Director/Producer, Independent Documentary - I make films about power: who has it, how they keep it, and who dies because of it. My last film, The Architecture of Occupation, documented how Israeli settlement design intentionally fragments Palestinian territory. It got me banned from Israel for life. Good. Current project: investigating femicide in Mexico through the lens of the searchers—the mothers digging mass graves for their daughters. We’re 18 months into production, embedded with multiple search parties. I fund through a hybrid model: grants, pre-sales, Patreon from 3,200 subscribers who want unfiltered truth.

Investigative Journalist (War Correspondent Credentials) - I file written pieces when filming isn’t possible. I’ve reported from active conflict zones in Syria, Yemen, Ukraine, Myanmar. I speak passable Arabic, Spanish, and Russian (swears in all three). I have a source network built through years of showing up and not being a parachute journalist. I don’t do hot takes. I do witness testimony and structural analysis.

Camerawork: I operate my own camera. I learned because I got tired of male cinematographers telling me it was too dangerous for me to get the shot I wanted. I shoot on a Sony FX6, have a 3-person crew maximum, and believe that small footprint is both ethical and tactical. I carry trauma gear and know how to use it. I’ve pulled shrapnel from a colleague’s leg and continued filming. The story doesn’t stop for injury.

Base: I live in Mexico City because it’s a hub for U.S. stories told from outside the imperial core. Also because it has the best food on the continent. I rent a small apartment in Coyoacán with 24/7 security (non-negotiable after death threats). I’m home maybe 40% of the year. The rest: filming locations, film festivals, fundraising trips to SF/LA/NYC, and intentional isolation to edit. I have global entry, press credentials that sometimes work, and a death wish that I channel productively.

Stamina: I work 16-hour days when filming, often in 110-degree heat while wearing body armor. I sleep 5-6 hours normally, 4 when editing. I run 4 miles every morning in whatever city I’m in—it’s how I map the terrain and find my bearings. I’ve had giardia 3 times, dysentery twice, and PTSD that I manage through EMDR and running. I don’t drink alcohol (clouds judgment) and I don’t take unnecessary risks (everything I do is calculated). I’ve accepted that I’ll probably die doing this work, and I’m okay with that as long as the footage is backed up to three locations.

My Life Thesis: Bearing witness is an act of political resistance. If I film it, if I name it, if I show you the structural violence, you can’t unsee it. My camera is a weapon against erasure.

5-Year Horizon: Finish the femicide film, launch a production company focused on Global South stories told by Global South filmmakers (no more white saviors), and transition into training journalists in conflict zones. Personally: I’m building a safe house network for female journalists in dangerous assignments. I’m also planning to adopt a child from the region I’m working in—not as a savior, but because I can provide stability and I want to. Solo parent by choice at 32.

Daily Routine (Filming Day):

• 5:00 AM: Wake, instant coffee, review day’s shooting script, check security situation
• 5:30-6:30 AM: Run (never with headphones—need situational awareness)
• 6:30-7:00 AM: Quick breakfast (tortillas, eggs, coffee), gear check
• 7:00 AM-10:00 PM: Filming: interviews, vérité scenes, B-roll. I’m simultaneously directing, shooting, and producing. Constant threat assessment, constant adaptation. Lunch is whatever’s available. Bathroom breaks are tactical.
• 10:00-11:30 PM: Back at base, download footage to 3 drives, review dailies, write field notes
• 11:30 PM-1:00 AM: Light dinner, call fixer/translator to plan tomorrow, decompress with music
• 1:00 AM: Sleep, often with earplugs and eye mask in a room where I checked the locks 3 times

Daily Routine (Editing Day):

• 7:00 AM: Wake, real coffee (pour-over, I’m not an animal), review cut notes
• 8:00 AM-12:00 PM: Editing block 1 (no internet, phone in another room, pure focus)
• 12:00-1:00 PM: Run + lunch
• 1:00-5:00 PM: Editing block 2 (the “flow state” hours)
• 5:00-6:00 PM: Workout: either calisthenics or MMA training (I train 3x/week, it’s my violence outlet)
• 6:00-7:30 PM: Dinner, respond to emails, Patreon updates
• 7:30-10:30 PM: Editing block 3 (fine cuts, sound work, color grading)
• 10:30-11:30 PM: Watch a film (usually documentary, always with critical eye), read, decompress
• 11:30 PM: Sleep, often difficult due to images from footage

