It all started on April Fools’ Day, which in hindsight feels oddly appropriate. I had no plan, no name, no niche, and definitely no long-term strategy. I wasn’t launching a brand or building an audience. I was just curious.
I opened up a blank page and began writing, without knowing what would come out of it. The first post felt like tossing a paper plane into the wind just to see where it might land. That was the challenge: write something without needing to know where it was going. I set a small goal—ten posts in one month. Just to see if I could.
And now here we are.
Ten posts in. The original goal is complete. And while this blog might still not have a clear direction, I now have something I didn’t have before: a trail. A visible, tangible thread of thoughts that connects the last month in a way no plan ever could.
Looking back at each post, I can see little fragments of myself showing up. Not in any grand, polished way—but in small reflections, in messy ideas, in sparks that arrived when I least expected them.
The first post was just about starting. I admitted right up front that I didn’t have a clue. But the act of publishing something—not perfect, not even particularly planned—was a spark. It wasn’t meant to be much. But it was honest.
After that, I needed a reason to keep going, so I gave myself one: goals. The second post was about setting a direction without needing to know the destination. I reflected on how past goals had quietly come true even after I’d forgotten them. That gave me a sense of rhythm—10 posts, 30 days, maybe a small stretch goal for page views. That was enough to keep me moving.
By post three, I was still without a niche. Still without a plan. But something had shifted. I wrote about how starting without knowing was, in itself, a kind of direction. I realized that maybe the blog didn’t need a central theme. Maybe I was the theme. And that was oddly comforting.
The idea for the LAB came from a simple realization: not every idea I have is blog-worthy. But they still deserve a space. I needed somewhere for creative scraps, half-formed tools, and playful prototypes that might become something—or might not. So I created a page called LAB. A digital drawer for ideas that haven’t figured themselves out yet.
After that, I went for a walk.
The fifth post came after a sunny afternoon stroll through the city with my camera. No agenda. Just fresh air and curiosity. And as I walked, ideas started appearing. Murals, playground structures, dome shapes, creative flashes. The post became a celebration of movement—and a reminder that walking is one of the best things I can do for my mind.
Naturally, that walk led to a new project.
Instead of designing a dome in CAD, I decided to build a dome generator. Why? No real reason other than “I wonder if I can.” The sixth post was a reflection on that experiment and everything it reminded me about product development: that we never get it right the first time, and we shouldn’t expect to. It took me over 20 iterations to get it remotely close to what I envisioned. But every step was part of the learning. And weirdly, it was fun.
Right after that, something shifted again—this time inward.
In the seventh post, I reflected on feelings. A servant leadership training introduced me to Nonviolent Communication, and I was reminded how hard it is—even as an adult—to name what we feel. That post turned into a curious mix of emotional reflection, parenting, product thinking, and a new idea: what if there were feelings cards to help kids (and adults) talk about what they’re experiencing? The idea felt small, but powerful. And it hasn’t left me since.
Then I pivoted backward.
The eighth post was a story I’ve been carrying for years: the origin of Wishbhone, the earphone cord manager I helped design in university. It started as a class project and turned into my first “real” product. Telling that story brought back a lot—of passion, of naivety, of momentum. It reminded me of the thrill of making something for the first time and seeing people actually use it.
And then, most recently, came a quiet one.
Post nine came from an evening at home, after watching a film and walking through the city. I wrote about the idea of a “life list”—not a bucket list, but a feeling list. Things I want to experience more of. Things I’ve lost touch with. It was softer than the other posts. But it felt important.
And now here I am—post ten.
No fireworks. No rebrand. Just a quiet pause to say: I did it.
Ten posts in one month. That was the goal. And what started as a test has quietly become a habit. Not necessarily a weekly ritual or a productivity hack—but a place I now return to. A space where I get to think out loud and watch my ideas slowly reveal themselves.
Looking back, a few themes have started to surface. I didn’t plan for them—but that’s the whole point.
Creativity as a habit.
This blog isn’t really about ideas. It’s about keeping ideas alive—through writing, reflection, and tiny experiments. Writing regularly has taught me to stay close to my curiosity, even if I don’t know where it’s going.
Reflection as momentum.
I’ve learned more by looking back at what I’ve written than by planning ahead. The blog has become a kind of mirror. Every post feels like it captured something in motion—nothing “complete,” but everything alive.
Emotions as creative fuel.
Feelings are messy. But they’ve quietly driven some of my best writing. Whether it’s frustration, joy, curiosity, or vulnerability—every post that resonated came from a feeling, not just a thought.
Ideas spiral when shared.
Some ideas stayed on the page. Others ended up in the LAB. A few sparked conversations, especially on LinkedIn, that spun those ideas even further. That spiral—blog → thought → comment → new idea—is something I want to keep nurturing.
To anyone who’s been reading—thank you. I didn’t expect an audience. I still don’t. But I’m glad you’re here. I hope something in this experiment has sparked something in you too.
If nothing else, I now know this: writing gives me clarity. Not about the big picture, but about the next small step. And that’s more than enough.
And to myself: nice work. You showed up.
That’s how all good things begin.
This blog is becoming a small extension of me. And in just these two weeks, I’ve noticed real shifts. I’ve reduced my social media usage by about 20%. More importantly, I’ve paused more. Reflected deeper. Thought longer about what I’m doing and why.
My themes are circling clearly now: creativity, curiosity, and positivity—and how I try to adapt those into my life. Live as you preach. That’s the goal.
I still don’t know exactly what this blog is about—and that’s okay. What’s clear is that I’ll keep bouncing around those core themes. Sometimes personal reflections. Sometimes everyday observations. You never know.
One thing I do know: I need to slow down a little. Almost one post per day has been a fun push, but it’s not sustainable. If I want this to become a lasting habit, less is more. But the base is here now. That’s more than I had a few weeks ago. My website feels alive again.
I had a few light goals tied to metrics, too. I’ll revisit those at the one-month mark. But to continue this story, I need a new set of goals:
🔷 Next milestone: end of July.
- Write at least once a week.
- 16 posts 🙃
- Take one item from my Life List and make it real.
- Make it a story 🤭
- And maybe a stretch goal:
- Spark someone else by getting feedback
If one person tells me this blog made something click for them, that’s already a win.
Until next time, I don’t have a content plan.
But I do have a compass. And a tagline.
Every experiment starts with curiosity.
Let’s see where it leads next. 🥸