About us

The Beginning, My Testimony

The first memory I have is of terror. I had no control over it — I must have been two or three years old. There was a fight. My brother's ear was cut with scissors, bleeding badly. I remember the blood. I remember not understanding what was happening. That image stayed with me.

After that — mostly, I was a happy child.

I roamed outside alone, which I mostly did. Climbed tall trees near the bus stop by our house. Disappeared into the woods for hours with nothing but a stick, imagining wars, armies, battles — me as the commander of all of it. Times were different then. Nobody worried. I just went, and the world was enormous and mine to explore.

I was curious, always moving, always in my own world. I didn't know then how quickly things could bend.

"Where there is no vision, the people perish: but he that keepeth the law, happy is he." — Proverbs 29:18 (KJV)

Before I even started 1st class, I fell under the influence of an older boy from the neighbourhood. He was cruel in the way that some older kids can be — using fear and humiliation to control those younger than them. I remember him taking away the ladder to a treehouse and mocking me until I jumped from a height I was terrified of. He made me drink from a dirty stream while threatening to beat me up if I refused. That part I didn't like. When it was aimed at me, I hated it.

But I won't pretend the rest of it felt the same way.

When we vandalised cars with spray cans, stole bicycles, set fires to forests and cemeteries and threw rocks at this tractor by the side of the road — there was a rush to it I didn't have words for at the time. It felt like boldness. Like I was finally someone. The recklessness felt like freedom, and the freedom felt like identity. I was young and lost, and for a while, that felt like finding something. I didn't understand yet that I was searching for myself in all the wrong places — I just knew that for the first time, I felt seen. Alive. Part of something.

I carry the weight of what we did. The fires, the vandalism, the police — twice the fire brigade had to be called, and one of those fires destroyed the shelters of homeless people living in a forest. I hold that to this day. But I tell it honestly, because the pull of it was real — and pretending otherwise would be a lie. Understanding where I was then is the only way to understand how far I've come since.

I hold nothing against him now. That is simply what happened, but now my downward spiral was on full effect.

After a while I wanted nothing more to do with him, and I managed to find a way out — mostly successfully. But the path had already been set. By the time I started school the habits had taken root: trouble with teachers, more trouble with police, fighting, stealing, drawn to the wrong crowd. Something in me was broken, and I didn't fully understand why. I wanted to be seen, to matter — but I was going about it in all the wrong ways.

There was a particular kind of mischief we thought was clever at the time. Our group would sneak up on classmates while they were occupied — and just start hitting them. Punching, kicking, then running. We called it a prank. The police were called. Being street smart, I decided we shouldn't get on the bus home — and sure enough, we watched from a distance as the police stopped it, looking for us. We'd outsmarted them. So naturally, we did the sensible thing: walked straight back to school to meet the principal and get told off anyway.

By the 4th grade I had been kicked out of my first school, and my mother, who had already moved to the UK hoping for a fresh start, soon had me follow her there.

Six Years in the UK

My father was not around from an early age. That is a simple sentence, but it carried a weight I didn't know how to put down. By the time I left Estonia there was no relationship between us at all, and that absence followed me across the water. It made me sad in a way I couldn't explain — lonely, hollow, and at times deeply depressed. I didn't know what to make of it. I just carried it.

My mother was carrying her own weight. She was raising me alone, and our relationship was strained under the pressure of it. A single parent, a troubled boy — we clashed often, and I was not making things easier for her. I regret that now more than I can say.

From the moment I arrived in the UK, my grades took a serious hit. Me not knowing the language at first, only fists and run, I never did homework at all. I was present in body but absent in every other way. And yet — somehow — I still finished 11th grade. Looking back, I don't fully know how.

The way I found validation — because I wasn't getting it at home — was by doing stupid things in class. Shouting. Being the class clown. Making jokes, doing anything to get a laugh from my classmates, often bad things. It got me attention, and attention felt like something. I was popular for my rebellious ways, which only drove me to keep pushing further. At times I was just a bully — picking on smaller kids, ripping someone's diary for the fun of it. The school put me on behaviour report cards: white, then green, blue, purple, red. I was one of the first in my class to reach the worst levels. Every single day I had to report back to staff to account for my behaviour. I knew it was wrong. I did it anyway, because the alternative — being invisible — felt worse.

I was expelled from a Christian secondary school in around 9th grade after I chased kids who had been bullying me with a knife — there was more to the reason, but this was the biggest. That detail stays with me now — a Christian school, of all places. At the time I didn't understand the significance. I would later. I was an angry young man who didn't know any other way. I am not proud of it. But I tell it honestly, because this story is not about who I was — it is about what changed.

Early adulthood was spent the way many lost young men spend it: drinking heavily, partying, chasing highs, living for the next moment because the present one felt unbearable. My drug of choice was MDMA — ecstasy in crystal form — combined with alcohol. I thought it gave me superpowers and at first it really did make me stronger, better with women, just more fun to be around. In reality It didn't take long for the dependency to the drug to take affect, withdrawals and that. I loved it anyway. There were times I came close to death. I did full on rocks at home and overdosed on ecstasy — my heart rate reached around 200bpm and an ambulance had to save my life. Another time I overdosed on alcohol and they had to pump my chest to keep me alive. I should not be here. But I am.

