Mum has early-onset Alzheimer’s. She doesn’t remember recent years, so we take a trip down a distant memory lane. I remind her of how I’d sit at the kitchen counter and watch her cook for hours anticipating family dinners together, and how she’d turn off the TV mid-show, put on Motown records, and make us dance in the lounge room with her. We laugh, and for a few moments, it’s perfect. That laugh—I’d do anything to hear it. And I realise, maybe I always have. Maybe that’s why I chase that same sound in everyone I meet, always prioritising making people laugh.

We keep talking, moving through stories from her past, until we land on her wedding. A quiet ceremony. A handful of photos—just her, standing alone in a sea of flowers. No first kiss. No celebration. No romance. Maybe that’s why she loved these old films so much, the ones still playing in the background as we talk.

After an hour, I kiss her cheek and leave before the emotions take over. In the car, I take a deep breath to decompress and then—it hits me.

Another "aha!" moment. The kind that shifts everything.

It wasn’t the first time a moment like this changed my path. 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, left kitchens behind, and chased 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 built a life that blended DJing, photography, and videography seamlessly.

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, handling all three roles solo—something still unheard of. My career levelled up. So did my purpose and 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 through film—because of Mum.

Without realising it, I’d spent my life creating what Mum never had. Like it was written all along. Like it was always leading me here. Like I’d expanded, from operating from my head—until now, from my heart.

And that’s when I understood my true purpose: to co-create and capture moments that last. To tell love stories that live on—even when memories fade.

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, who was built for this. Someone who sees your story the way it deserves to be seen—so it can live on, Forever Ever.

I didn’t set out to do this for Mum.
But looking back, it’s clear—every step led me here. And now, I see—this is exactly where I was meant to be.

Thanks Mum.