When I go looking for books, I follow my “nose,” as if wandering through a meadow woven with wildflowers. I see books as mysterious meeting points—encounters with authors whose voices is encapsulated. These meetings between the reader and writer feel beyond time and space and intimate. Even in an age of rapidly ascending AI, I don’t believe books will ever die. They are simply too interesting to disappear. In a world saturated with short clips and endless social media feeds,

Every year leaves traces worth noticing. If we pause, listen, and take stock. What began as a quiet reflection can be a journey from Year Concept to Year Concert.

My friend Benedetta is sitting on my couch for a drink, hands knotted, eyes tired, telling me about her teenage daughter’s sudden meltdown. Sara, a straight-A student of grade 3 of middle school, reliable as sunrise, had simply refused to go to school one morning. Then the next. Then for weeks. At first, they thought it was stomach flu, or fatigue, or one of those vague teenage things that pass if you wait just a bit. Afterall, what to worry, she has been always a diligent an