).

Of course, I made a whole plan for my birthday: going to a lovely amusement park with a great view of Barcelona with my friends.

Let me show you the great view of Barcelona on my birthday:

I won’t lie, I was a bit frustrated: I usually don’t enjoy it when things don’t go the way I planned them.

But this time I told myself to laugh it out. I was not going to let things outside of my control determine my mood on my birthday.

I made a decision to relax and go with the flow. It did not make sense to stay up there, so I let my friends guide me… And that was the best thing that could have happened.

❤️

Feeling very grateful to have spent my birthday enjoying quality time with my friends, taking Polaroid pictures, eating great food, talking for hours, laughing…

We ended up in a “Paradox Museum,” where our senses were constantly deceived in such a fun way!

To end the day, we went to a rooftop in a beautiful hotel and got to see Barcelona’s skyline at night.

None of that was planned, and yet I had such an incredible time. I wanted to play, laugh, and see a great view of Barcelona… that’s why I picked the amusement park in the first place.

Interestingly, my day ended up being playful, I laughed a lot, and I did see a great view of Barcelona. Eventually I did get what I wanted. It was just different from my plan, from how I envisioned things.

My 27th birthday started with a beautiful lesson:

focus on how you want to feel & let go of how it is supposed to look. Make space for life to surprise you.

My birthday happens when it’s vision board season; it’s the time when people like to set goals, create plans, and make wishes.

All of that is great. It is important to know what you really want and take action towards that.

However, it seems equally important to practice detachment from how your vision is supposed to unfold.

I understood that if I get stuck on my plan, and my plan only, I might be closing the window for life’s magic winds to come in.

I hope we have the courage to open our windows wide and get crystal clear on how we want to feel.

Sending love wherever you are.

❤️

Inés Jima

I am sure I’m not the only one noticing how TikTok, Instagram and Substack are flooded with content about how to make your 2026 more analogue. I find it both ironic and relieving.

This post by Rebecca McMillan hit me:

 “It feels sometimes as though the greatest years of my life are slipping away and I have little to hold from them. By the end of 2026, I want that changed. I want a glorious pile of disorganized memories: a physical evidence file of a life well-lived.” 

Yes.

Yes, we should make it mainstream to send letters to each other, to take pictures and print them, to sit quietly flipping through beautiful magazines, and to listen to an album without distractions. Taking the time to savor what we are consuming, instead of just devouring it.

May we fall in love with projects that take longer to complete, making peace with a slower pace.

This newsletter is to share a passion project of mine that hopefully will inspire you to collect moments, stories and feelings in a visual way.

I’m talking about making a personal magazine.

This is how I did mine:

1. I chose Canva to develop the project because it makes it easy to format a magazine and print it.

2. Each month, I would pick 5 to 10 pictures from my camera roll.

3. In mid December, I put on my Spotify 2025 Wrapped playlist and edited all the pictures.

4. Hit print and patiently wait for delivery (currently at this stage).

5. I left some blank spots to write quotes by hand.

Here are some of my favorite pages:

My intention is to keep making these magazines over the years, and to slowly make them completely analogue: from taking pictures with an analogue camera, to collaging my way through the pages, adding receipts and concert tickets, sewing it all together. Scrap booking vibes, if you know, you know.

I am so happy I did this project because I realized that I’m not so good at keeping track of my pictures over the years. I changed phones, one of them got stolen…

Suddenly I have to go back to my Instagram (or Facebook!!) archive to relive some memories. But we are leaving that behind in 2025!

I want to reclaim my memories.

I want to reclaim my time.

I want to create more than what I consume.

And I wish the same for you!

Sending love wherever you are

❤️

Inés Jima

“I can’t do this anymore — even if I don’t know what’s next.”

I feel like this quote sums up my 2025. According to the Chinese Zodiac, we were in the year of the Snake.

Did you know that the Chinese Zodiac is a 12-year cycle, with each year represented by an animal? It’s been used for over 2,000 years in Chinese culture to understand time, personality, cycles of life, and collective themes.

The Snake: a teacher of letting go

The snake cannot grow without shedding its old skin. What once protected it eventually becomes too tight.

What once was home suddenly feels suffocating.

• 2025 was the year I lost two jobs. To be fair, I did not enjoy them, but I was using the little money I made and the free time I had to build a business (running painting workshops).

• 2025 was the year I tried hard to build a business and got burned out instead.

• 2025 was the year I let go of a relationship that I thought would never end.

• 2025 was the year I moved back to my parents’ place after 9 years abroad, completely lost.

When snakes shed their skin, it takes a while. The snake is quite vulnerable in this moment, as its skin is new and thin.

What you will never see is how the snake holds on to the old skin.

Shedding my skin this year was a lot to process. A lot of grief, frustration, anger and fear. For sure, I feel vulnerable, but I trust my skin will get thicker over time. I am making efforts to not hold on to my old skin, no matter how painful it is not to have it anymore.

Pain & Relief

Letting go has two sides: the pain of grief and the relief of no longer having something weighing you down.

Sometimes the second part can only be discovered afterwards. You know that silver linings become clear in hindsight.

There are plenty of stories out there of people getting fired to start acting on their dreams and succeeding. My favorite one is Doechii’s video back in 2020 titled:

Only 5 years later she was winning the Grammy for Best Rap album.

She adopted the mindset that when you have nothing to lose, chase your dreams. It never fails to inspire me.

Endings are beginnings

Here’s a fact: letting go creates a void.

Whether it’s life taking things away from you, or you taking decisions to walk away, there are opportunities waiting for us to find them.

A void equals endless possibility.

