Yasmin, 23

y.o.

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About me

Yasmin carries her world like a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a whip of ideas in the other. She is in constant motion—between overflowing excitement and quiet reflection, between ringing laughter and a piercing gaze that searches for truth. Her lips move between smiles and wisdom, and her large dark eyes drink in the world with an unquenchable thirst. She was born to be a poet, even if she never writes a single word. Her life is a poem—in the perfume she chooses, in the anger she expresses through dance, in the tear she hides behind a passing joke. She hugs with the warmth of fire, caresses with the curiosity of a summer breeze, and sometimes vanishes like morning mist—not because she doesn’t love, but because sometimes you must step away to keep loving. In her coffee spoon you’ll find stories of impromptu trips, sleepless nights in front of great works of art, street protests, and aching nostalgia for her grandmother. She can be as wild as a storm and as precise as a needle, depending on the day you catch her. Her heart is wide, but not open to everyone—she has the gift of knowing who is worthy of her stories and who would turn them to dust. When she walks into a room, the light changes. Not because she puts on a show, but because she simply cannot be invisible. Yasmin is a walking reminder that life can be lived differently—more color, more passion, more truth. And she, in her strange and beautiful way, will always choose the path that smells like blossoms after the rain.