A year in Wonderland

A year ago today, I released my debut album, Wonderland.

A technicolour daydream of euphoria, heartbreak, clarity, and chaos.

It was the album I’d been dreaming of since I was a child — since I first pressed a piano key and felt something unlock inside me. The songs were personal, layered, theatrical, and full of feeling. They told stories I hadn’t quite found the words for until I sat down to write them.

Looking back, I still wouldn’t change a thing.

Each song on Wonderland is a moment in time — a memory, a confession, a little world unto itself. When I listen back now, I don’t just hear the lyrics and melodies. I hear the person I was when I wrote them. The things I’d learned. The things I hadn’t yet learned. The questions I was asking, the dreams I was chasing, the ghosts I was trying to leave behind.