The most lost I ever felt was on LSD. I'd researched it extensively — read about how transformative it was for people, how it opened minds and changed lives. When I finally tried it, it was just absolute nothingness. An emptiness I couldn't live with. I went back to it anyway, because I hadn't yet learned to stop doing things that hurt me. That took much longer.

A Life in Sport

I've always been physical. Back in Estonia as a kid it was judo and wrestling — sport was just part of life from the start.

When I moved to the UK, football took over. Every break, every lunch, without fail. It was the standard way of life there — shirts untucked, blazers abandoned, school shoes broken clean through from playing on concrete. I went through a pair roughly once a month. Homework? Skipped. Important things? Skipped. If there was a ball and space to play, nothing else existed.

I got into kickboxing for a couple of years — earned a blue belt with a white stripe. Then rugby found me, and that became something serious. I played for the school team and joined a club outside school too. I was a big guy and hard to stop with the ball — running through people, bobbing and weaving, hitting the front line of the scrums. We won games, lost some. That's how it goes. I did that for two or three years and loved every bit of it.

Back in Estonia now, it's quieter but consistent — cycling regularly and calisthenics at home. The body still needs to move. That hasn't changed.

Coming Home, Still Searching

I came back to Estonia. Older, but not yet wiser. I tried to fill the emptiness with answers — astrology, philosophy, searching inward and outward for something I couldn't name. None of it brought peace. None of it stuck.

The problems only deepened. I was in trouble with the police again heavily into drug use. House parties, clubs I was out on most weeks. I collapsed unconscious on one occasion, and on another I had an epileptic seizure in town — both times because of what I was putting into my body. I was running out of road, and somewhere inside I knew it.

And yet, somehow, I was still here.

Around 2020, something quietly shifted — my father and I began to restore our relationship. It is still not what I would wish for, but having him back in some form brought a comfort I hadn't expected. And through faith, I would come to find what no earthly father could ever fully give: a deep, lasting peace that calms the heart, and a pure, perfect love from a Heavenly Father who does not leave, who does not disappear, and who never makes you wonder if you are worth staying for.

If you are reading this and carrying the weight of your past — know this: we are not defined by our sins, past or future. Nobody earns their way into heaven by being perfect. It is only God who brings us into perfect peace.

The Years of Work

My first job was in the UK — warehouse work, backend operations in a shop, while doing college at the same time. Balancing both wasn't easy, but I got through it. I was still lost during most of it. I just had somewhere to be.

When I came back to Estonia, the jobs kept coming. Construction with my dad — still do it occasionally when he has work for me, though that's rare now. Security guard in shopping malls. Landscaping. Driving for companies. Installing home window glass. Tire changes for a living.

The hardest stretch was a glass manufacturing plant. I worked by the furnace — the heat was almost unbearable, and the shifts ran 12 hours. The rotation was relentless: two days of day shifts, two days off, two days of night shifts, then repeat. Your body never adjusts. Your sleep never recovers. You stop knowing what day it is. The glass itself didn't weigh much, but by the end of a shift I was completely spent usually — in a way that's hard to describe unless you've been there. 

The mechanic job was the opposite. That one I actually loved. I specialised in wheel alignment but did oil changes and regular work too — and every day was different because every car is different. There's a satisfaction in diagnosing a problem with your hands and fixing it. No politics. Just the problem and the solution. It remains one of my favourite jobs to this day.

What wore me down across all of it wasn't the physical work. It was the environment. Conflicts, stress, being bossed around by people who confused authority with superiority. It ground me down over time.

I understand it differently now. Real leadership isn't about being above people — it's about serving them. Jesus didn't come to be served, but to serve. That reframing changed what I wanted to build.

The Neighbour Who Changed Everything

Looking back, I can see that I had prayed to God at times — in Estonia, occasionally in the UK. But if I am honest, my life was a contradiction of those prayers. The way I lived, the way I spoke about Him to others — it was hostile. Blasphemous, even. I claimed to know something of God while wanting nothing to do with what He actually asked of me. I was not searching for Him. I was running from Him, and calling it searching.

Then I met my neighbour. A Christian. Someone who didn't preach at me or judge me — they simply introduced me to something real. To faith. To God.

And everything changed. Not overnight. Not without struggle. But genuinely, permanently changed. For the first time in my life I found what I had been searching for — not in a philosophy or a substance or a person, but in a relationship with God. He showed me love I hadn't earned and didn't deserve, and through that love I found the will and the strength to rebuild. 

"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here." — 2 Corinthians 5:17.

Where I Am Now

I won't pretend it has gotten easier. But it has become more fulfilling than anything I have ever known.

By the power of God, I got off the hard stuff. I have an addictive personality — that's just the truth — and if it weren't for God, I genuinely don't believe I'd have stopped. I know myself well enough to say that. I occasionally smoke weed. A small glass of wine now and then. I smoke cigarettes. I'm not proud of it. But the combinations that nearly killed me, the lifestyle built around chasing the next high — that's gone.

