I was wiser in my twenties than I give myself credit for. In an old blog, in another time, I remember writing, at the tender age of twenty-two, that some friendships had use-by dates. Sadly, I didn’t remember my own advice, and I’ve struggled with the act of letting go all my life. It’s caused me nothing but heartache. I’ve…
Pista-chio. (Beautiful, expensive, rich.) I have a bag of these, and I don’t know what to do with them. That’s rare for me; it’s rare that I don’t know what to do with an ingredient. But when it comes to these I’m torn. Should I save them for Diwali and add them to a sweet, made with thickened milk, sugar,…
I’m thinking of you today, Marie. I’m thinking of the way we walked arm in arm down the Champs-Élysées, two carefree girls who felt beautiful and invincible; I remember the wonderfully strong coffee in that little café you insisted we try, and our delight at discovering the used book store above it. I remember when the skirts of my dress caught on…
I sometimes wake up thinking that I have to go to school again, and it fills me with dread before I realise that I never have to go to school again; I never have to walk to that cold building with its dark long corridors and barred windows; I never have to park my bottom again on those hard benches…
9th April 2012
There is an old shoe box that dwells on the top shelf of my closet. It is where paper photographs of my childhood reside. I spent a part of the afternoon sitting cross-legged on the floor of my closet, looking through the contents of the box. There are the photographs that never made it to the digital world for various…