There’s a question my younger self once asked me: "Where do stories come from?"
I’ve been holding onto that question for a long time. Not because I didn’t know the answer, but because I had too many answers. I have so many stories to share, and not just mine, but the stories of everyone who’s ever shaped me; shaped us.
But I’ve also lived through a time where stories often feel diluted, altered, filtered. Where social media has turned storytelling into a strategic game of hooks, hashtags, and perfection. Where you can never quite share what’s real because everything needs a filter—literally and figuratively.
I’ve always hated that. The idea of having to post my own face, my own story, with layers of filters and captions designed to make me fit a mold that is somehow ‘acceptable’ or ‘shareable.’ It’s not the story that matters anymore, but whether or not it’ll get clicks, likes, and validation. The real, raw truth of what we carry, the depth of who we are; often gets lost in that noise.
That’s why ATAH was born—not out of a need to be just another brand in an oversaturated world, but from a deep desire to honor authentic stories—the kind that come from deep within, the unfiltered moments that shape us. ATAH is here to provide a platform where these stories aren’t just heard, but truly valued for the raw beauty they hold.
I started journaling when I turned 14 after reading The Diary of Anne Frank, where she wrote, "Paper has more patience than human beings." Her words resonated with me deeply, and I began writing my own story. That practice gave me the gift of having conversations with my younger self, something I do every single day.
I've grown so much, and I’ve become so many versions of me over the years. But you know with which version of Ashwinni I am most connected? The 8-year-old me. She was so young yet so strategic, so full of courage, and honestly, I have so much respect for her. I sometimes wonder, how was she even that brave? Whenever I feel like I’m about to lose it all, my 8-year-old self gives me hope. She’s the one who reminds me of my fire, the one who pulls me back when I stray too far. Sometimes, she freaks out at the things I do "Oh, we would never do that!" but most of the time, she’s right. I laugh at how true she is, even now.
I look to her for guidance, hope, and strength. She believed in me before I knew how to believe in myself. And it’s because of her raw passion, her determination, and her fire that I’ve reached the point I’m at today.
I look at myself now, and I’m proud. Not necessarily for what I’ve achieved (because there’s still so much I want to accomplish) but for how much I’ve grown into the person my younger self needed. That young girl, the one who faced the world with a warrior’s spirit, would be proud of who I’ve become.
I know I’m not the only one who has this relationship with their younger self. Many of us were once full of dreams, ambition, and unfiltered energy—until the world tried to suppress it. Over time, we got caught up in the noise, the expectations, and the filters. But I want to change that.
So here's a Special Invitation to Honour Your Younger Self
I am calling on you! Yes, you, reading this right now, to pause for a moment. Take a breath. Look inward. What would you say to your younger self? What would they think of you now?
I’ve spent so much time reflecting on this question, and I believe it’s time to celebrate the younger versions of ourselves. That’s why I’m hosting an event this November; "Postcard to Your Younger Self" where we can come together to reflect, create, and honour the stories that have shaped us.