“I don’t have anything set in stone, which means everything can happen.” A wise friend told me after coming back from Australia for Christmas.

When we run straight into the arms of the unknown, with our new skin (and maybe some scars), our task is to stay open.

How, you ask? You might want to take a look at this great piece by Erifili Gounari showing us how to:

“intentionally increase the surface area for luck and serendipity to occur.”

Whatever chapters 2026 has in store for you, you get to bring in curiosity and creativity.

✨What I hope for you and for me is to take actions towards whatever it is we desire.✨

Sending you love wherever you are

❤️

Inés Jima

“Journaling is like whispering to one’s self and listening at the same time.” — Mina Murray

I journal almost every day since I went on the transformative journey of The Artist’s Way in April 2024. In this journey, you are asked to write three pages on paper first thing in the morning. The idea is to write whatever comes to mind. So I did, and I never stopped.

The Facts

If my journal had a 2025 Wrapped, it would say things like:

✍️ You spent around 9,000 minutes journaling (almost a full week of nonstop journaling).

📖 You wrote around 900 pages!

🍃You belong to the free spirit club, since your writing is mostly freewriting.

Here’s the catch

Every 3 months I read everything I wrote.

It’s somehow the cleanest mirror of the soul I have found. It’s like a unique academy where I get to study myself (which is useful because I don’t understand myself all the time).

In this analysis of my stream of consciousness, I get highlighters of different colors to collect:

🎂Small wins (I think it is very important)

⚠️ Intentions I didn’t act on (oops)

💬 Quotes that resonated

There is nowhere to hide. If I felt something, it’s there. If I am procrastinating, there it is. (This is how I know I have been wanting to send poems out to get published since December 2024.)

Reading everything I have written is confronting, and painful at times. But I find it quite funny most of the time.

Most of the things that worry me end up getting solved. I can say journaling made me a calmer person, and helped me trust more in the timing of life.

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I would like to share some quotes that resonated with me in 2025, together with some song recommendations, because life is too short not to share songs.

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On (my) philosophy of life:

“Authenticity is not an easy path, but it is the shortest one to happiness.”

“If my life was a book and someone was reading it for the second time, what would they be thinking right now?”

“What one believes, one becomes, and I choose to believe in magic.”

🎶 Song: Adventures in Success — Will Powers

On (the passing of) time:

“I want to shake off hurry the way a dog shakes water off its fur.”

“Caress the present moment like a little puppy you know will grow up very fast.”

“I’m tired, scrolled on my phone until 2 a.m. vibe. I forgive myself.”

🎶 Song: This Must Be the Place — Talking Heads

On gratitude:

“How lucky am I to hear birds sing. How lucky to be able to walk to places. How lucky to have kept writing after months, and how lucky to see that many things I wished for came true before my eyes. How lucky to have a body that supports me through so many crazy ideas I come up with.”

“Walking with a good friend who notices the details of life, she realized a car passed by with this license plate that literally said this:

“I am lucky to have hands and fingers to create, eyes to see the beauty that undoubtedly surrounds me and lives within me. How lucky to have had a bad boss so I never become anything like him. How lucky to have friends who return the letters I wrote to them.”

🎶 Song: Blessed — Wizkid

On art:

“The artist's job is not to succumb to despair but to find an antidote for the emptiness of existence.” — Midnight in Paris

“Writing is not that complicated. You just have to do it a lot. Do it with love. With truth. That’s it.”

While writing poems for strangers: “I collected many magical moments in which I felt time was suspended.”

🎶 Song: Omeñiso — Ignacio María Gómez

On politics:

“Many hours have passed watching videos I don’t even remember, losing time that will never return while filling pockets that are not mine. At least when I am working, I offer time in exchange for money. With this generalized addiction to social media, I lose time and give money to companies that study how to make yet more money off my attention. Maybe it’s time to leave the phone in a drawer for a few hours a day.”

“When the world seems consumed by darkness and bitterness, we must counteract it with tenderness. When politicians impose restrictions, let solidarity rule the streets.”

“We need narratives of hope. Doom sells a lot, but we cannot surrender to a collective lack of hope.”

Song: Shameful Game — Pale Jay

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If you haven’t yet, give journaling a try. Do it for the plot. Just for the fun of being completely free for a while… unsupervised freedom in the shape of a pen, in the realm of endless possibility that a piece of paper can offer.

I hope you find inspiration everywhere. I’d love to read about your journaling practice, or if any of the quotes I shared sparkled something inside of you.

Send me your song recommendations, please! I love music.

Sending love wherever you are,

Ines Jima

🌷

Maybe it’s because my birthday is in January, or because of the intensity of Christmas, or the nostalgia of people who are no longer in my life. December can feel a bit overwhelming for me.

Perhaps it is the weight of uncertainty of the year ahead.

You know the feeling of buying new books knowing there are plenty at home that you haven’t read yet? That’s how December usually hits me.

When I’m not feeling the pressure of all the things I said I was going to do in 2025 but didn’t, or the new things I want to do in 2026, there is some room for magic to occur.

Like the magic of walking around a Christmas market with your bestie and discovering something you have never heard of before.

The ‘Corrúpies’ story

Ok, so picture a cute Christmas market where you can find gifts, food, and decorations.

Now picture a man that looks a bit like Santa Claus, but dressed like an ordinary guy at a stand. And a line — a looooong line — of people waiting to talk to him.

I ask my friend: What does this man sell?

She says: You don’t know about ‘corrúpies’?

I had no idea. Turns out this man hands you a piece of clay, you squeeze it as hard as you can, and he reads the shape you just created. I have heard of people reading cards, coffee stains in a cup, hand reading — but clay?

