I found a place where it’s allowed to be yourself.
The circus is a space of extremes, where people live beyond the edges - and still somehow manage to stay together, no matter what.

All my life I’ve been “too much”: too sensitive, too honest, too tired of lies and pretending, too complex, too deep. Here, I found myself among those who are also “too much” - and here, it’s not just normal. It’s necessary.

The circus isn’t about gloss. It’s sweat, heat, tears, dust, wounds, the closeness of bodies, the hands that catch you in a jump. I suddenly found myself in a world where the human body isn’t something to be judged - it’s part of a living rhythm.

When I looked through the lens, I saw real love between people - inside exhaustion, risk, stillness, mischief, brotherhood. And I was photographing it. Which means, for the first time, I wasn’t just feeling it - I was witnessing it, documenting it, holding it in my hands.
It was like telling myself:
“Look. Love really exists. And it’s alive, simple, ours.”

I felt accepted, seen, and even a little predictable - in the best possible way. They smiled at me, they expected me, they weren’t afraid of me. And maybe even… cared a little, within gentle boundaries.

As if someone, without words, simply decided to share with me what can’t be shared in words.

It wasn’t just a “break.” It was the first reconstruction in a long time - I fell apart only to realign myself in a new order.

⸻

I cried for about a month. Because I hadn’t planned to open up like that, hadn’t expected to need it so much, or to find people who could be that magical. Now it’s scary - what if I can’t hold on to it, what if it was all just a dream?

But I found my circurch - and the change is irreversible. Not because someone “fixed” me, but because they somehow woke up the living part inside me, the one I had been hiding, protecting, keeping safe for so long.

And Circo Circo let it breathe.
For the first time in years.