I shouldn’t be here.
At least, that’s what the doctors told me.

But first, introductions.
I’m Preet Jowhal (more on me below), and welcome to my little corner of the world.

This space was born in the aftermath of a lifequake — one that ripped me open and almost broke me.

At first, I thought it was just exhaustion. Just stress. Just one more project I had to push through.
It’ll all be over soon, I told myself.

And it almost was.

A clot in my lung. Clots in my pelvis. A mass blocking my oxygen. A swollen leg. A suspected heart attack.
I barely made it to the hospital in time.

But the shocks kept coming — suspected cancer, urgent surgery, and the words I never expected to hear:

“You will never be able to have children.”

I had already known disappointment before my body broke.

Divorce. Betrayal. An almost-wedding — deposits paid, reception booked, everything rehearsed — until my fiancé’s sudden stroke revealed an avalanche of lies: gambling, debts, drinking, secrets. Just like my first marriage.

Twice I had stood at the edge of a life that wasn’t mine. Twice the universe yanked me back.

And still, I hid.
I smiled at weddings and baby announcements while my own life collapsed.
I played the part, but I stopped making plans for myself.

My art, my dreams, my voice — all locked away in a box marked someday.

Then my body betrayed me, and there was no hiding left.

In the months that followed, I barely recognized myself. My body was stitched and sore, and the loss pressed heavier than the scars across my pelvis.
I withdrew into my home and garden, moving through days heavy with grief and fear, staring at a future I hadn’t chosen.

One afternoon, I found my Dadi’s letter — her bucket list for me.
I carried it out to the garden, to my usual spot near the dahlias, and I read.

She had been betrothed at five, her destiny mapped before she ever had a choice.
But in her letter, she wrote freedom into mine.

She wanted me to get that yellow bikini out of my closet and wear it in Mombasa — to run straight into the ocean without hesitation, salt on my skin, laughter in my throat, waves tugging me toward my own belonging.

She wanted me to love — not out of duty or performance, but with the kind of wild, honest love that sets you free.

And she wanted me, finally, to learn how to make parathas properly!!

I had done none of it.

Her words hit like a fist.
I had been waiting — for approval, for marriage, for motherhood.
Waiting so long that I had stopped living.

But I was still here. Still alive.

And I wasn’t alone.

🌹 My mum’s endless love.
🎀 My sister’s bad jokes (love you, Sis).
🍌 My auntie’s “you’ve got this” voice notes (and her OMG banana bread).
💫 My friends who made me laugh when all I wanted to do was cry.
💖 My soul sister — my best friend — who stayed close even when I couldn’t bear to see anyone.

And the incredible trailblazers whose voices reached me from afar — women who reminded me I was more than a womb, more than a ring, more than the glances that told me I was incomplete.

 

Together, they circled me like a shield.
They carried me when I couldn’t carry myself.
They pulled me back toward life.

 

Through their strength, care, and love, I found the courage to stop hiding.

There, in the stillness, I began to sketch. To dream. To imagine a life built around joy instead of fear.

Scribbles filled my notebook. Colours spilled across the page.
The more I created, the more I remembered who I was — before the doubt, before the noise.

That’s when the first seeds of Tangerine Yard were planted.

Not as part of a five-year plan, but in the space I carved out for myself — where the air smelled of earth and possibility.

What began as stolen hours and daydreams grew into shapes of hope and a way back to myself.

It was the thing I’d always wanted but never dared to do: to build an apparel brand rooted in purpose — to create something beautiful that could also do good.
And so, from loss and healing, Tangerine Yard was born.

 

The first Tangerine Yard collection — One in a Million — is inspired by all the incredible women who carried me through.

They made survival look like art and showed me that choosing yourself — your joy, your voice, your truth — can be its own quiet act of rebellion.

I wanted to create something that honoured that — something you could hold, wear, and carry with you.

That’s how the One in a Million Collection was born: a special-release, limited-edition series of ten bold t-shirt designs inspired by extraordinary women who don’t just hold us together — they keep us moving.

Each piece blazes with vibrant reds, painted blooms, and statements that remind us what it means to love ourselves first.

Every woman honoured in this collection holds the private link to her own edition — unlocking it only for her community. Each drop is made-to-order, released in limited quantities, and available for a short time only.

Every purchase supports Feeding America and The Global FoodBanking Network, helping us work toward our shared goal: one million meals donated before Thanksgiving.

The drops run from November 4–25, with the final impact — funds raised and total meals donated — announced on November 30, 2025.

Each edition is released exclusively through the woman who inspired it — her story, her voice, her circle.

There’s no public shop or open link.
If you’re part of her community, you’ll have access to her drop.

Each piece is made-to-order, available for a few short days, and then it’s gone — no restocks, no reruns.

If you’re lucky enough to be in the loop, you’ll know.