I had to try it!

After a good hour in the line, my friend and I found ourselves in front of a kind old man.

He handed me the clay and I squeezed like there was no tomorrow. I couldn’t wait for what he had to say.

After a short while of looking at the freshly squeezed shape, the old man looked up. It felt like he was seeing right through me.

I believe that what he said can resonate with many of you, but in that moment what I heard touched me deeply.

“Listen to yourself. Whatever you start, make sure you finish it. Don’t tell other people what you are up to.”

I needed to hear this.

In the past, I had the need to hear the opinions of my closest ones about pretty much everything — almost as if I didn’t really trust what I was feeling. Needing validation to proceed. Needing permission. A never-ending hunger to ease the pain of uncertainty.

I know it sounds a bit ridiculous to squeeze some clay and hear an old man talking straight into your eyes and telling you to remain silent about your delulu projects. But it’s exactly what I needed.

Maybe you are squeezing a piece of clay right now and you feel stupid, or stuck, or sad, or frustrated with the things you wanted but didn’t get. Maybe you are scared because you don’t have any vision of what’s to come.

The void of uncertainty is uncomfortable, but it’s up to us to see it as a nightmare or an opportunity for magical things to unfold.

Your ideas and desires don’t need to make sense to anyone else but you, keep this in mind when you set out your goals for 2026. (I had to read this sentence twice.)

Sending love wherever you are

✨

Ines Jima

It used to be people-watching at its finest. Seeing lovers saying goodbye because one of them had to step out, people doing crochet, others painting their nails (yes, I used to do it and yes, it was a challenge), kids telling their grandparents how their day went at school…

And I look around now, only to find people staring down deep into their phones (me included). Every now and then I see some people with a book. If none of that is happening, there are headphones.

It’s like we are all together, but alone. In our individual boxes. Another station, another scroll, another page, another song. Mindlessly navigating through the journey, both inside and outside public transport.

What breaks the silence sometimes is either a singer or a beggar. Not to talk about the fact that cash is so rare to see nowadays, but that’s another topic.

Yet I feel like I cannot be the only one who feels uneasy about this.

I refuse to believe that people don’t crave connection beyond reacting to the latest Reel and forgetting it immediately after. Or maybe I am just too obsessed with interactions like the one in Before Sunrise (if you know, you know).

While I consider myself an extrovert, I find it intimidating to interrupt someone’s scrolling, or reading or whatever they are listening to. But deep down I feel like we’re all waiting for something to happen.

And sometimes, things do happen. Like last Thursday.

Train from Barcelona to Girona

I consciously decided to ignore my phone on the train on my way to Girona. I was curious to see how long I could go without unlocking it.

Soon after this decision, I was determined to look through the window and let my mind drift away (when was the last time you did this?) but someone sat next to me and asked:

“Excuse me, does this train stop in Premià de Mar?”

I smiled at him and replied:

“I have no idea, but let’s say it does.”

A girl in the back, listening to us, replied that the train did stop there.

This was a golden opportunity to start a spontaneous conversation. I wasn’t going to let it slide, so I asked: “Do you usually step on trains without knowing where they go?”

We both laughed.

Turns out the man sitting next to me was coming from far away to visit his long-distance girlfriend. We spoke about the sweet and the sour of having your loved one far away, and how the phone became even more important and addictive because of the nature of the relationship.

We ended up talking for a full hour, not even knowing what his name was.

He was shocked when I told him I send letters to friends, and he mentioned that he prints out his pictures because access to digital spaces can be lost quite easily.

He also told me he swims in the ocean every single day, no matter the weather. He lives in the north of Spain, where the shore is kissed by the Atlantic, so it is no joke. He recommended a book, and I will share it with you in case you are curious:

It doesn’t happen everyday that a stranger on a train recommends a book, so when it happens I take it seriously.

When it was time for him to leave, I asked his name. We introduced ourselves, hugged like long-lost friends and wished each other the best.

Bus from Mataró to Barcelona

After spending a lovely weekend with a soul sister in Mataró, we were waiting for my bus to arrive to take me back home. In the line, a girl asked us for help to put her luggage down.

I hugged my friend goodbye and got on the bus. The girl we met outside sat not so far from me, so I decided to take the chance and walked up to her.

In these cases it’s best not to overthink what you will say. So I went to her and said: “Hey, you seem nice. Do you want some company?” And that’s how we spoke the whole ride. Sometimes a question is all it takes to connect with someone.

I was fascinated to hear about her life as a dancer and a teacher, the collection of her rings and where they came from, how hard she works to chase her dreams, how beautiful she finds the Christmas lights in Barcelona. I found our encounter quite inspiring!

We hugged goodbye and exchanged contacts. I hope we will meet somewhere in Gràcia.

Train of thought

These two meaningful encounters that happened to me this week had a similarity: humans relying on other humans.

Whether it was to ask for directions or help with luggage, these strangers decided to rely on other strangers. The guy on the train could have simply checked on his phone, and the girl on the bus could have struggled alone. Yet, we found each other thanks to these ‘struggles’.

Our daily lives seem to be going in the direction of eliminating moments like this. Think about it: you can order your food and entertain yourself by just flicking your finger without seeing just about anyone for days. We have maps on our phone, we can ask ChatGPT about anything. We do not need each other so much anymore… or so it seems.

Did you know we need at least 4 hugs a day to survive, according to therapist Virginia Satir? Our hands are too busy scrolling when they should be hugging.

The good thing is, we can decide to become aware and take action. Find someone to hug as soon as you finish reading this. Ask the person next to you on the metro what song they are listening to.

