My name is Catalina Rojas, I’m 41 and I live in Santiago, Chile. I work as a web designer for respincl.com, spending most of my days adjusting margins, picking color palettes, and making sure everything feels balanced on the screen. It might sound technical, but for me, design is something deeply personal — like arranging thoughts with care until they make sense.

After work, I usually go quiet. Not in a lonely way, but in that peaceful silence that comes when you pour a glass of wine and pick up a paintbrush without any plan. I’ve been painting for years, not as an artist, but as a way to unwind. Sometimes what I paint looks nice. Other times, it’s just shapes and colors without meaning. But it always feels necessary.

On weekends, if the weather plays along, I escape the city. A short bus ride, a backpack, a blanket, some fruit, and a book are all I need. Sometimes I go alone, sometimes with a friend who also enjoys long walks and coffee in a thermos. There’s something about wind-tangled hair and open skies that resets me. The quiet feels different out there — softer, more honest.

And love? Well... I’ve tried. I still go on dates now and then, more out of habit than hope. But lately, each one feels stranger than the last. It’s not anyone’s fault, really. It’s just hard to find someone who understands silence, who doesn’t rush, who isn’t intimidated by stillness. Some days it makes me tired. Other days I laugh about it. I tell myself maybe it’s just not the time. Or maybe I haven’t met the right person yet.

Still, I’d like to. I would love to share these small rituals —the wine, the painting, the weekend trips— with someone who sees the beauty in them. But if it doesn’t happen, that’s okay too. I’ve learned to enjoy this version of life on my own.

This summer, if everything goes as planned, I’ll be heading to Japan. It’s a trip I’ve been putting off for years. I’m not chasing temples or big cities. I just want to walk slowly, watch people live, get lost in quiet streets, and maybe sketch in a park without understanding a word but feeling completely at peace. I think I need that kind of distance —to clear my thoughts and return with a little more lightness.

Life often feels like a blank canvas. A little intimidating, yes, but full of possibility. I’m still painting — in my own time, in my own colors. And if someone wants to sit beside me while I do, they’re more than welcome.