Moving out / moving on

I carry my heart in my hands tonight, and I am holding it as if it were a pet or a baby. On nights like these, I force myself to re-learn how loving myself feels like. It's painful, but I have to do it.

Over these few months, adjusting my attitude and making the choice to be thankful for the little things has helped to stabilize both my emotional and mental states tremendously. When D told me I was strong, I didn't understand what that meant. Now I do. Georgie and Abi both told me the same thing, that I'm one of the strongest people they have ever met. I was shocked, then a quiet confidence crept in and told me, "Yes, you can."

I remember how much I'd cry as we lay curled up in each other in bed. Bare skin, raw emotion. I hope he knows I still love him even though we are both far away from each other. Somehow, I feel closer to him than ever. It's now that I love him the most; it's now that I am loving him at my hardest.

Tonight is the last night in this house, and he was a big part of the time I've spent here at 41 Elmbank. The other night, I thought I saw him standing at my door, waiting. There was no one. My heart sank so far down - it was so heavy that I couldn't even cry. So my legs eventually made it up the steps and put me straight to bed. I remember him walking into my room and sitting on my bed, watching film after film on his laptop. I don't think he knows how beautiful he looks when he's content like that. This was the person I fell in love with - someone who is in love with the world, with intelligent narratives, with beautiful images and beautiful people. I'm happy he found me beautiful, and I want him to know that I feel the same way about him too.

I asked Abi this tonight: Can you believe that hearts and relationships are breaking right now? At this exact point in time? Someone broke up today. Someone lost their greatest love today. And that brings me a slight bit of comfort to know that everyone around the world has/is experiencing heartbreak no matter where they are. This phenomenon tells me I'm not alone.

It might be the separation anxiety kicking in. Now that we're moving out of this house tomorrow, my brain is trying to hang onto what seemed like a good thing. It was, but it's gone now. The intensity of my memories with D are almost equivalent to the memories I've had with my girls - both experiences have been dream-like. Only that one ended with a lot of pain, and the other is a living celebration of God's unending favour and love. I can never fully grasp them again, I know, and that's why I have my heart in my hands tonight.

I can't guarantee that he's the first thought I have every morning, but he is definitely the last thing on my mind every single night before I go to sleep. It's either that, or what I should make for breakfast, really.

It’s getting better.

Some nights I still wish you were here with me, just lying in bed listening to HONNE, the very first band whose music I recommended you. You said they were nice.

We never sent each other the mixtapes we probably ought to have done -just like we never gave each other birthday cards- but somehow, my memory has subconsciously recorded the songs we’ve listened to together. I didn’t think the music you liked was awful. I didn’t think that at all. I found it boyish and charming, which are traits that drew me to you in the first place.

I still can’t listen to JP Cooper’s Colour Me In Gold without having tears fill my eyes, because it holds a genuine moment that we both shared. It felt like a dream, and it penetrates right through my heart, and makes it sore all over again.

I don’t switch the fairy lights on anymore. I can’t enjoy the atmosphere of the room without imagining you walking around in your tracksuit bottoms, laughing with/at me. You still walk around this space in my head, and it smells like blackberry & cassis, lavender and peppermint.

You must know I never meant to mock. I still hate myself for writing that poem.

I will never take the tube to Tottenham Court Road station ever again. You crossed the road without waiting for me, and I remember standing there, across from where you were, wondering what had happened for it to have gotten this bad. That you’d say it was over even before I decided it was. That you wouldn’t let me stay that day, that I had to be punished for making a decision I strongly decided not to follow through with in the morning.

I slept early that night, the earliest I had ever done since I got to university. My head was burning, and I could not shed a tear no matter how much I tried. It was pure emotional fatigue taking its toll on my body, and I was afraid I wouldn’t wake up in the morning. I told you how much I loved you on the day itself but when you replied, you told me your Japanese takeout had taken two hours to arrive. So I fucked off.

I watched the Kurt Cobain documentary the other night and thought of you. I left Abi's room bawling, thinking of how beautiful you are but it wasn't right, because you couldn't share the most vulnerable parts of yourself with me. I was ready to work through the trauma you've experienced in the past with you. I was ready to stick it out.

No, I will never go to that station again because I didn’t even get to look you in the eyes one last time - you kissed me twice, then turned around and left. It was one of the most painful days of my life, and as I watched you walk away, I lost all hope in reconciliation.

I don’t ask ‘Why me’ anymore. I have done the deed by leaving. I’ve been crying, and letting myself feel everything.

It’s getting better slowly, but surely.

How God has given me poetry to deal with heartbreak

It is Day #3.