Or simply:

Steal my conversation starters

If you have already made first contact with a stranger on the train/bus/metro, the best move is to ask questions:

• Where are you headed? Is there something exciting waiting for you there?

• (Since we are in December) How is your Spotify Wrapped looking?

• What do you think I do for a living?

• Let me guess your name (or age, but names are more fun in my opinion).

• If you could talk over coffee with anyone, alive or dead, who would it be?

Whatever you choose as a conversation starter, you will see how it flows. What works for me is to ask questions, because I’m the curious type — and something tells me you are too.

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Become curious about your surroundings because the likelihood of you merely existing is 1 in 400 trillion!

Allow spontaneity in your life, do something algorithms could never predict.

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Sending love wherever you are.

💕

Inés Jima

“Picture a wave. In the ocean. You can see it, measure it — its height, the way the sunlight refracts when it passes through. And it’s there. And you can see it, you know what it is. It’s a wave. And then it crashes on the shore and it’s gone. But the water is still there. The wave was just a different way for the water to be, for a little while. You know it’s one conception of death for Buddhists: the wave returns to the ocean, where it came from and where it’s supposed to be.”

This is a quote from one of my favorite series, The Good Place.

These words somehow comfort me now that my grandpa “returned to the ocean” almost 4 years ago. He is not physically here, yet the wave of love he left inside of us can never disappear.

I’ve always found fascinating the similarity between ocean waves and guitar strings oscillating. My grandpa was born in Andalucía, the land of flamenco. Back when he was young, my grandpa was a gifted singer (according to my sources, aka my grandma). Until the end of his days on Earth, the radio was on pretty much all the time, immersing himself in flamenco.

At 18, my grandpa Guillermo fell in love with my grandma María. They both came from villages between Sevilla and Córdoba, and had been working in the fields since a very young age.

When I asked him about the time he was getting to know my grandma, he simply said:

“Cuando te enamoras, se te olvida todo, no puedes retener nada. Lo sé porque yo lo he vivido.”

(When you fall in love, you forget everything, you can’t hold on to anything. I know it because I experienced it)

Around the time he married my grandma, he migrated to Barcelona by himself at the age of 23.

The newlyweds found their first home in a tiny room in the outskirts of Barcelona. The room was so tiny that it wasn’t possible to open the door all the way. Yet they were happy and in love.

Back then, when he was not busy working at different construction sites, he used to hang out with my grandma, used to sing, and went hunting occasionally. They still kept their countryside lifestyle despite being away from their roots. They grew vegetables, had chickens, and the family quickly became four — my father arrived first and my aunt shortly after.

Until a tragic accident changed the otherwise promising life of my family.

In 1972, my grandpa was driving a huge truck of concrete to a construction site. The road was not in good condition. The truck flipped 45 degrees. In an instant, my grandpa lost his eyesight completely at the early age of 32.

Imagine for a second that the last time you see your wife with your own eyes she is in her late 20s, your son is 6, and your daughter is 4. After that — pitch black. Intense, right?

Only last week, my grandma told me something that requires a trigger warning.

About a year after the accident, my grandma came back from buying groceries and found my grandpa sitting in the living room with the hunting rifle in his hand. This time, his mind was hunting him.

If my grandma had not entered the house at that moment, my grandpa’s life would have been significantly shorter. After talking him out of what he was about to do, my grandma made a decision: to sell the rifle.

With the money she obtained, she bought a guitar. She invited my grandpa to play, take lessons, learn how to play flamenco. And he did. That’s how he survived depression.

✨ ✨ ✨ ✨ ✨ ✨

My grandpa died when he was 81. My grandma became his eyes, his rock, and his safety. My grandma had the strength to take pain and turn it into art.

This is the power of having loving and caring people around you. One cannot heal in isolation.

Before we return to the ocean, we spend years vibrating like guitar strings — touched, shaped, transformed by the love we give and receive. My grandpa’s wave has long crashed on the shore, but his sound still resonates in my family.

If there is anything that keeps a person afloat, anything that refuses to disappear even after the final breaking of the wave, it’s this:

love leaves echoes.

I keep his guitar with me now, and I plan to learn to play the flamenco songs he loved. May the echo of the songs reach him, wherever he is. 

Sending love wherever you are

Inés Jima

✨

Every Monday I write short essays about finding hope in unlikely places. Join the Silver Lining Club 🫶 it would be an honor to have you!

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Do I contradict myself?
Very well then, I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

Song of Myself by Walt Whitman

This quote stuck with me when I heard it in a scene from the movie The Life of Chuck.

It was a powerful scene. A teacher puts her hands around Chuck’s head and asks: What is in between my hands? Chuck replies, “My brain.”

And the teacher goes,

“That’s not what I mean. Everything you see, everything you know, the world. Every year that you live… that world inside your head will get bigger and brighter, and more detailed and complex. You will build cities and continents, and you will fill them with people and faces. Real and imagined. You understand? You will fill the whole thing with everyone you ever meet, and everyone you ever know, everyone you just imagined. It’ll be a universe, a whole universe right between my hands.”

Multitudes

We are collectors of memories. Slowly those memories start to sculpt us; some become pillars of our identity and others get eroded like rocks being hit by waves.

I believe we are shaped by who we meet, what we love, what we fear and what we desire. However, I rebel against the idea that memories are the only defining factors of the universe in our heads. Our ideas and beliefs can break rocks and shift gravity if we want them to.

We have agency, like architects. We are the builders of our universes inside our hands; we can decide to tear apart buildings, build bridges, create communities... Even if we decide we want to burn a part of our universe, we will always remember what was once there.

