Thursday, October 24, 2013

Thirty going on seven

I will be thirty years old in about another half an hour. If I were living in Australia or China I would be thirty already.

A few years ago, thirty seemed so old. Practically ancient. And I thought that I would have my act together by then.

Turns out, not so much.

When I was young(er), I wanted to be a surgeon. A female McDreamy if you will. Then I worked at a bank and there were no specific dreams as such. Then I wanted to be a judge.

Today I was thinking about all those things as Baby and I took a nice evening stroll and I realised that throughout I always wanted to be a writer. The thing is that as I go about my day, everyday I make up stories. They maybe brand new ones, different endings to things I face, alternative endings to books and movies long after I'm done with them. I even make up sort of epilogues for books I read and movies I watch about what happens to the characters afterwards.

Today it hit me. What an idiot! If only I had written these stories down, the collection I would have amassed by now.

What am I now? I like to think that I'm on the path of becoming a home maker. What about all your education, people are quick to ask. So what about it? I will still use it. Just at home.

I cannot in all certainty say that I will never work outside home again. A time might come where Darling being the sole provider will not be enough. One can never tell. Even if we had to scrape through I am happy to be home raising our son. I surprise people when I say that. I think I was the most surprised when it dawned on me. That I want to be a stay-at-home mom and home-maker. It is something that I never envisioned for myself.

Why then?

Beacause I want to make and bake and sew and garden and grow our own veggies and have chickens and have a cow and make cheese and write stories and most most importantly raise my son.

That is what I want. And looks like this dream is here to stay.

Sunday, October 13, 2013

You with the devious eyes

You, with the devious eyes
Spare me a glance.
You, with the devious eyes,
Looking everywhere but at me.

You, with the sincere smile,
You, with the mischievous grin,
Merry making with your friends.
Moving like a hurricane,
Around me,
Wrecking havoc in my heart.

You, with the devious eyes
Spare me a glance.
This treacherous heart
Yearns for but one simple glance.

You, with the devious eyes,
Spare me a glance.

Monday, October 7, 2013


I have this habit. I tend to bitch about people. No. I don't usually use bad words, but in this case it's the only one that fits.

If someone does something that I don't agree with, don't like, that makes me uncomfortable etc etc I talk bad about them with those who are closest to me.

The worst is that I bitch about my closest with each of them too.

I just realised what a bi*** I'm being.

It's not cool. It needs to be broken.

Also why waste life complaining about one person to another.

What if I found that someone was bitching about me to another. I would be heart broken. So would the subjects of my complaints.


Self criticism and finding that one falls short of ideal is never easy. But well, here I am bitching about myself and not another.

It's a start right?