In writing, I am able to lift up gathered and ungathered thoughts alike, mapping out order and chaos; structure and splats. In His presence, I can be both. In fact, I can be singular, plural, multiple and infinite. (This could also be because I find the need to assume different egos, and have a crippling inability to laugh at myself.) Yet, whatever thoughts I submit to Him, I know that they will always be 'enough' or 'more'— no less.

But something has been taken away from me. I am now left with less. And that is the difference between God and I. He can take away, and it hurts. But even in my 'lessness' or lack, He tells me I can choose to give/receive MORE, and it will always be enough for Him. My 'lessness' is restored when He reveals to me an understanding of WHY I have less in this season of life. And with that restoration comes peace, which transcends all understanding. Tonight, I realised that I have less because God wants me to give you more. In the leaving, I was loving you the hardest I have ever done. My lack is not closed off— it shows me that in order for my once-stagnant state of mind to grow, I must remain open.

To remain open means choosing to be honest, embracing curveballs that He throws my way, and learning how to deal with them. It means no longer worrying how a perfectly good relationship "turned this bad". Instead of focusing on the erosion and why or how it happened in the first place, I must keep my heart open so that healing can rush in. In the words of David Whyte, this is so I can "assume a larger identity than the person who was first hurt". Hello, Forgiveness.

With poetry, God trains me to pay attention to the details. But He also reminds me to look at the big picture. Without engaging with the two, openness and closeness cannot co-exist, and the poem would not be whole. By the way, I am thankful for you telling me when I lacked tact, even if agonizing over my choice of words has not solved anything.

Closeness, in this case, is 'open selfishness'. It means learning how to establish strong personal boundaries, realising that there is power in proximity. Establishing boundaries, particularly emotional boundaries, is something I have always struggled with. I fall in and out of 'love' easily because I ALLOW myself to trust too quickly. I ALLOW someone else (either a romantic interest or a friend) to trample all over my emotional boundaries, thinking that my warped perception of "loving well = being able to endure and tolerate bad behaviour" can save me. This happens frequently, and you'd think I would have been used to it by now. But no, it still shocks me.

And so it does not mean I need to play a 'role', because I am both weak and strong, and I need a partner who can accept both sides instead of entering a relationship with the lingering need to correct a power imbalance. When I can establish boundaries and learn to be 'openly selfish', I believe I will be able to remain WHOLE even as I am with the OTHER. Only then can both parties stop rearing their power-hungry heads to tear each other down.

Not being able to master the craft of establishing boundaries before I said 'yes' to you has also led to me adopting a fleeting mindset, whereby I subconsciously abuse my own feelings. I do not wish to blame or focus on you as the external factor, who has influenced me in such a way where I second guess my decisions and intentions every single day. There is no point, and I will be over-explaining myself all over again, which you hate. Then again, this piece isn't addressed to you and you alone, it's for anyone who still thinks I'm interesting enough. Instead, I'm going to focus on my internal thought process, which I need to hold to account should I want zero drama upon entering a new relationship in the future. Now back to the mindset.

This mindset I have adopted TRIVIALIZES my emotions felt at the time of hurt, no matter how intense, or how much it made me cry. Yes, trivializing one's feelings leads to a surefire way of forgetting, but it is NOT PROCESSING or DEALING WITH EMOTIONS properly. I forget how I felt almost immediately, and once again, I allow myself to accept unacceptable behaviour, which puts my happiness at stake. This mindset can also be closely linked to cyclical sin: "Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like someone who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like." (James 1:23-24)

God wants to cultivate an awareness in us, which we owe to Him, ourselves and others. And it follows in the order of this hierarchy: when we are aware and are ready to receive the love God has for us, we are able to love ourselves. In loving ourselves, we are equipped with the power to love others. In this case, I owe it to myself to do everything in my power to never find myself in a situation where I allow someone to step all over my emotional boundaries ever again. Emotional abuse is most often inflicted by an external party, but that doesn't mean I should choose to blame that person continually. But there is still a difference between intentional and non-intentional abuse.

With all this said, besides turning to prayer, friends and family in this time, writing poetry gives me great consolation. Poetry requires one to be accurate so that one may write in a relatable manner, encouraging intimacy with readers, writers and humans alike. This is me processing my feelings on a page. In doing so, it has given me the confidence to FEEL WHAT I FEEL. And this confidence is crucial, because when you stop engaging with your emotions, others can easily manipulate them, causing you to question if the decision you made was right or not. In writing my heartbreak, I aim to dedicate time to refining the lines emotional abuse has blurred.

But for now, I'm going to end my essay with this:
I love you, purely, and simply because I do.

What stops me from writing

...is thinking my ideas aren't good enough. It's not even in terms of poetry or playwriting - it can just be along the lines of what makes a substantial blog post.

So I thought I'd just write about the problem, and how I'm solving it even as I type.

