These are strange times we’re living in. My children who are champion bickerers are now united in their zest to drive me up the wall. My days are peppered with “Amma, look at me jump” (underwhelming after the first 10 times) and “how many minutes before iPad time” (annoying after the first 10 times). There’s so much barking (bored puppy) and so many messes to clean up. I don’t have the luxury of working from home and….well, let’s just say that things aren’t pretty.
In muddy colors and broken smiles, love is all around us.Continue reading
Just when the cabin fever was making me see red, I got a bright little email from one of my favorite publishing houses. BlackHarePress has featured one of my drabbles on their website. Continue reading
To every woman (biological/identifies as) – I dedicate this poem to you. Keeping being loud, assertive and 100% amazing. Remember – you’re a fierce queen, born to rule your little world. Don’t let anyone take your crown away. Ever.Continue reading
She’s on vacation and he misses her terribly. I know even if he can’t always tell me.
When school lets out, he looks for her around the house. “MinnieMinnieMinnie” he chants in his singsong voice, zooming from room to room on his little scooter.
Shh..shh..don’t cry, baby girl. I’m here, darling. I’m right here.
I stop bawling and blink at your face. The world is blurry; the air leaching any semblance of warmth from my body . A thousand sounds ring, clank and beep around me. I smell you and burrow into your chest. You are familiar. You are my home.
Oh Amma, let me cry.
In the thirty-odd years since I blinked into existence, like most women, I’ve struggled with self-love and self-esteem.
“You’re not good enough.”
“Such a plain Jane. You should be skinnier,”
“Hotheaded and unpredictable.”
“Your boobs are average, on their best day.”
“Don’t answer that phone call, remember you have social anxiety!”
I spotted my first grey hair when I was 20. I was a standard Year 2 medical student; exhausted, overworked, surviving on strong coffee and the goodwill of nurses. Over the next few months, that one sneaky grey strand became two. Then five.
I was ashamed. I mean, who greys at 20?Continue reading
Corgis are magic. You couldn’t convince me otherwise.
They are tiny, ridiculous puffs of energy – all heart and floof. And they are bright. Incredibly so. Minnie gently waited, nosed, and hung around our autistic son for a WHOLE YEAR, before he reciprocated. She didn’t give up; she won him over and now they’re thick as thieves.
(I’m a storyteller and I cannot resist the pull of weaving a good tale. I love to regale my audience, make them gasp at all the right moments; the words ebbing and flowing with a life of their own. Soon I disappear, but no one notices, because they’re immersed, lost in that make-believe world. And when the story ends -stunned silence! Disoriented, the audience looks at each other with a smile, the echoes of the final words still ringing in their ears. And I wait back, behind the curtains, pleased to have been in their heads for a few, long moments. This might be a long read, but I promise you. It’s worth your time.)