Use the wedding china.

Take a penny from the rainy day pot.

Frolic, chanting on open fields with your close friend screaming

‘Summer solstice, summer solstice’.

Do something

Do anything

Do nothing

Do everything.

Burn the fucking candle.

Be immersed in its specialness

La-de-da-de-dah -

Life is short.

Long days, quick years

Forgot the cause

Of lasted tears

Do what you want

It’s all made up —

Elaborately fabricated,

Bright eyes awakenated.

You can do what you want

when you’re healed.

Heart full of love,

Cut ties from shame.

Wanting goodness for neighbours,

Returning said favours.

The flavour of savouring

Moments.

Everyday I think about time;

Passing

Fleeing

Moving.

Continuing

Weather you’re conscious

Or not

Living

Weather you want it

Or not

Time.

In its non-linear formula,

Strategising existence.

We must ground our feet

To settle,

Relax.

Unroot

Reroute

Uproot

Know the only thing of permanence

Is a promise of change.

Manmade,

Natural,

All is created.

All matters

And does not matter all that much.

Help.

Be helped.

Change and

Leave.

Follow curiosities,

Lead with kindness

Know it means something

And leads to nothing.

Use the fancy fork,

Honour a part.

Dream,

Grace and

Live.

Thank you for reading. <3

Subscribe to YouTube I post everyday: ⁠https://www.youtube.com/@helenayasmin

Love you, see you soon.

Helena xo.

Latest song Boundaries. Listen here: https://artists.landr.com/991043107613

Pre-save Dizzy. (June 23): https://artists.landr.com/991043658023

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Bio: ⁠https://link.rivetapp.co/helenayasmin/ ⁠

Let’s connect!

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⁠

Boundaries. Listen here: https://artists.landr.com/991043107613

While I Erase Me. Listen here: https://artists.landr.com/057914158747

Trophy: Listen here: ⁠https://artists.landr.com/056870329345⁠

We Don’t Fit.: Listen here: https://artists.landr.com/057914711065

Patchily documenting who I was in past,

Now noticing who I am during a recalibration of becoming.

The snail does not announce its arrival.

It moves.

It leaves trails.

It continues.

The traces are not proof of achievement.

It is evidence of endured motion.

In a culture that demands acceleration, I am learning to move gently and still insist on presence.

Slowness is not absence.

It is attention.

For a long time, I believed reflection meant pausing.

Stopping to analyse.

Stepping outside myself to observe.

But reflection is not retreat.

It is the change of direction.

I reflect while walking.

While singing.

While making.

While dancing.

Movement is reflection.

Breath is reflection.

Revisiting is reflection.

Staying long enough inside joy to feel it fully is reflection.

There was a time when intensity felt necessary.

As if the cost of art was the nervous system.

Urgency mistaken for depth.

Exhaustion for commitment.

Now to ask different questions.

What if art is excavating not extraction

Of parts wished not to become relived?

What if process matters more than scale..

What if some works are slow because you choose the I am…

The body is not an obstacle to the work.

It is the archive.

It remembers before language does.

Fatiguing is information.

Pain is information.

Regulation is practice.

Rest is infrastructure.

The body stores stories in posture, in breath, in how quickly the heart overreacts.

For years, ordinary stress felt threatening.

Now I practice staying.

Staying present through intensity.

Staying with sensation instead of escaping into analysis.

Crossing instead of observing.

The archive I am building is unfixed,

Breathing.

Revisions sit beside finished pieces.

Sketches beside lyric sheets.

Margins beside manifestos.

Older works speak differently when unwrapped and returned.

Not because they changed.

Because I did.

An unfinished archive allows contradiction.

It allows growth.

It allows becoming without arrival.

Systems benefit from speed.

Algorithms reward output.

But speed excludes.

It excludes bodies that require pacing.

It excludes those who cannot override nervous systems without cost.

Slowness protects.

It honours fluctuation.

It insists that worth is not measured in volume.

The snail does not apologise for its pace.

It leaves a shimmer briefly visible in light.

The Philippines has blurred into feeling, dotted detail.

I cannot recount every conversation, every street, every day.

But the body returned different.

Safer.

Softer.

Belonging has settled somewhere beneath language.

Perhaps memory does not need sharp edges capture truth.

Perhaps sensation is enough.

Perhaps residue is enough.

I build an archive of truth.

Not perfection.

Not spectacle.

Not completion.

Existence.

Something for parts to sit in proudness.

Something that could outlive.

Not because it is monumental.

Because it is.

What trails am I still leaving?

Where have we trailed?

Who am I becoming that I cannot yet name…

This is not a conclusion.

It is continuation.

I move.

Thank you for reading,

If you are new to the space, my name is Helena Yasmin.

I work across music, theatre, and visual arts. My aim is to build awareness for creatives to build sustainable careers with wellbeing at the forefront (anti-burnout methodology).

Subscribe to see more, and to be kept in the loop with new art, music and artist reflections.

Love,

Helena Yasmin xo.