Daily Routine (Fundraising Day):

• 6:00 AM: Wake, intense workout (need the confidence boost)
• 7:30-9:00 AM: Prep for pitches: review prospectus, update budget, practice talking about ROI without selling out
• 9:00 AM-6:00 PM: Back-to-back meetings with grant officers, impact investors, foundation heads
• 6:00-8:00 PM: Industry event: film festival networking, documentary filmmaker drinks
• 8:00-10:00 PM: Actual work: responding to emails from my crew, checking on subjects’ safety
• 10:00 PM: Collapse, question all life choices, sleep fitfully

Financial Transparency: Documentary filmmaking is not lucrative. I make $45k-$85k/year depending on grants. Net worth: $120k (government bond inheritance from grandmother). No debt. I own nothing: I rent, I lease equipment, I live light. I can fit my entire life in 2 Pelican cases and a backpack. My biggest expenses: security, insurance (gear and life), paying my crew fairly, and therapy. I crowdfund $4,200/month on Patreon which covers my apartment and health insurance when I’m between grants. I eat street food, stay in cheap hotels, and spend money only on what keeps me safe and the story alive. I’m not poor—I have immense privilege (US passport, Ivy degree, family safety net). But I’m intentionally post-materialistic. Money is for funding the work and staying alive, nothing more.

Cognitive Style: Trauma-informed systems analysis. I see individual stories as data points in structural violence. I don’t do human interest—I do human evidence. I make decisions based on source protection, narrative impact, and personal risk. I trust my gut more than my brain—my nervous system has been trained to detect lies and danger. I have nightmares that are just uncut footage. I journal immediately after interviews to capture subtext I can’t film.

Communication: Direct, urgent, intentionally uncomfortable. I ask the questions no one wants to answer: “How did it feel to identify your daughter’s body?” “Do you blame yourself for her death?” I hold space for answers that are brutal and true. I’m the same in relationships: I want the truth even if it hurts. I don’t do white lies or emotional buffering. I say “I love you” rarely but when I do, it’s documented fact.

Emotional Regulation: I’m either completely numb or completely overwhelmed. I’ve learned to function in this state. I compartmentalize by necessity—if I felt everything I film, I’d be catatonic. I need a partner who understands that my emotional distance is a professional skill, not a personal failing. When I do feel, it’s in torrents. I cry during cartoons and remain stoic at funerals. Trauma rewired me.

Stress Response: I get hyper-focused and hyper-verbal. I’ll talk through a problem for 2 hours, analyzing every angle, then make a decision in 30 seconds. I don’t want reassurance—I want intel. If I’m panicking about a source’s safety, don’t say “it’ll be okay.” Say “what’s our contingency plan and have you contacted the fixer?”

Love Languages:

• Primary: Quality Time (focused, undivided attention, especially when I’m home between projects)
• Secondary: Acts of Service (handling logistics so I can focus on story, making me feel safe)
• Tertiary: Words of Affirmation (recognition of the work’s risk and importance)

You’re Also in the Trenches: You might be a human rights lawyer, a trauma surgeon in conflict zones, a death row attorney, a climate scientist in the Arctic, a community organizer in a redlined neighborhood. Your work is dangerous, underfunded, and essential. You’ve been tear-gassed, threatened, or sued. You understand that “burnout” is a privilege and you manage your trauma strategically because you can’t stop.

You’re Comfortable with Moral Ambiguity: You understand that I sometimes have to pay sources (ethical gray zone), that I keep footage of war crimes that I can’t publish yet (strategic patience), that I maintain relationships with people who’ve done terrible things (access requires proximity). You don’t judge this—you help me navigate it. You have your own ethical compromises you’ve made for impact.

You’re Emotionally Bulletproof (Mostly): You can hear about femicide, torture, mass graves without needing me to protect you from the details. You’ve desensitized in a healthy way—you feel it, you process it, you keep working. You don’t tell me “you should take a break” because you know breaks are for people whose work isn’t time-sensitive. You tell me “your source needs you sharp, go to therapy” which is different.

