This December was full. Active. Singing. Giving. I showed up as much as I could, enough to leave a spark, a bit of warmth, something real. But my Christmas was sad. And that’s okay. Christmas can be sad when you’re far from family, when your own isn’t built yet, when the war keeps living outside and inside people. I’m not asking for pity. I’m naming the truth. I accept myself, light and shadow, strength and fatigue. I rise from the ashes. I release the past. I step into the new year with one wish: to live.
This December was full. Active. Singing. Giving. I showed up as much as I could, enough to leave a spark, a bit of warmth, something real. But my Christmas was sad. And that’s okay. Christmas can be sad when you’re far from family, when your own isn’t built yet, when the war keeps living outside and inside people. I’m not asking for pity. I’m naming the truth. I accept myself, light and shadow, strength and fatigue. I rise from the ashes. I release the past. I step into the new year with one wish: to live.
This December was full. Active. Singing. Giving. I showed up as much as I could, enough to leave a spark, a bit of warmth, something real. But my Christmas was sad. And that’s okay. Christmas can be sad when you’re far from family, when your own isn’t built yet, when the war keeps living outside and inside people. I’m not asking for pity. I’m naming the truth. I accept myself, light and shadow, strength and fatigue. I rise from the ashes. I release the past. I step into the new year with one wish: to live.
This December was full. Active. Singing. Giving. I showed up as much as I could, enough to leave a spark, a bit of warmth, something real. But my Christmas was sad. And that’s okay. Christmas can be sad when you’re far from family, when your own isn’t built yet, when the war keeps living outside and inside people. I’m not asking for pity. I’m naming the truth. I accept myself, light and shadow, strength and fatigue. I rise from the ashes. I release the past. I step into the new year with one wish: to live.
This December was full. Active. Singing. Giving. I showed up as much as I could, enough to leave a spark, a bit of warmth, something real. But my Christmas was sad. And that’s okay. Christmas can be sad when you’re far from family, when your own isn’t built yet, when the war keeps living outside and inside people. I’m not asking for pity. I’m naming the truth. I accept myself, light and shadow, strength and fatigue. I rise from the ashes. I release the past. I step into the new year with one wish: to live.
This December was full. Active. Singing. Giving. I showed up as much as I could, enough to leave a spark, a bit of warmth, something real. But my Christmas was sad. And that’s okay. Christmas can be sad when you’re far from family, when your own isn’t built yet, when the war keeps living outside and inside people. I’m not asking for pity. I’m naming the truth. I accept myself, light and shadow, strength and fatigue. I rise from the ashes. I release the past. I step into the new year with one wish: to live.
This December was full. Active. Singing. Giving. I showed up as much as I could, enough to leave a spark, a bit of warmth, something real. But my Christmas was sad. And that’s okay. Christmas can be sad when you’re far from family, when your own isn’t built yet, when the war keeps living outside and inside people. I’m not asking for pity. I’m naming the truth. I accept myself, light and shadow, strength and fatigue. I rise from the ashes. I release the past. I step into the new year with one wish: to live.
This December was full. Active. Singing. Giving. I showed up as much as I could, enough to leave a spark, a bit of warmth, something real. But my Christmas was sad. And that’s okay. Christmas can be sad when you’re far from family, when your own isn’t built yet, when the war keeps living outside and inside people. I’m not asking for pity. I’m naming the truth. I accept myself, light and shadow, strength and fatigue. I rise from the ashes. I release the past. I step into the new year with one wish: to live.
This December was full. Active. Singing. Giving. I showed up as much as I could, enough to leave a spark, a bit of warmth, something real. But my Christmas was sad. And that’s okay. Christmas can be sad when you’re far from family, when your own isn’t built yet, when the war keeps living outside and inside people. I’m not asking for pity. I’m naming the truth. I accept myself, light and shadow, strength and fatigue. I rise from the ashes. I release the past. I step into the new year with one wish: to live.
This December was full. Active. Singing. Giving. I showed up as much as I could, enough to leave a spark, a bit of warmth, something real. But my Christmas was sad. And that’s okay. Christmas can be sad when you’re far from family, when your own isn’t built yet, when the war keeps living outside and inside people. I’m not asking for pity. I’m naming the truth. I accept myself, light and shadow, strength and fatigue. I rise from the ashes. I release the past. I step into the new year with one wish: to live.
This December was full. Active. Singing. Giving. I showed up as much as I could, enough to leave a spark, a bit of warmth, something real. But my Christmas was sad. And that’s okay. Christmas can be sad when you’re far from family, when your own isn’t built yet, when the war keeps living outside and inside people. I’m not asking for pity. I’m naming the truth. I accept myself, light and shadow, strength and fatigue. I rise from the ashes. I release the past. I step into the new year with one wish: to live.
This December was full. Active. Singing. Giving. I showed up as much as I could, enough to leave a spark, a bit of warmth, something real. But my Christmas was sad. And that’s okay. Christmas can be sad when you’re far from family, when your own isn’t built yet, when the war keeps living outside and inside people. I’m not asking for pity. I’m naming the truth. I accept myself, light and shadow, strength and fatigue. I rise from the ashes. I release the past. I step into the new year with one wish: to live.
