a work in progress

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More money.

The problem with more money, more power, is that more people say “yes” to you.
So gradually in your mind, you’re “right” all if not most of the time.

And when you are challenged, it’s not hard to smother the wrong one.
Because after all, they’re wrong and you’re right.


Dear Aru, (Late August 2016)

They call it the terrible twos and I really know why.
But they forgot to mention that this is where the falling in love bit really happens.

Since we’ve gotten back from vacation it has taken us about 2 weeks to straighten out your wonky ways. And now.

Now you’re just delightful.

Every time you ask for a cuddle.
Say the word “kholo”.
Every time you start crying because the bike seat is too high.
Or better yet, when you demanded milk from the nanny so convincingly, she gave it to (at 5pm instead of 6pm).
Every time you flirt and look away to any woman’s delight.
You want to be read “book” and get bored two pages in.

There is something cuter, more loveable if I may dare say so, about you.

I’m glad we got to here.

I’m coming to terms now with the fact that it’ll never be a bed of roses.

And I have a feeling that’s how we got to here.


And I’m just getting started…

I would rather be an outsider.
A pariah.
A non-conformist.
Considered bizarre or unusual.

I’d rather be off form.
Nowhere near perfect.
Far from the norm.

Because I don’t want to be in that box.
The four sided one that says you have to be this.
Or that.

The one that says you need to have your hair done and your nails did.
The one that says you need the extra ensuite.
The one that says you need the yearly trip to Bali.
The one that says you can’t rise.
The one that says you need to follow procedures.
The one that says you can be better, richer, slimmer, smarter and more loved.

That one.
That box.
Not me.


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Don’t even.

Hey lady.

Don’t think you can manipulate me.
I’m not as young and naive as I once was.

Don’t think you can twist people’s opinions of me.
They know who I am because they don’t need words to form an opinon.

Don’t try and turn the story around.
You’ve done it for so long, we all know where the lies are at.

And worst of all.
Don’t pretend love.
I was a fool for that a while ago, but time has taught me better.

I can see clearly now.
Who you are.

And it pains me to pretend for you.
So read the silence I offer.

It’s the only form of genuine I can be.
Without shedding you of your fakery.


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To be a child again.

Sometimes I’ll correct V on his etiquette.
Thank you.
The “proper life”.

And often he’ll say to me, “it’s harder to unlearn than to learn”.
To return to childhood.
Is almost the pursuit of adult.

To be nimble, flexible, adaptive, subversive.

And for Picasso, it was just that.
Spent his life learning to paint like a child again.


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Tears in the middle of the night.

About a month after Aru was born, I woke up in the middle of the night crying.
I realised, I had no women in my life.
For me, I had clients and my sisters.
There were a handful of friends here and there.
But no one I could call in the middle of the night.

Since then, I’ve always tried to keep in touch with friends, a little better. Well as better as can be for a mum with a 2 year old.

However, the last 5 days in Paris have made me dive head first into friendships.

And now.

I’m the girl at the table.
I’m the one in the restaurant surrounded by women who “get her”.
Wild colours.
Wise women.

I am so so so grateful, I got the chance to be a part of it all.


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On thinking.

I think.
Once we accept what we’re thinking.
What we’re feeling.
What we’re fearing.
What we’re jealous of.
What we’re in doubt of.
What we feel insignificant about.
What hurts us.
What breaks us.

Once we accept that.
We can begin to move on.
And those things don’t unsettle us anymore.


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That night you left.

When someone leaves, are we sad for them or ourselves?
For what it means for us when they go?




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New Kicks

So I found these gorgeous maroon leather kicks in NY.
And a black Maison Kitsune sweater.
Then I bought this tan leather bucket bag by Leowe in San Francisco.

I came home.
One morning, I rocked an ensemble.
The casual mum swag.

Blue jeans.
Maroon kicks.
Black sweater.
Tan bag.

And I realised.

I did it to be liked.
To be admired.
Cool mum.
Mum swag.

That jazz.

And I talked to V about it today.
And I realised.

For women I don’t know?
For someone who is going to judge me upon this?
For someone who has no idea of who I really am?

Who doesn’t feel good enough about me?
That I need these things to make you tell me I’m good enough?

And I realised.

What those things really told me about me.
That to me.
For now anyways.
I’m not enough.


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I have just realised.

You can’t change people by coercion,
So much as you can just by being you.


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