Technology is neutral, but as a writer, I often abuse it. Seems like I've gotten 'too lazy' when it comes to taking down notes in a notebook. (...even though I got myself a red Moleskine over Easter, which I'm starting to simply use as an accessory than to properly 'catch' the ideas running through my head...) And this so-called laziness stops me from writing.

Now that I'm jetlagged, I quite like getting up this early in the mornings to check out what the world is up to. When you're up early, you also get to sneak yourself a piece of chocolate, make yourself a nice cup of tea and simply... walk around the house naked. I like to think I walk around with my Moleskine and a pen in hand while in my birthday suit, but that doesn't happen. The point is, the day is fresh for you to seize. Your thoughts are the clearest at six in the morning: you've reached the bliss point. You've had enough yet not enough sleep. You've slept off the worry of life's hardest questions from the night before and because your mind is still stirring to try to focus on what to do for the day, your mind is subconsciously being thrown into that precious slot of time where creating becomes natural and even fun to do.

Here, you are communicating with your state of mind. For this moment, you actually believe in yourself (believe it or not). This turns into daydreaming without emotional baggage. And yknow, I like to think that daydreaming is dreaming too. How you incorporate that into your creative work... is completely up to you. I also envy people who write drunk - I don't do that because I never find myself in a pen-and-paper situation when intoxicated. I'm spread out next to the toilet bowl instead, usually, well, de-toxicating.

Also, envy towards how others are doing (lol or call it inspiration lol) can actually be a pretty good motivator. I'm not a jealous person when it comes to how good my poetry is. I have my own standards, and am still learning what makes it good, but at the same time, learning what makes it better. But sitting down in front of the laptop stalking people you admire (yes, healthy admiration) seriously makes you question what you're doing with the set of skills you've paid international student fees to hone - and can sometimes distract you from getting to work if you're a jack of all trades and master of absolutely none like me - but hey, remember that slice of belief you've just cut for yourself at six in the morning? All is possible now.

BUT (these uppercased letters have grabbed your attention now innit) allow yourself to be more fascinated by the process than who you're going to become in society or in this case, whether you're going to be a successful writer in the end. You're not at the end yet. Stop competing with what hasn't happened yet you arrogant shit, because there's nothing to compete with. Be in the now. I find that Buddha Doodles helps a lot when you can't be gentle with your own mind.

Something else that stops me from writing is when I don't have enough food available next to me. Have fruit and nut, or food that doesn't give you unnecessary and unwanted sugar spikes that leave you feeling groggy after. Have green tea, but not enough to make you pee every fifteen minutes. Or write on the toilet. Stay away from bananas. You may have a dollop of peanut butter though, on an oatcake. Cigarettes may sometimes contribute to creating in the wee hours of the morning, but in the long run, you don't want to experience a heart attack in the moment you get an amazing idea one fine day. Then again, I may try writing drunk once. It's fun to experiment with different states of mind, and different times as well. Six o'clock just works for me. But while I'm in Singapore and drugs aren't as available... ... I'm kidding.

...or am I?

Lastly, it's good to write what you know, but to also find out what you don't. Then write about that as well. Process, process, process.

Here's to healthy writing!
Bye allllll!

mess

Something happens the moment after you have sex.

There may not be regret, but your body becomes vulnerable in a metaphorical sense: your body charts out how another body has made you feel; the pleasure that comes with it, and the feeling of someone else inside you. Your body remembers.
I won't go on to say that it penetrates your soul - I'd say that only happens when you allow someone into your emotional space - but it is etched in your memory, both mentally and physically.
And memory is a cruel thing.
This is the kind of post you either agree with and continue reading, or continue anyway but close this tab with a bad taste in your mouth, especially because it may very well be written from a Christian point of view. I'm telling you that it is. 

"Your virginity is not a gift to the world."

But what this sentence does not tell you is that it still has value. Subconsciously, this sentence has lent me a rashness that I was already entertaining. 

I don't think of myself as a gift. I think of myself as a woman with high value, and high standards. Because that's what I deserve. 

Abi reminded me of this one line the other day: We accept the love we think we deserve. 

Your virginity can be considered a moment in life - a very valuable, precious one - but when the moment has passed, what is left to live for?
With all this talk about losing one's virginity... I think it's important to look at the big picture. 

Are you of lesser value in God's eyes after the moment passes? The answer is No. The obvious, most beautiful answer will always be No. Because God's redemption is perfect, and all encompassing. 

Does this affect the relationship you have with your future spouse? It might. Because your body remembers. Remind yourself about the type of relationship you ultimately want to share with him/her - and let's not talk about marriage first, but what commitment means.

What does it mean to stick it out with someone, through thick or thin?

