Since learning of Ollie's passing, time seems to have moved differently. The world has continued as it always does—people going to work, classes beginning, conversations carrying on—but beneath it all there has been a strange stillness. A pause ... As though something gentle and important has fallen silent, and those of us who knew him are still trying to make sense of the space he has left behind.

Oliver Matias lived a life devoted to understanding and easing human suffering. A researcher, scholar and healthcare professional, he dedicated his work to questions of wellbeing, mental health and human connection. As a PhD researcher, he investigated self-harm and suicide with the same care, curiosity and compassion that characterised every aspect of his life.

Yet no list of qualifications, roles or achievements can truly explain who Ollie was. What made him extraordinary was not what he accomplished, but how he made people feel. Some people leave an impression through their presence; Ollie left one through the quiet sense of ease, warmth and belonging that seemed to follow him wherever he went. People felt seen in his company. They felt listened to. They felt valued. In a world that can so often feel hurried and distracted, Ollie had a rare gift for making others feel that they mattered.

Some people announce themselves loudly to the world; Ollie's gift was quieter. There was a gentleness about him that invited people to slow down, to be present, and to meet one another with greater kindness. Those who crossed paths with him often describe him as a true yogi—not because of the postures he practised, but because of the way he moved through the world. He embodied the deeper teachings of yoga: compassion, humility, openness and connection.

The reflections that follow offer glimpses of the many lives Ollie touched. While no collection of words could ever fully capture him, together they reveal something of the gift he gave so freely to others—the feeling of being welcomed, understood and cared for. In the end, perhaps that is the measure of a life well lived: not what we leave behind for ourselves, but what we leave behind in the hearts of others.

To Steven and Hind. Lit a candle and prayed for lovely Ollie at Mass today. RIP. Angie x

Chloe Lin

Though we didn’t get many chances to chat, I’ll remember the calm energy and presence you brought to the yin yoga and breathwork sessions. 

You will be deeply missed, and I hope you’ve found comfort and a beautiful sense of peace now. Rest gently.

Claudia Silas

Oliver was a very well-loved student and member of the Nottingham yoga community. I personally would light up upon seeing him. 

He was an extremely warm and engaging young man with a deep and loving practice. His asana practice was distinctive, as he would hold poses for such a great length of time, despite the flow of the class, in what appeared to be a very deep meditation. 

Olly would engage in dynamic and varied conversation with other yogis, genuinely interested in what they shared. This was even more apparent to me when last year he lost his voice, yet still, he managed to retain such a kindness and curiosity towards others.

I would often see him out walking as he lived close to where my daughter attends nursery. Over the last few months, the kids and I would stop and chat with him out of the car window. The kids immediately adored him. It was hard not to.

Rest in peace, lovely man. It was an honour to practice alongside you and have you in attendance at classes. 

You and your family will be resting in my awareness and heart.

Danielle Crawford

To watch Olly practice was to witness a masterclass in heart-opening postures. He loved the expansion of a deep backbend held for a prolonged period of time; even when the class progressed around him, he found his heart-opening asana and stayed to enjoy it, emitting a real sense of calm to those around him.

​Ollie had time for those around him, always ready to offer genuine connection.

Ollie's practice has inspired me, and I'm sure countless others to practice our yoga on and off the mat with beautifully open hearts.

Emma Gleaden

Oliver, I’ve been lost for words for days. You will be so missed.

Your kindness, your warm conversations, the treats you always had for our puppies!. You were a beautiful person who touched so many lives at Deep Yoga in humble and thoughtful ways. It’s very hard to have to write this in the past tense.

My thoughts are with your family, friends, and everyone who loved you during this incredibly difficult time. Rest in peace, Oliver. I hope we can help in some way to continue your brilliant legacy 🤍

Emma Wilson

I was first introduced to Ollie when he was a student on the Master of Public Health course at the University of Nottingham in 2018. I was the course director, and Ollie was always such an engaged student; I recall one of his assignments on my Health Promotion module where he designed an intervention to support health for people suffering from insomnia. When he completed his MPH, he then worked with me directly for a year in 2018-19 writing an Obesity White Paper for the Royal Society of Public Health discussing whether obesity should be considered a disease. Following this, Ollie went on to work in clinical trials at the University of Nottingham, but we kept in touch, and he came back to the MPH to meet our new students on many occasions.

Then in 2023 our paths crossed in a different way; I bumped into Ollie in a yoga studio (well, in two studios actually!), and we practised yoga together for a couple of years at Hot Yoga Nottingham and Deep Yoga Nottingham. In 2025, Ollie completed his Yoga Teacher Training, and through our practice together and our conversations, he inspired me to sign up to the 2026 Yoga Teacher Training course. So, while I may have been Ollie's MPH “teacher”, Ollie was definitely a key “teacher” for my yoga journey. I will miss you deeply at yoga and at work at the University of Nottingham.

Jennifer Fearon

Oliver regularly attended the class I taught on a Friday “warm wind down”; he always turned up early, and we would sit and talk about life, just everything and anything. He was the most genuine and caring person I know. One Friday he came with raspberries and strawberries as I had told him I loved to put them in my salads. He was a beautiful soul and someone I just connected with. He will be missed.

