I’ve often been told I am “too conscious of time.” Some say it as if it’s a flaw, others admire it. But for me, time has always been this invisible currency — once spent, it never comes back. So, I hold it carefully, and I try to use it to the fullest.
That’s why I design anywhere, everywhere. A quiet café, a train ride, even in the middle of a conversation where my fingers itch to sketch something out. For me, design is not just work; it is oxygen. It is how I breathe life into minutes that could otherwise slip away unnoticed.
And perhaps that’s why I notice how other people use their time too.
The Photo Debate
Not too long ago, I met someone who argued passionately that taking photos is “only for Gen Zs.” According to him, this habit of documenting everything — from the food on the table to the street corner you just passed — was a youthful indulgence, a marker of a generation that grew up with smartphones glued to their palms.
I listened and smiled, but inside, I was puzzled.
Because I’ve seen people far beyond the Gen Z bracket — people in their 30s, 40s, even 60s — taking the same kinds of photos. Sometimes it’s a father capturing his daughter’s first day at university. Sometimes it’s a grandmother taking a snapshot of her garden. Sometimes it’s an entrepreneur photographing the whiteboard after a brainstorming session.
To reduce something as simple as photography to a generational label felt strange to me. Photos are not about age. They are about memory. About proof. About storytelling. About wanting to hold on to something fleeting.
And in that moment, I realized: many of us live within stereotypes that others hand us, without pausing to question them.
My Dancing Without Steps
Here’s another stereotype I’ve heard — “Only children dance.”
When I first started posting dance clips on TikTok, I laughed at myself. I don’t know how to dance in the conventional sense. I miss beats, I mess up moves, and I have no rhythm half the time. But I still do it.
Why? Because it makes me happy.
One day, someone commented that I looked “childish” for dancing online. That statement lingered in my mind for a moment, but not in the way the person probably intended.
I asked myself: Why do we associate joy with childhood?
Why do we believe that adults must only do “serious” things?
Why do we think silliness, play, and expression must be abandoned once responsibility knocks on our door?
Dancing without steps taught me something valuable: joy does not have to be perfect to be powerful. And sometimes, choosing to do what makes you smile, regardless of who’s watching, is the bravest thing you can do.
Beyond Labels
When I connect the dots — my time-consciousness, my love for design, my dancing without rhythm, and even the photos people debate about — one theme emerges: labels limit us.
Generational labels. Professional labels. Personality labels.
They tell us who is allowed to do what, and when.
But what if creativity doesn’t ask for permission?
What if joy doesn’t recognize age brackets?
What if the use of time is not measured by whether it fits society’s timeline, but by whether it gives us meaning?
Lessons That Stick
Over time, I’ve come to embrace three lessons from these little encounters and personal quirks:
- Time is a tool, not a tyrant.
Being conscious of time is not about being rigid; it’s about being intentional. If designing in random places allows me to create beauty in unexpected moments, then I am living fully. - Memories are ageless.
A photo is not about proving you belong to a certain generation. It’s about freezing a second that matters to you. And if that moment is worth remembering, then no age group owns the right to capture it. - Joy is not childish.
Dancing, even without steps, is not about performing for the world. It’s about freeing yourself. If a child can laugh freely while moving, why can’t an adult do the same?
