From Minerals to Memoirs: How I Found My Malachite Peace in Paris

For years, my mind was a precisely calibrated instrument. As a mineralogy engineer, I was trained to look for order, stability, and the perfect crystal lattice in everything. If a disruption appeared in the structure, my task was to understand why it happened and how to repair it. I believed that life, just like a rock, could be analyzed, categorized, and, if necessary, fixed. But living in Paris, under the hat of Magma Star, has taught me that the most beautiful structures are those born from complete emotional chaos.

Today, when I sit down to write, I don’t look for blueprints. I have noticed a strange, almost alchemical process: the more I write about my deepest feelings—about those moments of erosion, survival, and new beginnings—my rhymes begin to connect faster and faster. They don’t run away from me; they rush toward each other. What started as a scream or a silent sob is purified through writing and arranged into a crystal structure, the simplest and most stable one—tesseral. Writing for me is not just art; it is a process in which the liquid magma of my emotions cools down and turns into a solid, shiny crystal of peace. I no longer try to “straighten out” the chaos before putting it on paper. I let it flow, knowing that my inner self will find its own geometric order.

I feel this connection to something that was and something that is most strongly in Parisian chateaus and museums. To many, these are just cold monuments of the past, empty rooms with high ceilings. To me, they are pulsating places full of life. When I walk on that old, wooden parquet that creaks and sighs under my every step, I do not feel unease. I feel awe. Sometimes I feel sorry, as if my movement will awaken the people who, centuries earlier, dreamed, loved, and suffered in that exact same spot.

In these chateaus, I hear a silence that speaks. I look at the paintings on the walls and see not just pigments and brushstrokes; I see the tremor of the painter’s hand, I see the hidden fear in the eyes of the woman in the portrait, the joy of a child in the background. Every painting to me is not an object, but an open book of emotions. I hear these stories; I feel them in the air. The colors I see are not just visual stimuli; they are frequencies my soul recognizes. That engineering part of me still notices the composition of colors, but my poetic soul is the one interpreting their pain and beauty.

Many ask me how I reconcile my “Malachite Peace” philosophy with the modern world of technology. I write in three languages, use HTML codes for my blog, collaborate with artificial intelligence to create visual worlds that accompany my poetry. Some think technology kills the soul, but I see it as my most faithful tool. For me, AI is not a replacement for humanity, but an extension of my creativity. It saves me time, allows me to stay on top of my packed schedule, and gives me the space to focus on what matters. I believe in the future of technology because, if used correctly, it actually frees the spirit. In a few years, it will be rare for anyone to create without AI’s advice, and I fully support that. It is not a cage; it is a springboard.

But the most important lesson I had to “unlearn” to become who I am today was the one about other people’s opinions. Vancouver was a city of rules, structure, and certain expectations. Paris set me free. Today I say it loud and clear: I don’t care what others will say. That sentence is my strongest shield. For years I wasted energy trying to fit in, trying to “fix” myself to measure up to others. Not anymore.

Now I hold the floor in my own life. My “geological map” no longer tolerates negative influences. If the company doesn’t suit me, if I feel someone is draining me or bringing unrest, I change direction effortlessly. Negative people get a short “ish” and my path continues another way. I am Magma Star—the one who went through pressure, fire, and erosion, only to finally discover that her core has always been crystal clear.