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Hurry-blurry!!

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Every year, we change the numbers on the calendar and tell ourselves we’re "new people," but let’s be honest: the first four months of the year are nothing but a  caffeinated, frantic blur.  We start with grand resolutions and end up just trying to remember what day of the week it is. Stuck in the city while everyone else hits the coast? You’re essentially patrolling a ghost town. The office is dead, the inbox is full of automated replies, and the solitude is a total motivation-killer. By week three, your ambitious health goals are traded in for whatever leftover food is in the fridge. The long summer days are the ultimate gaslighters. They move so slowly that you think you have all the time in the world, yet the months disappear in a frantic blur. We really should just rename the first quarter: Jan-hurry: The month that lasts a year but achieves nothing. Feb-hurry: The shortest month that somehow sprints past you in a weekend. March: Which literally marches over at 10x sp...
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2025 - A spicy rollercoaster

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Happy New Year! 🥂 ​2025 was a bit of a spicy rollercoaster—one of those where you’re not sure if you’re screaming because you’re having fun or because the safety bar feels a little loose.  ​🏆 The 2025 Hall of Fame ​ The "Aunty of the Year" Award: Watched my nephew graduate. I managed to cheer loud enough to embarrass him, which is the primary goal of any graduation ceremony. ​ The Survivalist Medal: Finished a contract in a toxic work environment. I deserve a PhD in "Smiling While Screaming Internally" and keeping my professionalism while the building was metaphorically on fire. ​ Empowering role: Started a second volunteering gig empowering migrant women, all while keeping up my weekly dates with my favorite seniors at the aged care home. My karma is currently sparkling. ​ The Grand Finale: I wrapped up the year with some travel. Because after 12 months of being a functioning adult, I earned the right to get lost in a different time zone. ​ The Proud ...
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Being kind vs Being Nice

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So, there I was, at a Thai joint with a bunch of people I know—let's call them The Acquaintance bunch . The mood was high, the chattiness was maximum, and the orders were... complex. The majority in the group(not me), of course, were getting the Vegan Fried Rice , because it's 2025 and we're trying to be good to the planet (and probably our colons). But everyone also needed a unique, bespoke spice level . We're talking a Scoville-scale rainbow of requests. We waited an appropriate( nice way to say we waited for a long time) amount of time, which is to say, long enough for the conversation to move from small talk about the weather to details of the future travel plans. This is an image of a feast my dear friend cooked for me when I visited her- Kindness to the core.  and many eternities later.. The  Nervous Waiter arrived, plates in hand, looking like a bomb disposal expert trying to decide which wire to cut. She held up two plates of identical-looking rice and meekly a...
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Empowering the inner goddess

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It's that time of the year again , we celebrate women in so many different forms—the strong ones, the calm ones, the brave ones, the creative ones, the protective ones, and the fierce warriors. We celebrate all the qualities of a goddess, a Lakshmi. But honestly, growing up, this festival was mostly about treats and school holidays. I never really saw myself in any of those powerful figures. I was a shy kid, and I certainly didn't see anyone who was "vigorous" or "furious" being praised as a "good girl." PC: Google images It felt like women who showed anger or bravery were always told to just calm down, as long as it wasn't a family issue. If it were a family problem, they were told to be quiet to keep the family's business behind closed doors. And as for the creative women?! They became invisible; it is considered their creativity as part of the everyday household work, and they are never truly celebrated. The older I get, the...
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Averse to love

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Growing up, books and I had a purely transactional relationship. They were a means to an end—I'd read my textbooks and notes, and that was it. The idea of picking up a book for fun felt like extra homework, and who wants that? My aversion to reading was so strong that it took a desperate need to avoid eye contact with strangers on my daily commute to finally pick up a novel. My first real dive was Sidney Sheldon's Tell Me Your Dreams . It was an absolute game-changer, a gateway drug into the wonderful world of fiction. It completely hooked me, and suddenly, I was a full-fledged reader. Since then, I've dived into everything from gritty non-fiction for a dose of reality to fiction that's a one-way ticket to another universe. Nothing beats fiction for a good escape, where you can lose yourself completely. Some characters become part of your soul, making you laugh, cry, and inspire to see those places in real life, and some make you angry the way the characters are portray...
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Pleading guilty or not guilty ?!

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Welcome to the latest episode of "Things My Son Thinks I Broke," where the situations are tiny but the reactions are massive! My theory is that whenever A has a free day, he must create some miniature-sized drama to ruin the day, and I am, of course, the unsuspecting co-star. This particular Saturday was supposed to be a fun day—no sports for the first time in eight months, a beautiful sunny winter day, and a road trip with a packed lunch and snacks! What could possibly go wrong? PC:Google image Turns out, me trying to get ready is what goes wrong. I get ready and come out to see that G was giving A a serious dressing-down. This was my first sign of trouble since arguments are usually my territory. I quickly discovered the crime: apparently, the Eiffel Tower was broken. Not the real one, mind you, but a cardboard replica A had built five years ago. He was furious, and I, in a moment of maternal brilliance, decided to lie. "I didn't break it," I said, " alt...
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'Boysplaining" - a new word in my dictionary

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You know, I thought by now, after years of paying the bills with my respectable career, I'd at least get some street cred from the resident tiny peasant. Especially since, you know, I work in IT . You'd think that would be enough to earn me the coveted "IT girl" badge of honor from my teen, but apparently, my offspring operates on a different planet. My daily struggle involves my son, Little A, relentlessly "BOYSPLAINNING" me on using computer. Yes, you read that right. He boyplains abbreviations (he literally said E-games is Electronic games) to me, a grown woman who has, in fact, used a computer before. He'll rattle off keyboard shortcuts like I've been living under a rock since dial-up was a thing. "Mom, you just hit Ctrl+Alt+Delete to, like, fix everything!"   Yesterday was a particular highlight. I was meticulously crafting some design on Canva, and Little A, lost his patience, was hovering. Apparently, my navigation speed wasn't u...
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