Reflecting on the multitudes one contains, I realize we also show different parts of our universe to different people. You would not act the same around your best friend and your boss, for instance. The universe also grows, and contradictions start appearing: something you used to hate is something you cannot live without nowadays.

Complexity and nuance. The more we live, the more layered we become.

Landscapes

I connect the scene from The Life of Chuck with this quote by Agnès Varda:

“If we opened people up, we’d find landscapes. If we opened me up, we’d find beaches....”

What would your landscape look like?

Mine evolves with time, but some things stay. Sunsets and starry nights remain. The warmth of the color orange. Trees and hammocks. Dragonflies.

My landscape could change, the people in it can come and go, but the warm essence stays.

I hold on to this essence because my outer world has changed radically. I changed countries four times in the last nine years, I made great friends who are now far away, my close relationships have changed dramatically, and nothing feels stable. Except my orangey landscape. It’s always there when I close my eyes.

Forests

Back in August, I was sitting in a cozy café in The Hague with my typewriter. A girl asked me for a poem about “a space that I build that I can always go to, mental or physical, where I feel comfortable and can be myself.”

She said it was inspired by the movie Little Forest. In this movie, the main character leaves everything behind in the city for a quiet countryside house where she slowly finds herself. This quote stuck with me:

“For Mom, nature, cooking, and her love for me have been her little forest. I should find my own little forest too.”

Finding and building our inner world can be synonyms. In order to build a world in which we want to live, we first need to find what we love. Only then can we start collecting memories around that.

Gardens

Picturing our inner world like a garden — picking what we want to plant in it. Removing the weeds. Collecting the fruit. Showing gratitude for the flowers. Thanking the rain as much as the sun, for the garden needs both to thrive.

Practicing patience and getting our hands dirty. Following the cycles of the moon for a better harvest.

Whatever you decide to build inside your own head is your business. I just hope you fill it with dreams that make you excited and a little scared. I hope you find the courage to tear apart what is harming your ecosystem. Put little bricks of hope in all the buildings, messages of kindness in the wind, and lots of strength in the water that you drink.

Remember that you contain multitudes, and you can do whatever you want with them. Choose wisely.

Sending love wherever you are,

Ines Jima

Think about it: how do people meet nowadays?

We’ve delegated spontaneous interactions to algorithms, we are wary of strangers in the streets because we don’t want to be sold anything, and we definitely do not want to be robbed. Eye contact seems uncomfortable between strangers. We tend to meet new people only if there are common friends involved. Besides bars and clubs, spontaneous conversations seem hard to find. Most people on public transport look downward, focusing only on their screens. We are close to each other, yet very far.

And then there’s me.

You can find me sitting on a random bench in a sunny square, or on a terrace, or in a bar, a train, an art exhibition, a rooftop, a hotel lobby… pretty much anywhere I can sit and feel comfortable.

There are a million reasons why I like taking my typewriter to public spaces, but I will share the three most important ones with you.

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1. My typewriter sparks curiosity

Let me tell you, my Triumph Tippa S typewriter is a loud diva. For those who don’t know, typing any letter on this babe requires strength, decisiveness, and an absolute loss of fear of making mistakes (because no, I can’t erase what I just wrote).

The unique metallic sound is loud enough for people to notice it. It never fails: older people smile at me. I guess the machine makes them somewhat melancholic, reminiscing about those times when they were young and this sound was everywhere. I’ve even had old ladies blowing kisses at me for no reason.

Kids stop by as well. They’ve never seen such a thing, of course. Only two days ago, I showed two young kids how to type their names. They were so happy to succeed in hitting the key just hard enough to print a letter for the first time.

People my age, who didn’t grow up with a typewriter either, are also curious to see what I’m up to. Some come to me and tell me they’ve seen other writers on TikTok doing it, and that they’re happy to finally see someone doing it outside their phones.

I also felt this curiosity back in 2020, when I was in Ibiza for a family trip. I saw Tania Panés with a gorgeous typewriter, typing poems based on topics people shared with her. I remember seeing it and feeling immediately pulled: I had to talk to her. The poem she wrote is framed next to my bed, and I read it almost every day.

Little did I know that crossing paths with Tania’s poetry would change my life in beautiful ways I could have never imagined.

2. I meet very interesting people

Last June, I had the opportunity to work for one of the best festivals in Belgium: Couleur Café. My job consisted of sitting on a bench, listening to people’s topics, and improvising a poem on the spot in under five minutes.

Since I was staff, I could access the festival before the official opening time. I knew Nathy Peluso was performing on Saturday, so I took my typewriter and a huge paper rose I had made, and sat in front of the stage where she was doing her sound check. While she was going through her songs, I was typing as fast as I could. I was so nervous that I didn’t even take a picture of what I wrote.

When the sound check was over, I had to act quickly. I attached the poem to the rose and screamed, “Nathy, I have a poem for you!” She was surprised to see a girl standing with a two-meter rose. The conversation was really sweet. I told her I loved her work and that I hoped she liked what I wrote for her. She was warm and kind. I didn’t know a member of her crew was taking a video of us holding hands, sharing the moment. When I turned around and saw someone filming, I felt blessed.

Some weeks before, I was at a vernissage at Meessen Gallery in Brussels to see Ignasi Aballí’s work. Ignasi represented Spain at the 59th Venice Biennale (2022) and is one of the most important contemporary artists in the country.

I remember walking around his exhibition called Apparently Empty. I was blown away to see white canvases with titles like The Inexistent, The Unconceivable, and The Unknown. I was intrigued, so I went up to him, and we talked about his work. He asked me about mine, and I told him I was a poet. Ignasi’s wife challenged me to write a poem about the exhibition. So I did it!

