A few tepid evenings ago, I was working at my desk whilst my 6-month-old baby played nearby by herself – and with a few of the outcast bears in my Bear Room. I scribbled something on draft paper, decided it was crappy, scringed it up, and threw it with a near-miss parabola into the bin next to my desk. My daughter looked up and was still and quiet. She was fascinated by the rustling sound of paper crinkling up and getting thrown into the waste paper basket. She gazed at me with quizzical eyes, asking, “What was that sound?” So, with a swoop, I picked her up from the carpet and dunked her into the bin. She peered at me, was hesitant for a split second, then burst into hysterical giggles. Keep Reading…
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walking down another street
I would like to share this poem by Portia Nelson. No grand explanation from me or 10 lessons to be learnt from it. Simply, it is a reminder to me to take ownership and responsibility for my challenges. Perhaps this could be an inspiration for you in other ways…
Autobiography in Five Short Chapters
By Portia Nelson
I
I walk down the street.
There is a deep h... -
Wrapping my head around Arabic
During a recent conversation over dinner, I mentioned that I would like to “wrap my head around Arabic by next year.” I started learning Arabic 2 years ago. It was a sporadic venture, intertwined with migraines, exhaustion and then a pregnancy. I had not gone beyond counting to 10 or conjugating verbs in one tense. I was frustrated at the non-progress, bu...
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The Airport
I read Alain de Botton’s “A Week at the Airport” in one sitting a few years back. People come, people go. A space that seems to put time on hold, for it is a place, where we are neither here nor there but in between destinations.
Especially when in transit.
Psychologists have commented on the airport being a transitional space, which, as originally stated ...
