The Indian Ocean in Somalia, where I was born. The Mediterranean in Nice, where I learned the language of scent. The Seine in Paris, where I'm building something new.
In Somalia, home is called Guuri. It doesn't mean a building with walls. It means belonging. It means the rituals and wisdom you carry with you, no matter where you go.

My grandmother taught me this. She knew which leaves purified skin. Which resins calmed the mind. She carried her pharmacy in a small pouch—Frankincense for peace, Qasil for cleansing. Not because these were luxuries. Because they worked. Because nomadic life taught her: carry only what serves you.

When I moved to Paris, I saw a different kind of wealth. Beautiful materials everywhere. But also beautiful waste—wine bottles used once, flowers discarded after a day, objects designed to be thrown away.

I saw two worlds that needed each other.
The minimalist intelligence of Somalia: nothing wasted, everything intentional.
The creative craft of Paris: beauty, refinement, artistic vision.

What if we could bridge them? What if the old wisdom could solve modern problems? What if home could be something you design, not something you search for?

This question became Arum.care.