I was a bit puzzled — how does one write a poem about an exhibition that was… apparently empty? By playing with the words and the images, of course. A couple of days later, I gave my poem to Ignasi, and he was surprised to see a poem with no words. Indeed, I used my machine to type dots and commas in such a way that I drew the number 8. In Catalan, the number eight translates to buit (empty) and vuit (eight), depending on how you write it.

I told him that his work reminded me of the endless questions that humans have — hence the 8, which, when turned, looks like the infinity symbol. We connected very well and had a fascinating conversation about spirituality, art, and how mysterious life can be.

By the end of the summer, I traveled from Brussels to Amsterdam with my typewriter in a backpack (very bad idea — my back definitely didn’t appreciate this). I was determined to write next to the beautiful canals and enjoy a day trip to The Hague, where I went to university. I was excited to meet a great artist, Gabriela Acha, and improvise a poem for her.

She showed me around Pulchri Studio, and I was amazed by her work, which mixes feminism, historical memory, and cultural representation. I was touched to hear her speak about her early obsession with fossils and how she wanted to generate them overnight as a child. I felt incredibly inspired by her. We sat in front of Binnenhof, and I wrote her a poem about letting go and welcoming newness. We hugged goodbye with the wish of reuniting again soon.

3. Interactions are the opposite of small talk

“What can I write to you about?” is my go-to question when the typewriter is between me and a stranger.

I’ve written poems about love, grief, jokes, family, friendship, art, dreamy invented landscapes, clouds, lucid dreaming, bees, something to gift to a crush, and so many more random things. People open up to me and tell me intimate stories that would have taken months — maybe years — to know otherwise.

I remember I wrote a poem about a movie-like marriage proposal, where the guy decided to team up with a tiny town somewhere in the Alps. He coordinated a huge banner to be seen from the sky with the question “Do you want to marry me?” so that his soon-to-be fiancée would see it while skydiving.

I wrote poems about loved ones who had passed away, like the one I wrote for Patrik’s family in Amsterdam. Vondelpark allows people to ‘adopt’ a bench and put the name of a loved one on it. Based on what the stepson told me, I wrote a poem for the family and hid it in the bench. I posted the full story here.

I’ve written poems for people who had just bought a house that morning and wanted to remember the feeling, a poem for a couple who had found a donor and would soon start a family. And most of the time, I don’t even know these people’s names.

It’s always interesting to me that because I have a typewriter in front of me, the nature of the conversation becomes deep. Emotional. It completely removes small talk, and we go straight to the matters of the heart.

Now that you know my three main reasons to write in public with my typewriter, I want to leave you with a thought:

Why do I say this? Carrying around a 7.5 kg machine that’s older than me is not convenient. I walk around cities with a carry-on suitcase; I take it on buses, trains, and planes. Walking around without it would be more comfortable, but the cost would be connection. The way my typewriter allows me to interact with strangers is unique. The people I’ve met, the conversations I’ve had, wouldn’t exist without the ‘inconvenience’ of taking my old diva with me.

I’ve noticed that the more convenient life becomes, the less we need each other — and the more isolated we feel. I learned that during just a week without a phone (because it got stolen). Suddenly, I found myself talking to more people, connecting with strangers — and with myself — much more.

Is there something you do that seems unnecessary but makes you feel more connected? I would love to know!

Sending love wherever you are,

Inés Jima

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I’ve started going to the gym again, after four long years away. I’ve always loved Zumba — dancing in general, really.

I’ve gone to a few classes led by Ave, a wonderful instructor with a contagious energy that radiates joy and motivation.

Last week, the gym was fully decorated for Halloween — rubber spiders, fake webs, pumpkins at the entrance. But beyond that door, there was nothing really scary.

Until I walked into Ave’s class. She was dressed as some kind of fallen angel — with wings, scars, makeup… you name it

We’re talking about a class that mixes Latin dance steps with jumps, spins, and claps. The kind of class made to sweat, laugh, and have fun.

To show up dressed from head to toe like that and still deliver such a high-energy class can only come down to one thing: passion.

The kind of passion that makes her dress differently every day leading up to Halloween.

The kind of passion that makes her turn the famous Harry Potter melody into a quirky stretching dance.

The kind of passion that makes her choreograph entire routines just for this season.

Only someone who leaves no room for indifference could do that. Only someone who chooses to feed their passions and give them enough space to be felt.

Because she could have kept doing the same classes as always — same music, same steps, same routine. But she didn’t. She decided to create something special, to go the extra mile.

Mixing passion with determination can only take you to beautiful places.

And those who are indifferent, who don’t really care about anything, whose eyes never light up for something… that’s what truly scares me.

Because that’s how real-life zombies are made.

Not from horror movies, but from souls who stopped feeling, dreaming, creating.

Real-life zombies represent a terrible kind of fear for me, much more than this picture of Ave and someone attending her class!

And passion is contagious!

That’s why some people showed up looking scary to Zumba class, that’s why there are always four or five women who stay behind after class to keep dancing, to take pictures, to enjoy themselves like children.

Because someone who brings passion into a room, someone who moves with expansive energy like Ave does, opens the door for everyone else to feel that they can do it too.

Gracias Ave! And thanks to all the people who are passionate, who open paths for the rest of us to feel, to create, to be alive.

Bonus: Song recommendation ✨

Iseo & Dodosound - Zombies

Stay close to those who inspire you.

Sending love wherever you are

💚

Ines Jima

I confess: I am obsessed with nature documentaries.