I do not recommend drugs to anybody. Not MDMA, not weed, not alcohol, not even cigarettes. These are all mind-altering substances and they are dangerous — every one of them. They don't give you an edge. They don't make you more interesting or more alive. In the long run they just make you dumb and dependent. I would never recommend to another person some of the things I still do nevermind the past garbage I used to put in my body  — because I've seen where that road goes, and I've been lucky to come back from it.

My hope in sharing all of this is simple: to warn people. The lifestyle I lived, live, was dangerous, and I was lucky to survive it. If even one person reads this and thinks twice before going down the same road, then it was worth writing. There is a right way to live and a wrong way to live. For my own reasons, at that time, I chose the wrong path. I'm not here to judge anyone — I have no ground to stand on for that. But I am here to say: it doesn't have to go the way it went for me.

I live a quiet life now — reading the Bible, praying, trying to trust God one day at a time. I am working on my health, rebuilding relationships, and slowly becoming the person He wants me to be. The past still visits me. I am still in the process of becoming born again — that is an honest thing to say, and I won't dress it up. But I trust Him completely, and that trust has given me something I spent my whole life chasing and never found: peace. Real peace.

I truly believe I have found it now.

Found in Scripture

As my faith grew, I began reading the Bible seriously — not as a religious exercise, but out of genuine hunger. Somewhere in the pages of Song of Songs, I encountered Frankincense and Myrrh. Not as ingredients, not as a business opportunity — simply as something beautiful, ancient, and deeply meaningful.

I began researching, sourcing, and blending — purely in search of my own personal perfume. Something that felt true to who I was becoming. When I finally found the right combination, the experience stopped me. There was something in those scents that felt sacred. Grounding. Like they carried the weight of thousands of years of human devotion.

It was only later that the thought occurred to me: what if other people could feel this too? That quiet realisation was the beginning of Aromatic Treasures.

A New Creation

Aromatic Treasures is not just a business — it is an act of worship. A way of taking the second chance I was given and doing something genuinely good with it. What I had found — something real, something pure, something that had genuinely changed my life — was not meant to be kept to myself. I wanted to offer others what had been offered to me. And if along the way it provides a living, enough to cover food and expenses and to do some good in the world, then that feels like exactly the right kind of work to be doing.

If you want to understand the full journey — the jobs, the grind, the reason this has to work — read the story here.

What I Make & Why It Matters

I make premium essential oil perfumes and Castile liquid soaps — sourced with care, free from synthetic fragrances, sulfates, parabens, phthalates, colorants, alcohol, and preservatives. My signature blend — Frankincense, Myrrh, and Himalayan Cedarwood — is rooted in ancient tradition. These are the same resins and woods that have carried meaning across centuries of human history. There is something fitting about building a brand of new beginnings on ingredients that have symbolised purification and reverence for thousands of years.

Essential Oil Sourcing — Silky Scents

I source all essential oils exclusively through Silky Scents, with verified botanical identities and documented sourcing standards:

• Frankincense (Boswellia Serrata, India)
• Myrrh (Commiphora Myrrha, India)
• Cedarwood (Cedrus Deodara, Himalayan)
• Sandalwood Mysore (Santalum Album, certified organic QAI, India)
• Vanilla (Vanilla Planifolia, India)

Steam-distilled only — no solvents, no chemical processing. Vanilla is CO₂ extracted. Every essential oil is chosen for purity, not price.

Estonian Sourcing — Zinuz

My carrier oil, soap base oils, and soap-making lye are all sourced locally through Zinuz, an Estonian supplier:

• Golden Jojoba Oil (Simmondsia Chinensis, carrier)
• Organic Olive Oil (cold-pressed)
• Organic Coconut Oil
• Organic Shea Butter
• Potassium Hydroxide (KOH)
• Sodium Hydroxide (NaOH)

Sourcing locally means shorter supply chains, verified quality, and keeping the production of Aromatic Treasures rooted in Estonia from ingredient to finished bottle.

EU Compliance & Allergen Transparency

I operate under EU Cosmetics Regulation (EC 1223/2009) with full allergen disclosure on every product label. I believe you have the right to know exactly what you are putting on your skin.

Small Batch. No Compromise.

There is no production line. No warehouse. Every bottle is filled, labelled, and checked by hand — that is not a marketing line, it is simply the reality of how Aromatic Treasures operates. The care that goes into each product is the same care I try to bring to everything in my life since finding faith.

"And whatever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord and not to men." — Colossians 3:23.

What Goes Into Every Product

Carrier & base oils: Organic Golden Jojoba Oil, Organic Olive Oil (cold-pressed), Organic Coconut Oil, Organic Shea Butter.

Essential oils: Organic Frankincense, Organic Myrrh, Organic Cedarwood (Himalayan), Organic Sandalwood Mysore, Organic Vanilla.

Soap bases: Distilled Water, KOH, NaOH, Glycerin.

I never use: synthetic fragrances, sulfates, parabens, phthalates, colorants, alcohol, or preservatives.