Between two cigarettes and a sea of used hankies, I dragged myself to the piano. I hadn't written anything real in nearly twenty years. I was a freshly heartbroken single mum of two, sitting alone in a Budapest flat, with no idea what I was doing. What happened next changed everything. This is the story of Three Times — and of what it costs to mute yourself for two decades, and what it feels like when the words finally come back.

I forgot my phone even existed. In Budapest’s Wekerle estate, a bonfire, singing neighbours and an old Hungarian ritual helped us say goodbye to more than just the cold winter months.

Two months of flu, frost and forced movie marathons later, we did what our ancestors would have approved of: we went looking for noise. In Martonvásár, a few dozens mischievous Busós in sheepskin cloaks and wildly colourful pom-pom socks did their best to scare winter away — and possibly poke a few bystanders in the process. Cabin fever, meet carnival cure.

Were winters always like this? Do we love or hate the snow? As sub-zero temperatures settled over the city and Budapest turned into Narnia, I grabbed my kids, my memories, and a moment of silence I didn’t know I needed.

Photos can be uncomfortable. Stages can be terrifying. I came for an open mic, stayed for the courage — and years later, I sang my way into the new year. Explore self—acceptance, voice and visibility through the magif of Budapest and of course the power of visual storytelling.