There’s nothing I enjoy more than wrapping myself in a blanket on the sofa, with my belly full of good food, and watching the wonders of nature unfold on TV.

These documentaries never fail to amaze me. I always learn something interesting, so I wanted to share with you the last fascinating thing I heard.

While I usually watch marine life documentaries, this time I chose one about trees.

At some point, they showed these beautiful, pointy pine trees that grow famously in Tuscany. I have painted so many of those trees and have taught many more people how to paint them in my workshops. But little did I know the genius secret they hold.

Apparently, these famous pine trees of Tuscany can live up to 200 years, and they have developed different mechanisms to ensure they will reproduce no matter what.

These trees produce two types of pinecones:

• One is a regular pinecone containing seeds that naturally fall to the ground once a year, like any other fruit tree would do.

• But the other one????? The other pinecone can hang on the tree for years and years until a fire burns the tree. This pinecone will only open for the seeds to come out once the flames take over.

I find it profoundly poetic.

Fire: associated with destruction and death.

Seeds: associated with beginnings and life.

Suddenly, those seeds need fire to start over. In this case, destruction is necessary for a new beginning.

Burnt areas become highly fertile over time, and these trees know it.

So when life feels like it’s burning you from the inside, remember that you also have a strength that gets activated in those moments:

strength that can only exist because of the level of challenge, chaos, pain, or destruction.

Just like the pine trees, we can stand tall. And if a wildfire comes to knock us down, our inner strength will be there to help us rebuild our lives. Because our essence, like the seeds, can never die.

I’d love to hear about your journey with endings and beginnings, just hit reply.

Sending love wherever you are

❤️

Ines Jima

This weekend was a good time to uproot some weeds, so I decided to take on this task.
My grandma explained to me that this is necessary because weeds ‘steal’ nutrients and space from the roses and aromatic plants we have in the garden.

As I was uprooting some weeds, I felt instant calm. I loved smelling the freshness of the soil. Some weeds were deeply rooted, and it took a lot of strength to remove them.
As I was doing this task, I realized:

Taking weeds out is necessary in the garden, but also in my own inner garden — the garden of my beliefs.

I’m starting to identify some limiting beliefs of mine, and I want to uproot them.

I found myself whispering, “This weed represents my outdated belief,” and taking it out with all my strength. I was creating space for my inner flowers to grow stronger and healthier.

When I started seeing how clean it was getting, I also thought to myself, “I’m making space for something new. I’m making space to breathe.”

Taking care of the outer and inner garden requires consistent action. We always have to watch out for what is growing…

Maybe you don’t have a garden you can go to, but you always have access to your inner garden. Ask yourself:

• Are there some intrusive mental weeds you need to uproot?

• Are you slowing down enough to realize what is stealing your energy?

I wish you a lot of strength — first to identify what is limiting you, and second, to uproot it.

I hope you plant flowers instead, and olive trees, and rosemary. May your inner garden make you feel calm and grounded!

Sending you love wherever you are.

Inés Jima

Letter No. 1

Five years ago, I wrote myself a letter for the first time. The envelope said: “Open when you have graduated from college.”

Graduating from a university abroad was a big deal for me… Moving to the Netherlands at 18 to study in a foreign language was no joke. But I did it, and I was really proud of myself. A couple of months before my e-graduation (thanks, Covid), I wrote a short letter. I did it with a pencil and managed to slide in my student card as a souvenir. Here is a quote that intrigued me when I recently re-read this letter:

I’m really proud of you. Keep doing what you love, show gratitude, remember that the biggest threat for a (young) woman is comfort. Trust your golden and powerful heart. Love you endlessly, Inés.

I was very ambitious back then; I even wrote “build my own empire” as a goal after graduating. I assume this means a business… but I am not entirely sure.

During college, my comfort zone was taking me nowhere, so I constantly pushed myself to excel in my studies (and everything else, really). But I remember being really harsh on myself, even when I knew I was doing well and there were reasons to be proud of the steps I was taking.

Letter no. 2

Around the time people started to forget a little bit about wearing a mask in public, I got accepted to do a Master’s in Florence. I wrote myself the second letter: “Open when you have arrived in Florence.”

The undertone of this letter was kinder. I wrote things like:

“Listen to your intuition, trust that the universe is always giving you what you need and what is best for you.”

I built a website before moving to Italy in which I was, for the very first time, portraying myself as an artist.

I finished by saying, “You are already everything you long to be.” It felt comforting to read this on my first night in yet another foreign country.

Letter no. 3

The third letter said: “Open when you have arrived in Brussels.” The inside of the envelope is really special because it was filled with evidence of great achievements back in the country of pasta and pizza.

During my two years in Florence, I created a beautiful community around the painting workshops I organized alongside my studies. I was teaching beginners how to paint, and ‘Art & Wine Firenze’ caught the attention of a local cultural magazine. I also put my business card there. One could argue it wasn’t an empire, but for me, it was a huge deal.

Another powerful thing about this letter is that it’s not handwritten. I used a typewriter to speak to my future self.

Here’s my favorite quote from this letter:

“Ask and it is given.”

Back in Florence, I had a sudden wish to get a typewriter. I felt the urge to type and play and take it out to improvise poems for people. Once I had this wish, I started wondering where I could find a typewriter. I did not have to think for very long (a day or two max) — because my good friend had one sitting in his living room and lent it to me. That’s how my journey with street poetry began. Of course, I had to put some rhymes into my letter (translation below):

“Y por favor nunca dudes de tu fuerza, la potencia de mil mares vive dentro de ti. Confía en que eres Amor y Luz. Regresa a mí cuando te sientas perdida, mándale besos a tu herida para sanar y haz el esfuerzo de pensar que cosas maravillosas están esperando tu despertar.”

