Signature may have blossomed years ago, starting from when I was building my presence to stand here. I’ve been through a lot with the previous one; bitter and sweet, whatever it took to stay, yet it never reached my expectations when it came to the unfamiliar handle I have tried.

Consider this a tribute since I last found a comfortable position in using the handle, Jeentle. Sometimes growth looks like a come back, much like how I finally returned to the name—‘Jen’, rewritten in letter, familiar in tone, and keep returning me to the same colors.

Now going by Jenttes, (Pronounced: Jents.)

And in that way even the bad days were good, because I felt them and remembered feeling them. There was a lot something delicate about living like that like I was an instrument and the world touched me, reverberated inside me.

Walking around, even on a bad day, I would see things. I mean, just the things that were in front of me. People’s faces, the weather, traffic. The smell of petrol from the garage, the feeling of being rained on, completely ordinary things.

@fawne, 🤍.

Always receive a bouquet of blue roses from beloved mother every year, now I can tell whence the red ones came.

She has stepped into this next stage of life, where wisdom blooms like dawn over old hills, and every laugh line tells a story of victories she achieved. The years may continue to pass, but believe that memories will always last. All blessings cascade with age, my forever muse.

J2NNI5 is indeed a pile of pictures from when she was 25, but today marks her very first year as a thirty-something. With this commemoration being held, crowds of people are surprised as she remains so aware of her youth, knowing that those cherished days might never return.

https://t.co/efoRhJOwNv

When do you hold on? When hope exists. When it fills your lungs with air, no matter how deep the struggle is. When joy overweighs sadness, when flowers grow from hard spaces in your heart. If you don’t feel friction, it’s worth holding on to. If it flows, it’s worth swimming in.

When do you let go? When it feels heavy on your soul, when you feel more trapped than emancipated. When it tastes less sweet and more like poison, when you feel yourself sinking instead of floating. When freedom becomes a battle, open your heart to intuition—you will always know.

True love, as felt by someone, is the kind understood without words, felt without touch, without game like tactics, without complicating everything as much as has happened. That, to me, what love is. Love as it is, simple, and meant only to be savored together.

For in my view, there is far too much love in these times. Some urge using push-pull tactics, disappearing, advancing as if offering hope, then vanishing again. It is true we must know when to uphold dignity and pride, yet it feels like fleeting, contrived love.

I deeply long to return to the time when love was simply love, for I truly believe it remains that way even now. Love without demanding to become anything, love that feels so light, and love that full of pure affection.

Mother’s support for my holiday joys touched me to the core, she knew those weary nights had earned me this true rest.

My vacation has flowed beautifully lately: savoring nourishing meals, deep restful sleep, and mornings filled with real refreshment. My friends have also welcomed me warmly with invitations, such a gentle reward after those exhausting days past.

I am the work you entrusted to time; with the name you gave, I am bound to rhyme as yours cradles mine. You gathered each word soft and precise, until they sculpted me a soul so wise. Though you have left, your touch remains near—a legacy of you that is always everlasting, Dear.

All this time, I remember every fleeting trace when you shaped me from dreams with gentle grace. You breathed your soul into mine, so true, bringing me to life with your name as my hue. All you left behind was more than memories, your trace lingers in every breath I miss.

“Do you remember when you shaped me to walk with you as a soul’s decree? You wove each word of my name so fine, through beautiful petals like threads of dewshine.”