John Hipkiss

I always found Olly a very gentle, kind and friendly soul. I had the pleasure of often lying down next to him in yoga sessions and was very impressed by how bendy and agile he was! I bumped into him recently, and he gave me a little hug. That was the sort of person he was ... benevolent, warm and friendly. I just so wish that day I'd asked him for a coffee to spend some time with me, which may have encouraged him to open up about things that were maybe troubling him. 

Lloyd King

I was heartbroken last night when I heard the news of your passing. I still can't believe it's real.

I wanted to send this message to say thank you. Thank you for the friendship we shared, for the wonderful conversations we had about Buddhism, yoga and our respective spiritual journeys, and for the kindness and encouragement you showed me. You had a profound impact on my own path, and I know I'm not alone in saying that. You were deeply valued by so many people in the yoga community in Nottingham. I also have no doubt that you will be deeply missed by those in the Triratna Buddhist Community who knew you.

I'll always remember you as a sincere spiritual seeker and a genuinely kind person. I'm so grateful our paths crossed, and that I was given the opportunity to get to know you.

Wherever your journey now takes you, I wish you peace. May your transition be gentle, and may the fruits of your practice support you every step of the way.

With metta,

Lucy Chapman

I think the thing I will miss most is going to Marcia's breathwork class this Sunday, out of breath and dashing around, searching for some calm and entering the studio and not being able to see Ollie, deeply relaxed, eyes closed and as calm as can be, already there, laid back with his cushion supporting him.  It was always so comforting - like a reminder to slow down and find the stillness - just as he had. 

For me, he had a mischievous sense of humour and a lovely way of engaging that made you stay in the moment and have the chat - even if you'd planned to dart off to somewhere else.

As for anecdotes, I remember at one point I was doing a LOT of yoga classes, probably too many, as my body wasn't thanking me, and he just said kindly and simply that I should always do what feels right for me on the day - even if it's not what I planned.  It doesn't seem like an earth-shatteringly big moment, but it absolutely resonated and has stayed with me to this day.  So I remember when he told me he had decided not to carry on with his yoga teacher training, I reflected back what he had said - that yoga is about serving you, doing what's right for you and he smiled.  Then he told me he thought his role was now to help people by talking to them about yoga.  What a lovely guy. 

Oh yes - and I remember how fondly he spoke of his grannie too - how Saturday afternoons were not free for yoga because it was visiting grannie time!

Maria Guarnieri

Only a few weeks ago, after a class, I was rather pompously saying how much yoga practice had helped me keep negativity at bay in the last year,  working under the threat of redundancy. Olly said yoga was never more than a form of exercise for him, such a funny remark from the most effortlessly bendy guy in the room!

This led to the three or four of us in the conversation sharing a few jokes, banter and giggles. Olly was kind and gentle; he didn’t seem to take himself too seriously. I loved the way he shared his subtle sense of humour.

Rachel Frodsham

Oliver was my friend, but the truth is, Oliver was everyone’s friend. His capacity for kindness seemed to know no limits. He had a remarkable way of making everyone feel welcome, seen and valued. Whenever you were with him, you felt as though he was holding space just for you.

I met Oliver at Deep Yoga, and before we had even spoken, I knew I was in the presence of a true yogi. There was something about him that radiated humility, patience and presence. There was no ego, no judgement—just a quiet authenticity. Later, as I got to know him, I realised these weren’t just qualities he brought to his yoga practice; they were the values he lived by every day.

Last year I became Oliver’s hairdresser, and in true Oliver fashion, he showed me extraordinary grace from the very beginning. At his first appointment, I completely forgot to write it in my diary and left him waiting for half an hour. He eventually left without a haircut, still smiling, reassuring me not to worry. At his next appointment, I insisted on giving him his haircut for free, but he simply refused. Then, at the following appointment, I told him my usual price. He decided that my time and the quality of my work were worth more than I was charging, so he quietly paid me the price he believed I deserved. That was Oliver—always generous, thoughtful and wanting to lift others up.

The conversations we shared while he sat in my chair are memories I’ll always treasure. He chose his words with such care, always mindful of other people’s confidences, yet equally committed to making every conversation a genuine exchange. He listened deeply, shared openly, and made you feel heard. We both shared parts of our lives, and I feel incredibly grateful that our paths crossed in that way.

I feel truly blessed to have known Oliver, to have called him my friend, and to have experienced his kindness, wisdom and gentle presence. He made the world a better place simply by being in it.

He will be deeply missed.

Ruby Mucenieks

I didn’t know Olly well, but I always felt his gorgeous, soft presence as a warming light in the Shala. Classes felt deeper when I practised next to him. A loving light gone far too soon. My deepest condolences to Olly’s loved ones and to the lives he’s touched. 

Steven (Gurdeep) Athwal

The untimely passing of Oliver has left so many of us shocked and deeply saddened. He carried himself with a quiet calm, the stillness of a tranquil sea, yet beneath the surface there may have raged a tempest known only to him.

We can never truly know the battles another soul endures in silence. I can only hope that the storm has now given way to calm, and that Oliver has found the peace that so often seemed beyond reach.

Farewell, Oliver.

May you rest in gentle waters.

With sadness,