Peaces of me
I went to the new library branch to pick up a book I had reserved. It was an excuse to check out the new digs. It takes me all of five seconds to meander its circumference. I easily locate the reserved books section. And I swiftly find my reservation. But I can’t find the self-service… Continue reading The library interaction
My entire family is crammed under my and my sister’s double-sized bed. There are five of us – my parents, who are in their late 30s. I’m 10. And my brother and sister are eight and seven. We have dragged blankets and pillows with us so we can get as comfortable as possible on the… Continue reading In memory of a mango tree
I think of play as a loss of self-consciousness in bed with flow, birthing a child-like joy. Like when my 12-year-old, honey-coloured Beaglier – a King Charles Cavalier x Beagle – chases his tail. I turn to the Macquarie Dictionary & Thesaurus Online to check my interpretation. I discover that for a four-letter word, play… Continue reading Dancing towards play
I often joke with my husband that our dogs travel everywhere. The last time I mention this is just a few days ago – I had found a single, short hair in my bra. I discovered it was because my boob was itchy. The time before this was two weeks ago, when we were in… Continue reading Dog hair
My friend Alex gave me a free advanced copy of her new book So This is the End: A Love Story. It was engrossing. Funny. Sad. I could not put it down. In it, the protagonist, Norma, is given a second chance to live, but it’s temporary. She only gets 24 hours. This got me… Continue reading If I had just 24 hours to live
Last Friday, making our way to Chilli India in Melbourne’s CBD for dosas, my friend Art asks me about my book idea. We had just seen Toni Jordan interview Liane Moriarty for The Wheeler Centre in a jam-packed Athenaeum Theatre. Liane, Toni tells us as she introduces the no.1 New York Times bestselling author, is… Continue reading Liane Moriarty and the writing process
In 1982 Fiji, TV did not exist. I played outside. I read Enid Blyton. I didn’t read the newspaper. And I can’t bring to mind any specific billboards of that time, even though I’m sure there were a few in the city, where I did not live. Today, at forty-four years of age living in… Continue reading The case of Me versus Stuff (excerpt)
When the yoga teacher kept yammering away about practicing aparigraha (the Sanskrit word for non-attachment) and how to brreeeathe, I knew it was time for a change. Other than walking the dogs, yoga was my main form of exercise. I needed to mix things up a bit. To balance out the precise movements and life… Continue reading Why it’s more than dance
Some philosophers, like Nietzsche, believe that life has no meaning in itself, but that one has to construct it. I generally agree with this. But I feel one has to be in a position of privilege to contemplate the question: How can I create meaning? I arrived at this point of view after watching a… Continue reading Pondering the meaning of life is a luxury
A couple of weeks ago, I was on my way home from a writers’ retreat on the big island of Hawaii. In the last leg of my flight, from Sydney to Melbourne, I heard a repetitive chant being played in a foreign language. I turned around to see a middle-aged Asian woman sitting directly behind… Continue reading Forbearance is a form of kindness
