In the end, what really matters are the stories that we tell ourselves — what to believe, what to doubt. But the trees, they belong to another time. They cannot lie. Marked by man as a useful commodity and as guardians of the Earth, their barks, everything about their being, wear the test of time. One cannot help but feel its earthly connection to the human soul.
Have you asked yourself, whose stories are you telling?
Last night, I had a dream in which I was trapped in a room surrounded by snakes.
The first snake I encountered in my dream was a coastal python. Not surprising. The children had pointed out a beautiful resident coastal python coiled around a tree in our backyard one afternoon. Sleeping. The snake catcher informed me that it was harmless and we had the choice to leave it alone and it will find its way soon enough, or relocate it. Sure, it will soon find its way to our pet quails, no doubt, I thought to myself. Just an hour…
She did not arrive by boat.
She tried her best to assimilate into the local culture. Some days, it was performing the rite of the quintessential ‘Ozzie’ backyard barbeque with regimented rows of browned sausages stuck deep into soft hot dog buns eaten with barbeque sauce in the shade of the low-set sun.
On other weekends, the ‘sausage sizzle’ the kids craved was quickly scoffed down with white sandwich slices outside Bunnings warehouses and quickly washed down with a can of Solo.
There were also the days of attending crisp mid-morning picnics and children's’ birthday parties at the park. Inescapably…
You gotta get yourselves out of this situation so dire
By dousing out those fiery fires
Don’t be afraid to change
Why choose more of the same!
When, instead, change can bring fame
But, doing nothing will only leave more pain.
And still, we have no rain.
Don’t listen to the coalminers!
Don’t listen to the corporations!
Listen to our voices
Traditional owners of our lands
Telling you, stay your choices!
Change the plan!
Listen to your hearts
Put climate change on the charts!
You don’t listen.
You tell us…
She felt cold. So cold. The bright fluorescent white lights of hospital theatre made everything appear so pristine, sterile and incisive. Just like the cut to her womb, they said they needed to do to save her baby. They all dressed in blue and white scrubs. Soft, reassuring voices. She was quickly wheeled in. She heard his heartbeat, loud and strong, but they said, it was dropping.
“I’m here to make you feel comfortable”, the anaesthetist reassured her with a hand to her shoulder.
She did not remember much. The pulling of the green screen curtains shut, the cut of…
I am waiting for my appointment. I look at my watch. It has gone to five past the hour. I look around. The phone is ringing occasionally. The television is on, but it is muted. There is a water filter in the corner with white plastic cups on the side. A children’s table with colouring pens and two small chairs sit neatly next to the couch. The other person who is also waiting is gazing abstractedly in my direction. I am not sure if she is watching the television, which is situated right next to me or is she watching…
Have you ever felt lost? Unsure of who you are. Unsure of where you should be. Unsure of what to do. Being lost can feel like an ongoing perpetual nightmare or a brief escapade from reality.
There are those never-ending days which can feel purposeless. The summer heat slowly creeps under your skin, leaving each minute feeling like a very very slow movie, one of the old projector kind that run on reels. …
If there is anything I have always wanted to do, it was to write. Becoming a writer is not a walk in the park, nor an easy feat that one can accomplish overnight. It may be for some, but not for me! And, it is not for the faint-hearted.
“This is not the right time…” I say under my breath to my husband. …
“…the human soul, which is partly free from matter and partly impeded by it, like a man who is entirely in the water except for his head, of whom it cannot be said that he is entirely in the water or entirely out of it…” (Dante, Convivo, Book 3, Chapter 7)
When I first held my baby in my arms, little did I know about how to go about caring for this newly minted human, and worse still, I did not know who I would become and how this experience would inevitably change me irrevocably. For better or for worse…
When I have nothing, I write. About nothing. Words go through my mind like a train going nowhere. Chugging along wearily. No final destination. It is that hormonal time of the month again. The return of my period took my senses by surprise. I felt the pits, the sadness, the anxieties, the heaviness, all came flooding back to me washing me from head to toe with feelings I had disowned since I started my journey into motherhood, growing and feeding little humans.
Now I begin to feel human again, once more subject to the highs and the lows of everyday…