This December was full. Active. Singing. Giving. I showed up as much as I could, enough to leave a spark, a bit of warmth, something real. But my Christmas was sad. And that’s okay. Christmas can be sad when you’re far from family, when your own isn’t built yet, when the war keeps living outside and inside people. I’m not asking for pity. I’m naming the truth. I accept myself, light and shadow, strength and fatigue. I rise from the ashes. I release the past. I step into the new year with one wish: to live.
This December was full. Active. Singing. Giving. I showed up as much as I could, enough to leave a spark, a bit of warmth, something real. But my Christmas was sad. And that’s okay. Christmas can be sad when you’re far from family, when your own isn’t built yet, when the war keeps living outside and inside people. I’m not asking for pity. I’m naming the truth. I accept myself, light and shadow, strength and fatigue. I rise from the ashes. I release the past. I step into the new year with one wish: to live.
This December was full. Active. Singing. Giving. I showed up as much as I could, enough to leave a spark, a bit of warmth, something real. But my Christmas was sad. And that’s okay. Christmas can be sad when you’re far from family, when your own isn’t built yet, when the war keeps living outside and inside people. I’m not asking for pity. I’m naming the truth. I accept myself, light and shadow, strength and fatigue. I rise from the ashes. I release the past. I step into the new year with one wish: to live.
This December was full. Active. Singing. Giving. I showed up as much as I could, enough to leave a spark, a bit of warmth, something real. But my Christmas was sad. And that’s okay. Christmas can be sad when you’re far from family, when your own isn’t built yet, when the war keeps living outside and inside people. I’m not asking for pity. I’m naming the truth. I accept myself, light and shadow, strength and fatigue. I rise from the ashes. I release the past. I step into the new year with one wish: to live.
This December was full. Active. Singing. Giving. I showed up as much as I could, enough to leave a spark, a bit of warmth, something real. But my Christmas was sad. And that’s okay. Christmas can be sad when you’re far from family, when your own isn’t built yet, when the war keeps living outside and inside people. I’m not asking for pity. I’m naming the truth. I accept myself, light and shadow, strength and fatigue. I rise from the ashes. I release the past. I step into the new year with one wish: to live.
This December was full. Active. Singing. Giving. I showed up as much as I could, enough to leave a spark, a bit of warmth, something real. But my Christmas was sad. And that’s okay. Christmas can be sad when you’re far from family, when your own isn’t built yet, when the war keeps living outside and inside people. I’m not asking for pity. I’m naming the truth. I accept myself, light and shadow, strength and fatigue. I rise from the ashes. I release the past. I step into the new year with one wish: to live.
EVERYTHING IS TRAGIC 🥀 ft. @alinapash, one of my favorite tracks from my new EP, ‘The Quiet That Hurts’ with @buunshin OUT NOW
OUT NOW 💔⚡️ So happy to finally share a new song “Tragic” from the EP “The Quiet That Hurts” by two creatures who lit up my 2025 — @whatsonot & @buunshin This track is pure nostalgia for me… a memory from when I was 21, my first time allowing myself to be tragic and romantic at the same damn time. I don’t have many love songs, maybe because I’m Ukrainian and most of my life was about fighting, surviving, being strong. My music usually breathes earth, roots, war, culture. But here… I let myself fall in love on the dancefloor. I let the beat soften me. Working with Chris (What So Not) was a whole adventure — endless studio hangs, laughing, tweaking vocals online, polishing this world we built… and another secret one waiting for you 👀 And Ferry (Buunshin), from releasing our first track online to finally meeting in Kyiv and Lviv — concerts, chaos, heart, connection. Values aligned. This is why being an artist is magic: no matter where we come from, we can turn our feelings into sound, help each other heal, rave, breathe, live. I’m truly grateful for these friendships. And I promise — you’ve never heard me like this before. So listen to the track. Let me know how it hits you. Drop a comment, stream the EP, scream it in your headphones — your support is the fuel, the thing that makes all of this real. Люблю. Let’s go⚡️
OUT NOW 💔⚡️ So happy to finally share a new song “Tragic” from the EP “The Quiet That Hurts” by two creatures who lit up my 2025 — @whatsonot & @buunshin This track is pure nostalgia for me… a memory from when I was 21, my first time allowing myself to be tragic and romantic at the same damn time. I don’t have many love songs, maybe because I’m Ukrainian and most of my life was about fighting, surviving, being strong. My music usually breathes earth, roots, war, culture. But here… I let myself fall in love on the dancefloor. I let the beat soften me. Working with Chris (What So Not) was a whole adventure — endless studio hangs, laughing, tweaking vocals online, polishing this world we built… and another secret one waiting for you 👀 And Ferry (Buunshin), from releasing our first track online to finally meeting in Kyiv and Lviv — concerts, chaos, heart, connection. Values aligned. This is why being an artist is magic: no matter where we come from, we can turn our feelings into sound, help each other heal, rave, breathe, live. I’m truly grateful for these friendships. And I promise — you’ve never heard me like this before. So listen to the track. Let me know how it hits you. Drop a comment, stream the EP, scream it in your headphones — your support is the fuel, the thing that makes all of this real. Люблю. Let’s go⚡️
Romantic? 🩷
You touched my soul… or was it just the phase? 🩷 #tragicromantic #teamromantic #teamtragic #yoursongyourstory
Trying to explain what it feels like. Song: “Volia” — @AlinaPash DP and Editing: @joshsrose Movement Director: @marcopalomino Performers: @AlinaPash & @marcopalomino
