I used to think an idea was mine — that I originated it, discovered it, claimed it.
But the more I build, the more I observe, the more I realize:
Ideas aren’t owned. They’re tuned into.
Somewhere in this universe, someone else was thinking the same thing.
Not because we copied each other, but because we were on the same frequency —
tuned into the same problem, the same feeling, the same need for change.
An idea is like wind.
It flows freely through space and time. It doesn’t belong to anyone.
You don’t create wind — you feel it, you capture it, you try to give it form before it moves on.
So when an idea comes to me, I don’t call it mine.
I call it something I was ready to receive.
And I try to honour it — by building it with care, without ego, and without the illusion of originality.
Because originality isn’t about ownership.
It’s about how you listen.
“Ideas are nature’s way of whispering — the question is, were you quiet enough to hear?”