There is a kind of youth that has nothing to do with age. And everything to do with aliveness.

常若

• 常 (toko / jō): constant, eternal, everlasting
• 若 (waka): young, youthful

Together, they form the poetic concept of “eternal youth”—but not superficial youth. It speaks to a perpetual renewal of spirit, a cycle of staying fresh, connected to life.

I didn’t learn this in a book.
I learned it in my body.
I’ve lived many lives in this one life.
Banker. Wife. Lover. Mother. Woman alone. 

I’ve fallen down. I’ve gotten back up.
I’ve been hurt. I’ve healed.
I’ve broken things—and I’ve either fixed them, or I’ve left them behind.

You are not meant to stay the same.

You’re allowed to change your mind.
To outgrow old skins.
To step back from the world and listen to yourself.
To become softer, slower, deeper—and somehow, more alive than ever.

We design for that woman.
The one in between versions.
The one reblooming quietly.
The one who knows her becoming is sacred—and still unfolding.

Tokowaka lives in all of us.

It’s in the way you reach for color after years of hiding.
The way you pause before saying yes.
The way you start living again—from the inside.

You don’t need to start over.
You only need to remember:
You’re allowed to begin again.