“And please don’t ever doubt your strength, the power of a thousand seas lives inside of you. Trust that you are Love and Light. Come back to me when you feel lost, send kisses to your wounds, and make the effort to think that wonderful things are waiting for you to wake up.”

Two years later, I find myself opening a fourth letter. The last three times I was carrying the letter with me, but this time I mailed it to myself from Brussels to Spain.

I knew I was going to arrive before the letter, so I thought it would be a nice gift from the Inés of the past to the Inés of the future. Another difference was that inside the envelope was a really fun postcard instead of a letter.

As you know, I love the film Under the Tuscan Sun (and I also adore bugs — I think they are fascinating). There is a wonderful quote in the film:

“Listen, when I was a little girl I used to spend hours looking for ladybugs. Finally, I’d just give up and fall asleep in the grass. When I woke up, they were crawling all over me.”

I am no longer that girl who had to prove herself to be worthy; I am someone who knows she is worthy, no matter what. I am still ambitious, but I also treat myself like a good friend (most of the time, at least). I made a conscious decision to change a hustling mentality into a magnet mentality — one that attracts rather than conquers. Of course, this requires a greater level of trust in the Universe, making me feel scared at times. But here I am again, reminding myself:

“Inesita, trust more. Let go of fear, it’s only a mark on the shore. Luckily, the marks are erased by the sea. Remember that you are the sand, the waves, and the entire ocean.”

In all my letters, I sign off by saying, “Te quiero muchísimo - Inés.”

Speaking kindly to yourself has profound psychological and even physical effects. While I did it intuitively, to show myself support and care, there are fascinating studies showing that the way you speak to yourself matters:

Research by Dr. Kristin Neff at the University of Texas shows that self-compassion reduces anxiety, increases resilience, and activates the brain’s caregiving and soothing systems — the same ones we use when comforting someone we love. Would you speak to a good friend as harshly as you would speak to yourself?

Similarly, James Pennebaker’s studies on expressive writing reveal that putting emotions into words helps regulate the nervous system and strengthens immune function. You can calm yourself down by writing in a loving way toward your thoughts, body, and life.

Even beyond psychology, Dr. Masaru Emoto’s experiments in Japan suggested that water crystals exposed to words of love and gratitude formed more harmonious and beautiful shapes than those exposed to anger or hatred.

Considering that humans are about 60% water, his work — though debated — offers a poetic reminder: the way we speak to ourselves shapes the structure of our inner world.

I choose letters to structure my inner world, and I want to invite you to do the same.

2026 is around the corner — what would you tell your future self?

Sending love wherever you are,

Ines Jima

While I’m always saying I’m from Barcelona, the truth is that I’m not. I was born and grew up in neighboring (smaller) cities. This is where I am currently located.

I left home at the early age of 18 to pursue my studies in the Netherlands, followed by a Master’s in Italy, and finally moved to Belgium for work.

If my math is correct, I have been abroad for almost 9 years. All my young adult years were spent in foreign lands, with foreign languages, making foreign friends (all my love to you, mis amores). This means that whenever I walk the streets of Barcelona, I feel like another tourist — a tourist who speaks and loves the local culture but is completely new to the rhythms of one of the most touristic cities in the world.

It makes me happy to know that with a 45-minute train ride from where I live now, I get to experience the beauty of la Ciutat Comtal and its vibrant cultural scene. In this sense, it feels like I have a brand-new life and a gorgeous city to discover.

At the same time, I’m back in the tiny city I grew up in. Nothing much has changed over the years. It feels pretty underwhelming, to say the least. This is a huge contrast for me, considering that I lived in the heart of Brussels just a week ago, where I could walk anywhere to find enriching experiences.

But I plan to romanticize every second of my new life in this old place.

Since I take the same train line I used to take to go to high school, I can reflect on that teenage girl who dreamed of the many things I have already achieved. And I love trains. I will definitely read a lot here and write here (guess where I’m writing this from). Every time I step on this line, S1 Plaça Catalunya, I will think of this iconic quote from one of my favorite movies, Under the Tuscan Sun. It goes like this:

“They say they built the train tracks over the Alps between Vienna and Venice before there was a train that could make the trip. They built it anyway; they knew one day the train would come.”

Maybe I’m also building a train track between my current and future self. The cinematic view of Montjuïc definitely helps me reflect on where I have been and where I want to go.

Since I am close to my grandmother, I can learn from her, create beautiful memories together, eat, laugh, and hug as much as we can — pick olives from her olive trees, slow down, take naps, and watch nature documentaries on TV.

Since I am from here but feel like a foreigner, I can have a unique view of this place… both as an insider (because I speak the language and I grew up here) and as an outsider (because I carry all my experiences with me that ultimately create the glasses through which I see the world).

Since I am back in the place I grew up in, but my bags are full of international stories that deeply transformed me, a philosophical question arises: Does the river change if the shape remains the same but the water that runs is always fresh?

Somehow, in this river called life, we can seem to be back in an old place, but the experiences we’ve lived have shaped us. This means we may look similar but are different. Like the water that creates round rocks, I am rolling through the days.

Yes, I’m in an old place, but my life is new — not because of what is happening around me, but because of what happens inside of me. I get to decide where my river flows next, but I won’t put pressure on myself. I also want to give the water the chance to tell me where it wants to flow.

At the end of the day, the perspective we choose to have about a situation is more important than the situation itself.

Let this message be a reminder that you belong wherever you are, no matter what your external world looks like.

I’m sending love to you wherever you are.

💚

Ines Jima