I’ve always believed that life—and love—is about finding your rhythm. Some days, it’s a slow waltz, steady and intentional. Other days, it’s a chaotic freestyle where your footwork makes no sense but somehow gets you across the dance floor. For me, the way I approach relationships, writing, or even figuring out what to have for lunch (always bagels, let’s be honest) flows back to a handful of core beliefs. They’ve been shaped by everything I’ve lived, from café counter conversations in Vancouver to late-night walks along Melbourne’s Yarra River. Here’s what I stand for and how it shapes my words, actions, and terrible analogies.

1. Love is a Mirror, Not a Magic Wand
One of my mom’s favorite sayings growing up was, in Cantonese: “Before anyone can truly make you happy, you have to make peace with yourself.” I’ll admit, as a teenager, I’d roll my eyes and slink off to my room, hoping to find peace in moody indie playlists instead. But she was right—to love or be loved, you’ve got to show up for yourself first.

This belief plays out in my writing and relationships: there’s no perfect partner who will suddenly vanish your insecurities or an ideal next step that will erase the unknowns of life. Too often, especially in romantic comedies (looking at you, Serendipity), we’re sold the idea that someone else will sweep in like a human Band-Aid for all of life’s cuts. But real love? It shows us who we are—the beautiful, awkward, and occasionally messy parts. And that’s a gift. Whether you’re single or coupled up, sometimes the best thing you can do is put your metaphorical mirror down and say, “Yep, this is who I am—and it’s enough.”

2. Vulnerability Is a Superpower
A few years ago, I stood on the shore in Tofino, clutching a surfboard I had no business holding. I wish I could say I glided effortlessly through the waves like a coastal goddess—but instead, I fell. A lot. Face first, side first, deeply ungraceful. The thing is, by the end of the day, I was covered in saltwater and stoked because I had tried.

This is exactly how I see vulnerability: an unpolished effort, full of wipeouts but 100% worth it. Vulnerability feels terrifying—whether it’s telling someone how you feel, asking for forgiveness, or admitting that you have no idea how to parallel park (guilty). But it’s also the birthplace of genuine connection. In relationships, I'd rather stumble through an honest conversation than stay safe behind walls. And yes, sometimes it backfires—we all know what it’s like to put our hearts out there and wish we hadn’t. But more often than not, it works. Vulnerability invites the people who truly see you to step closer, board shorts and all.

3. There’s No “Right” Way to Love
Growing up, my family’s café in Kitsilano was like a never-ending soap opera of human relationships. Each latte carried its own subplot: the regular who would blush whenever the barista brushed her hand, the grumbling couple who still shared an order of carrot cake every Tuesday, the single mom who once confessed that her toddler was a better date than the guys she was meeting on Tinder. It taught me one thing: love shows up in infinite forms, and none of them are one-size-fits-all.

Contrary to what every wedding rom-com starring Julia Roberts might tell you, love doesn’t have to be epic or traditionally packaged to be real. It can be a quiet gesture, like someone saving their last French fry for you (the ultimate declaration of devotion). It’s in Netflix passwords shared, compromises made, and the rare person who doesn’t mind that you’d choose bed socks over stiletto heels every night. By letting go of the idea that love has to look a certain way, I’ve learned to appreciate its presence, even in the smallest moments.

4. Humor Saves Everything (Almost)
Quick confession: when things get awkward, I default to humor faster than you can say “So, uh… what’s up with this weather?” Maybe it’s my younger self watching too many episodes of Friends, or maybe my entire personality is just one long dad joke. Either way, I think laughter—in good times and bad—is one of life’s best tools.

There’s something magical about the way humor disarms us. It turns arguments into shared laughter, makes first dates less terrifying, and keeps the repetitive routines of a long-term relationship from becoming dull. It’s the reason my partner and I refer to each other exclusively as “Laundry Queen” and “Dish King” on chore days. Sure, there are moments where jokes don’t land and seriousness takes the wheel—but humor, for the most part, reminds us not to take ourselves too seriously. Relationships are, after all, just two humans bumbling through life together, often tripping over the same sock someone didn’t put away. (Yes, it was my sock.)

5. Gratitude Is a Love Language
There’s a simple joy in the everyday: the way Vancouver rain smells through cracked windows, the sound of seagulls arguing over a forgotten croissant, the mornings when someone pours you the last bit of coffee without hesitation. I think gratitude—real, consistent appreciation for what we already have—is an underrated form of expressing love.

In romantic relationships, it’s easy to take the small things for granted once the rush of infatuation morphs into routine. But I’ve found that taking a moment to say “thank you” for even the smallest things—whether it’s a sweet text, a thoughtful gesture, or just someone being a listening ear—can create so much emotional warmth. Admittedly, I still forget this sometimes (thank you, messy human nature), but when I intentionally practice gratitude, my relationships feel lighter and stronger.

The Takeaway
At the heart of it all, my beliefs boil down to this: love—and life—are not about perfection. They’re about showing up with open hands, an open heart, and the understanding that none of us really have it all figured out. And thank goodness for that. After all, the best stories are the ones where the characters trip along the way, but still end up dancing.

Wherever you are on your relationship journey—flirty, committed, or somewhere in between—remember this: You’ve already got everything you need to write your own rhythm. And if you mess up the steps? Laugh it off, get back in there, and keep moving.