a trip from
the outside,
to the inside
Life had reached one of those lows that unanchors you, where your compass falters, and questions rise from within. I found myself untangling desire from obligation, flipping the pyramid of importance, weighing exhaustion against fulfillment. My work—once my ikigai—felt like a distant echo, unrecognized, unappreciated. So, I packed a small bag and left for Japan, hoping an art trip would offer clarity. I let the journey shape itself, led by chance encounters and whispered recommendations. Someone told me to visit Teshima Art Museum. There, in its vast stillness, I felt small. I cried. I meditated. And in that quiet reckoning, I understood—one must always follow the burns of the heart.
Then, Awka ignited within me.
A Name, A Rebellion, A Home.
Awka was never just a name—it was a force, a feeling, a truth waiting to be claimed. In Mapuche, Awka means rebel, a defiant spirit pushing against the expected. In Quechua, it means wild and brave, the untamed energy of those who refuse to submit. To me, Awka is both. It is the audacity to carve my own path, the fire that refuses to dim, the quiet rebellion of creating a world that fits.
By the time the name found me, I was already deep in the adventure of following my instincts, letting my passions take the lead. Then I met Linda. From the start, she felt like the missing piece—the right shoulder to lean on, the kind of presence that turns a solo pursuit into a shared vision. Awka is a movement. A space for those who refuse to stay within the lines. For those who know that creativity is both an act of defiance and a place to call home.
us two.
the two of us,
(A) (W)oman (K)nows (A)udacity