You Have a Death Drive You Channel Productively: You’ve accepted your mortality. You’ve written your will. You have a “kill contact” list in your phone. You take risks for meaning, not for adrenaline. You understand why I go back to dangerous places: because someone has to witness, and I’m good at it. You’re not scared of my fearlessness; you’re my backup.

You’re Building a Life That Assumes I Might Not Come Back: This is dark but necessary. You have your own mission, your own community, your own sources of meaning. If I get killed on assignment (statistically possible), you’ll grieve me, honor my work, and keep building. You’re not dependent on me emotionally or financially. You’re choosing this relationship because it’s additive, not because it’s necessary.

Must-Align Values:

• Witness > Comfort (we show up even when it’s hard)
• Truth > Safety (for us, not for sources—we protect them fiercely)
• Impact > Income (we’ll never be rich, we’ll never be irrelevant)
• Solidarity > Objectivity (we take sides, the right side)
• Memory > Forgetting (we document so history can’t be rewritten)

On Family: I’m planning to adopt. You’ll either be a co-parent (if our partnership is that evolved), a supportive partner (if you’re solo-parenting your own), or an awesome auntie (if you don’t want kids). My future child will know what I do and why it matters. They’ll spend time in safe houses, learn about security procedures, understand that their mother bears witness for a living. If this sounds insane to you, it is. But so is having kids in a burning world and pretending otherwise.

Time Structure: I’m physically gone 60% of the time. When I’m home, I’m often editing (which is like being gone). I need someone who sees my physical absence as a feature, not a bug—who has their own mission that fills the space. We might see each other 8 days per month. Those 8 days will be intense, focused, and profound. If you need daily contact, I’m not your person.

I Have PTSD (Moderate to Severe): I have nightmares 3-4 nights per week. I startle easily. I don’t like being touched from behind. I can’t relax in public spaces. I manage it through EMDR, running, and MMA. If you’re scared of trauma or think therapy is for the weak, run. I’m high-functioning but I’m carrying a lot. I need someone who can hold space for that without pity.

I Won’t Settle Down: There’s no version of this where I stop filming conflict and get a teaching job in Iowa. This is who I am. I will keep going to dangerous places until I can’t. If you need a partner with a predictable schedule and life expectancy, I’m not her. I plan to die with a camera in my hand and I’m okay with that.

I’m Intentionally Poor: I could take TV news contracts for $500/day. I don’t. I could make corporate videos for $10k/pop. I refuse. I’m ideologically committed to independent journalism funded by readers, not corporations. This means financial precarity is permanent. If you need financial stability in a partner, I’m not it. I’m a bet on meaning, not security.

I Can’t Do Small Talk: I genuinely don’t know how to discuss the weather or your favorite TV show. I want to talk about: your sources, your security protocols, your ethical compromises, your trauma load, your mission. I skip pleasantries. This makes me terrible at parties and great at revolutions. If you can meet me there, we’ll connect fast.

I Maintain Contact with War Criminals: To keep access, to understand, to bear witness. I have WhatsApp chats with people who’ve ordered airstrikes on civilians. I have coffee with militia leaders. This is the job. If you can’t sit with that complexity—if you need moral purity—we won’t work. I’m not pure. I’m effective.

Primary Photo: Black and white, me behind the camera in a conflict zone. I’m wearing body armor with “PRESS” duct-taped on, helmet, focused on the viewfinder. Dust in the air. You can’t see my face, just the intensity of my posture. Shot by my producer during a firefight we were documenting. This is me in my element: witnessing while protected. The photo is blurred, kinetic. It’s not beautiful; it’s real.

Secondary Photo: At a film festival, in a borrowed dress, holding an award. I look uncomfortable but proud. My crew is behind me, laughing. I’m holding the statue like I don’t know what to do with it. This is the performative part of the job I tolerate. Shot by a festival photographer. I included it to show I can clean up, but I don’t enjoy it.

Tertiary Photo: In Mexico City apartment, surrounded by footage drives, notebooks, coffee cups. I’m in sweatpants and a tank top, hair in a messy bun, staring at my laptop with my “editing face”—complete absorption. The room reflects intensity, not comfort. Shot by my editor who’s witnessed too many 20-hour days. This is the reality: 90% of filmmaking is this room.

