I write plays that begin with the body: its memory, its hunger, its contradictions. For me, theater is a place where silence and sound hold equal weight, where a gesture can carry as much meaning as a line. My work asks what happens when language fractures, when time folds in on itself, when intimacy and estrangement live side by side.

I am drawn to the space between the personal and the ancestral. I stage sisters, lovers, kin, strangers—figures who circle one another in longing and resistance. Their conflicts echo larger histories of rupture and survival. I write to show how the past is never past, how it interrupts the present, how it insists on being witnessed.

My dramaturgy is rooted in counter-archive: plays as living documents that preserve what dominant histories discard. I use ritual, fragmentation, and repetition to create worlds that are both familiar and strange, alive with the textures of memory, dream, and myth. I want audiences to feel unsettled and held at once, to encounter themselves in the gaps and overlaps of story.

I believe theater should not resolve but reveal. My work resists neatness, resists closure. It moves in rhythm, in chorus, in refusal, insisting that we listen harder—to each other, to the ghosts we carry, to the futures we are still capable of making.