Without Borders

Not one kind. Not ever.

Some days, my hands are deep in the earth —shaping stories from clay.

Other days, I’m draping fabric on invisible forms, letting it find its own voice in folds.

And now, more often than not, I’m sketching wireframes and designing experiences

hoping they hold emotion behind the glow of a screen.

I’ve never been just one kind of designer.

I never wanted to be.

My creativity refuses to stay in one room.

It drifts like mountain mist,

It spills like spilled ink,

It blooms like wildflowers in forgotten corners

—but never quite the same.

And somewhere, quietly nestled in the back of my mind,

I am still that girl —dreaming of being an artist in a small Himalayan town,

where the mornings smell of pine and cold breeze,

and the afternoons echo with brushstrokes and birdcalls.

where snow covers the ground, and even time feels hand-drawn.

Where design would mean arranging wildflowers in a jar,

And etching stories into a fogged-up window.

But until then —I remain a designer without borders.

flowing where curiosity calls —across seasons, surfaces, and screens.