Category Archives: Memoir

The small things…

The other day my mother bought me a coat. Now, mother and I have rather different opinions about fashion, and so to prevent disputes, I had long told her never to buy me something without consultation first. She tends to forget. So despite feeling a little mean, I went and returned it. But deep down, I felt loved (especially considering she chose the right size).

Another event involved my dad. I have an OCD. Well, several in fact. I recently got a new mac keyboard, that unfortunately only came in white. This freaked me out because I knew that once I started typing, it would get dirty, and if it got dirty, a lot of will power would be required to overcome the smudges and continue using the thing. So I set out to buy a keyboard cover protection slip, …but didn’t find one. When I got home, lo-and-behold, there was a plastic cover on it! Makeshift though it may be, father remembered my ‘disorder’. And that made me feel loved too~

It’s always the small things…


My Life, A Journey

A long time ago I wrote this reflection on another site:

” It’s rather ironic when you think about it. ‘Life’ – a simple 4 letter word and yet no definite meaning behind it. There are many ways of thinking about life, too many to state or list.

I consider my life to be like a continuous journey. A journey to where? I’m not sure, but that’s the point isn’t it? I don’t know what my future is and so it makes sense that I don’t know where I’m heading.

A journey with many obstacles in the way because life is not an easy flat, straight road. Perhaps it is more like an obstacle course. When I am encountering a difficult situation, reflected on my journey, I am walking up a steep hill. There are many factors that define how difficult the situation may be; the steepness of the hill, height, type of road/path (rocky, sandy, etc), etc.

At present, I am probably at the foot of the biggest obstacle in my life so far. Year 12 is not an easy mound of dirt that I can just hop over, but as life is a continuous journey, I can not avoid it or stop. I know that once I reach the peak, it’s all downhill from there and satisfaction lies on the other side.

And when I reach the end of my journey and look back, I hope that I will be able to come to realise that my life was, in fact, just a journey. There are times that I can run and times that I must crawl, but it’s all a matter of taking it step by step. “

(Sometimes I marvel at my literacy skills… where has it all gone?! …)

Year 12 was indeed a big obstacle. Unfortunately, as I was continually looking back over my shoulder too see how much I’d accomplished, I did not foresee the much more difficult trek ahead – university. But of course, university is not the be-all and end-all of my journey. The future is still shrouded in mist. It’s possible (and highly likely) that another greater mountain remains to be climbed. I can’t see it at the moment. I’m still trying to do what I told myself so many years ago: “…taking it step by step.” Sometimes I want to just stop, sit down, and stare up into the sky. Days when I feel like this, I find myself wishing for a momentary lapse in time. Just a little one. Enough to let me breathe in the world around me, be thankful for what I have, and regain my composure to continue the journey.

After all these years, all this time trekking, I still feel like I haven’t ventured far from the beginning. And yet I have. And before I know it, I’ll probably reach the end. So, message to my future self:

“Feel the ground, dirt, or pebbles below your feet, no matter how sore they are. It means you are still traveling, still journeying, still living. And remember, the seemingly never-ending struggle, is really only a short journey.”

(A photo I took from the car on a family trip through the country.)

Snotty Sleeves~

Yes. Snotty sleeves. Gross? Definitely. But it was unavoidable. A singular event in my life (as far as I can remember…), hopefully it was also inconspicuous and I did it stealthily enough. Pretty sure no one gave me a disgusted look… Sigh. Should probably clarify that this happened a LONG time ago, though at that age, I should have probably had the intelligence to not use my sleeves as a canvas for my runny nose. But I did. In public. A ‘sniffle buddy’ would have probably come in handy at the time (fancy thing for US kids, lucky mites)… or a tissue…

Why am I recounting this? … It’s winter. A buddy was sniffling beside me in our morning lecture. He asked me for a tissue, but I had none. That’s when I remembered = sleeves. But decided not to recommend it in case he figured out my dirty secret. So he continued sniffling. For the greater good I guess.