We keep talking, moving through her wild journey from Egypt to Australia. We chat about how she met Dad after their wedding—which Dad didn’t even attend. He had moved to Australia first and sent a letter back home, looking for a wife to join him for an exciting new life abroad. They spoke on the phone a few times, had a wedding in Alexandria, then Mum flew here to start a life and raise a family with a man she had never met in person. A handful of wedding photos—just her, alone in a sea of flowers. No Dad. No celebration. No romance. Maybe that’s why she escaped into these old films she loved so much, like the one still playing in the background as we talk.

After an hour, I kiss her cheek goodbye and leave before the emotions take over. I'm now in the car. I take a deep breath to decompress and then—it hits me. Another "aha!" moment. The kind that shifts my whole perspective in seconds.

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It wasn’t the first time a moment like this changed everything. The first was in 2012, after a long chef shift, when I realised I could live as a full-time DJ. I took a leap of faith and left kitchens behind to chase a life of creativity, freedom, and—if I’m being honest—status. I toured the coast solo in my caravan, capturing moments on my iPhone between gigs, unknowingly igniting a passion for photography and storytelling. Over time, I crafted a life that blended DJing, photography, and film seamlessly.
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Then came another "aha!"—a beach walk in Port Macquarie, realising I was made for weddings. Every skill I’d honed—DJing, photography, filmmaking—combined with my fun-first personality. It was a perfect fit. I even pushed the limits by handling all three roles solo, something still unheard of. My career levelled up. So did my finances.

But this moment? This one was different.

I had always thought I was building my career for me—for my creativity, my freedom, my own successes through service. But sitting with Mum, replaying our memories, I saw it clearly: I got into food because of Mum. Music because of Mum. Wedding photos and love stories on film—because of Mum. Without realising it, I’d spent my life creating what I knew Mum wanted. Like it was written all along. Like I had been operating from my head, but now—finally—from my heart.
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And that’s when I understood my true purpose: to co-create and capture moments and tell love stories that live on—even when memories fade.
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Maybe that’s why you’re here, too. Because you know these moments matter. When you choose us, you’re choosing someone who lives for this. Someone who was built for this. Someone who sees your story the way it deserves to be seen—so it can live on, Forever Ever.

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This is my why.
And I have Mum to thank for it.