About

For a long time, I thought I had to choose between two versions of myself.

Either I was too sensitive, too emotional, too passionate, or I had to harden up, live in survival mode, and move through life like nothing could touch me.

This blog is me refusing that false choice.

Sentimental and Savage is a play on words, but it's also the most accurate way I can describe my inner world and the harmony I'm learning to live in.

Savage is my last name. And for most of my life, I've felt like a walking dichotomy, especially once "savage" took on a life of its own in the 2010s and became a shorthand people used to categorize you. It often came with an assumption: if you're "savage," you must be unbothered, untouchable, and unfeeling.

But I've always felt deeply. And I've never understood why those qualities are treated as mutually exclusive, why sensitivity is framed as a lack of strength, or why strength is mistaken for emotional detachment. To me, the point is precisely the opposite: tenderness and backbone can coexist. You can be gentle and still remain unwavering in your pursuit of peace.

That's what Savage means to me. Not cruelty. Not hardness. Self-respect. Boundaries. The part of me that refuses to abandon itself just to be easier to hold.

And sentimental is one of my favorite words, not because it's soft in a fragile way, but because it's soft in a human way. It makes room for memory, meaning, and emotion. It also takes me back to one of my favorite recordings: "In a Sentimental Mood" by Duke Ellington and John Coltrane. That title has always felt like permission to be tender without apology.

Here you'll find an evolving collection of essays, reflections, and cultural notes guided less by a niche and more by what feels worth saying. The through line is honesty: tenderness, discernment, and the slow practice of becoming.