To think it’s almost a new year — this year has gone so fast, and yet somehow also impossibly slow.
There have been days that disappeared like sand between my fingers, and others that stretched endlessly, asking me to feel more, grow more, endure more than I thought I could.
Tonight, we’re expecting a storm here in the Canary Islands.
Right now, it’s so quiet outside… like nature herself is holding her breath. The sky feels watchful. The air feels charged. As if something unseen is shifting, preparing, clearing space for what’s to come.
There’s something strangely comforting about that.
Storms don’t just break things — they cleanse, they reset, they change the air we breathe. Maybe this storm arrives like a mirror to the year behind us: turbulent at times, unexpected, but necessary in its own wild way.
So here we are, standing at the edge of two worlds — one closing, one opening.
May what truly matters come with us into the new year.
May what has weighed too heavily finally loosen its hold.
And may we remember that even in the quiet before the storm, life is still moving, still breathing, still guiding us forward.

And I will carry Liam with me into 2026.
Not as a wound, but as a promise.
A promise to keep speaking when silence tries to swallow truth.
A promise to keep asking questions when the world would rather look away.
A promise to stand beside his family, his memory, and the love so many still hold for him.
Justice isn’t only about courts and headlines — it’s about dignity, truth, and refusing to let someone’s story be reduced to noise and lies . If this year has taught me anything, it’s that light keeps pushing forward, even when it has to move through storms to get there. And I will keep going. For Liam. For those who loved him. For truth.