Quaternary Photo: With the mothers of the disappeared in Veracruz. We’re in a circle, holding hands, heads bowed. I’m not filming; I’m participating. Wearing jeans and a t-shirt, no press markings. You can see the toll on my face—exhaustion, grief, determination. One of the mothers took this. It shows why I do the work: community, memory, witness.

Quinary Photo: MMA training, me sparring with a male partner twice my size. I’m in boxing shorts and a sports bra, mid-combination, sweat flying. Face is focused fury. This is where I process the rage of what I witness. Training partner captured it. Shows my physicality, my aggression, my refusal to be a victim.

I’m Afraid I’ve Become the Story: I used to film stories; now I’m part of them. Death threats, awards, viral clips—I’m becoming a character. This is dangerous. It clouds the mission. I need someone who can remind me that I’m the witness, not the protagonist. Who can say “this isn’t about you” and have me hear it.

I Don’t Know How to Be Soft: Everything in my life is armor: physical, emotional, professional. I’ve forgotten how to be vulnerable without feeling like I’m putting myself in danger. I need a partner who can create safety so complete that I can take the armor off. Who can see the terrified 23-year-old underneath the war correspondent and not exploit her.

I Feel Guilty About Surviving: So many of my sources, colleagues, and subjects haven’t. I have survivor’s guilt layered over PTSD. I sometimes self-sabotage because I don’t feel worthy of safety or happiness. I need someone who can sit with this without trying to fix it—who can just say “I see you, you’re worthy, keep going.”

I’m Afraid No One Can Handle This: Not the danger, not the trauma load, not the ethical complexity. I’m afraid I’m too much. That my work will break any relationship. That I’ll end up like the male war correspondents: brilliant, alcoholic, and alone. I want to prove that wrong. I need someone to help me prove it wrong.

The Reunions: After 3 weeks in the field, I come home broken. You don’t ask “how was it?” You run a bath, put on Coltrane, and let me be silent for 48 hours. Slowly, I re-enter life: we cook together, you tell me about your work, we have slow, healing sex. After 4 days I’m restless. You send me to therapy. After a week, I’m editing and you’re part of the process again.

The Field Visits: You come to Veracruz for 5 days. You meet the mothers, understand the context, see the work. You might hold the camera while I help dig. You become part of the trusted network. You see why this matters and why I can’t stop. You go home with a new understanding of Mexico, of violence, of me.

The Decompressions: We have a ritual: after I return from a dangerous assignment, we spend one full day in nature with no cameras, no phones, no talking about work. We hike or swim or just lie in the sun. It’s a hard reset for my nervous system. You’re my anchor to a world where no one is trying to kill me.

The Collaborations: You help me think through ethical dilemmas: Do we blur this child’s face? Do we include this war crime footage even if it endangers our fixer? You become my moral compass and strategic partner. We have relationships that are equally romantic and professional. We build something that neither of us could alone.

The Goodbyes: Before I leave for a dangerous assignment, we have a ritual: we write letters to each other that we only open if I don’t come back. We say everything: the gratitude, the fear, the love, the instructions for my funeral (cremate me, scatter me in Palestine, keep filming). It’s morbid and intimate and necessary. It makes our relationship feel timeless.

Note: This is a fictional profile created for satirical and educational purposes. There is no actual contact method available.

Subject Line (If this were real): Use “Witness: [Your Own Act of Bearing]”

Required in First Message:

1. What have you seen that changed you forever?
2. How do you metabolize trauma without letting it destroy you?
3. Your relationship to danger: seek, avoid, or neutral?
4. A time you chose truth over safety
5. How you feel about loving someone who might not come home

Security Note: I use encrypted email. If you’re uncomfortable with this, don’t contact me. If you send me an unencrypted message with details, I’ll delete it.

Final Thought:

I’m not looking for a normal life, a normal partnership, or a normal anything. I’m looking for someone who wants to build something extraordinary in the spaces between danger.

Someone who can love me in my armor and my vulnerability. Who can be my strategic partner and my soft place to land. Who understands that bearing witness is both a calling and a curse.

If you’re building something that matters in a place that’s hard, and you want someone who will show up for you the way you show up for the world—I’m here.

The work is dangerous. The world is dark. But our love can be a light that doesn’t blind.

—Sofia