Hello

My name is Sienna Swain. I’m eighteen, born in Cape Town and raised on the remote island of Tristan da Cunha — a place so small the entire population could fit inside one city block. The ocean has been my parent, my teacher, and my constant companion. I still carry salt in my hair and the rhythm of the tide in my breathing.

I write the way the sea moves: slowly, honestly, in layers. Sometimes gentle. Sometimes restless. Always deep. I believe words should be felt before they are fully understood, which is why I’ve never been very good at quick summaries or polished bios. I’m learning not to apologise for that anymore.

This space is my more public-facing shore — the part of me I’m happy for new eyes to meet. It’s still me: the same observant, saltwater-hearted girl who watches waves for hours and finds entire worlds in small moments. But it’s filtered gently, like sunlight through shallow water — clear enough for anyone to step into, without losing its colour.

Here you’ll find quiet reflections on what it means to grow up without distance between people, the beauty of slow living in a fast world, intimacy that doesn’t ask for performance, and the long conversation between solitude and connection.

I’m not here to be instantly understood. I’m here to be felt — in small doses, at your own pace. Like finding a perfect shell on the beach and turning it over in your hands until its shape starts to make sense in your palm.

If you’re someone who lingers, who listens between the lines, who appreciates the hush before the wave breaks… then I think you’ll feel at home here.

I don’t post on a strict schedule. The words come when the tide brings them. Sometimes they’ll be fragments. Sometimes longer pieces. Always honest.

Thank you for swimming over. I’m glad you’re here.

With salt and softness,

Sienna 🐚