I am not a decorator and definitely not a minimalist. There are no catalogs or Pinterest corners in my house, but there is a lot of me in it: a photo on the refrigerator, a blanket that I have already moved with three times, and a wooden shelf that my friend and I painted with wine (not on purpose, it just happened).

Home is not about furniture. It is about how it smells, sounds and feels when you enter it. In the morning, I almost always light a cinnamon stick or drip bergamot oil on an old clay tile - it heats up and spreads its aroma throughout the kitchen 🍂. Sometimes I turn on soundtracks from old movies, and sometimes - the sounds of the ocean or even just silence, just to hear the kettle boil. When I'm in the mood, I put on an old record, and the house seems to smile back.

Light is magic for me. I have three types of lamps: soft ones for the evenings, bright ones for when I work, and warm garlands - just because I like the way they flicker against the gray windowsill ✨. Sometimes in the evening I turn off the overhead light, light candles, and in this semi-darkness even books are read differently. I often swap books, put candles on trays, and in the summer I dry lavender in the kitchen so that in December it feels like July. Sometimes I dry orange peels and put them in a jar with cloves — just to set the mood.

Do I have any rules for my interior? Only one: if something makes me smile, there will be a place for it. That's how I got a peach-shaped night light, a mirror that ruins the reflection, but I don't care, and a rug with a whale that no one steps on — it's too cute 🐳. Next to the kitchen window is an old jar with dried cornflowers — it was given to me about ten years ago, but I can't part with it. It's like a memory of summer that I don't want to let go of.

Sometimes the atmosphere is created not by effort, but by attention. I noticed that when I put my phone away for an hour, turn on a record and just lie on the carpet, the house seems to breathe 🌙. It becomes a participant, not just a decoration. And at such moments I understand: coziness is not a purchase, it is a choice. The choice to be here and now, among your things, thoughts and smells.