It means that Love withstands long suffering or temptation. And we need to understand why Love is like this. To a certain extent, there is a sense of self-preservation. 

But it is not just for the self. From the self, we reach out to others. In other words, we affect them. There is a responsibility when commitment comes into play - if I am committed to reaching out to you, I know what I'm going to say/do will affect you. In the context of marriage, it will affect you forever. 

Because my body remembers how another has made me feel, I've been actively trying to forget how that felt... to make space for you.
Can our bodies ever forget a physical feeling? Why chase orgasm after orgasm if it leaves you feeling empty afterwards? I don't know about you, but I definitely don't live for just that. 

And with marriage comes commitment, forgiveness, and the the daily privilege of discovering/rediscovering things about your spouse whether done on an emotional, sexual or mental level. 

And the best part of it will be the fact that God is in the centre of that marriage. 

Because only with Him, can you dream big things together for His kingdom and righteousness - by doing so, we become most satisfied when He is most glorified. 

I'm not saying that you should go and actively lose your virginity. I'm saying that God's Spirit is strong enough to transform your past, and He is able to lift you up again on His wings. You will run; you will not faint or grow weary because of His great Love. 

His Love is greater than any rash moment - but you can work towards not letting that happen ever again. A fruit of the Spirit is self-control, and we need patience to watch it grow in our lives. 

The past matters - but not to the extent that it destroys the future. 

I have learnt this one thing: The heart is so deep. It is so, so deep, and so, so vulnerable. When the Bible says to "guard your heart", it is not in there for fun. To think about the amount you've invested in someone, only to realise it was a lie, is what hurts the most. To give that person a valuable moment of this one life, only to have him up and leave in the most uncourteous way is not what one deserves.

But I believe that God's redemption encompasses all aspects of our lives. We are not damaged goods. We are adopted as daughters and sons of the Lover of souls. And with Him, we have a choice to love Him back - but He doesn't stop loving us either way.

Through mess, I've learnt to enjoy the power of forgiveness. Both His and my own. 

Trusting like Tereza

The worst is over.

The sun is out and all the British are talking about it. The Singaporean in me just goes, "Tch, so what if there's sun? We get it all the time." Yeah. I'm trying to appreciate it. By not perspiring. Perspiring = unglam.
I've been reading The Unbearable Lightness of Being.
It's probably one of the most expositional books I've ever read, though you can't help but nod along as you flip page after page - Milan Kundera possesses an exceptional understanding of a woman's innermost desires, wants and needs. (Bet he's slept with loads of women before. Cheeky cheeky)
Throughout the book, it becomes evident why he chooses to include the intricate back stories of each character; through their histories, he shows how they influence each other in the bedroom, at home and in the workplace. Though sometimes it seems as if he has just rephrased his notes, done a little mind mapping here and there, linked several stories together and tadaaa - it's a book.
I've been asking myself if I'm more of a Tereza or a Sabina, and I'm probably a bit of both, though the way I approach love is very much like Tereza.
One thing that stands out to me about Tereza is her naivete, and how her way of keeping a man, or rather, making sure that their empire of love does not crumble, is sustained through her fidelity and faithfulness to him.
Sabina, on the other hand, is attracted to betrayal. And this is what makes Tereza a wife, and Sabina a mistress, whom men keep going back to.
The way Tereza copes with her jealousy is literally unbearable. I have to read the sentences several times, take a breather, then come back again. I know it's dramatic - but these feelings happen to most, or if not, all women. Tereza is blinded by love and is overwhelmed as she strives to live for Tomas, but 'sees' again after having sex with a random engineer dude she met at the pub. I love that this happened to her.
I'm a strong believer in learning from experiences - whether good or bad, whether they seem like a complete and pathetic joke to others.

Okay, just to put it out there - I am not trying to write a book review.
But this book is an experience in itself.

Recently, I've been asking myself what I want.
I've been trying to face made-up scenarios in my head, thinking through on how I'd react and some of the things I'd say.
There are speeches and mere one-word replies.
There is projected future sobbing, that one-tear-trickle, and if I'm lucky, explosions of laughter.
Then I look at the ceiling and wonder to myself, What do I really want? What's the problem?
The problem is doubt. It is not uncertainty of circumstances that gets me - I ride on it.
I'm sure you can agree that when you find a tear in either the trust you have in yourself or the trust you have in someone else, everything spins out of control. My mind has been spinning.
But to give power to doubt... it has drained me in an almost unexplainable way.
It borders on obsession, and with obsession comes distraction.

So this time round, I'm actually thankful that I'm excited about writing this play.
Tomorrow has its own fair share of worries, but the day isn't over yet. So I'll leave worry till tomorrow, till the next day, till the next week and till when I won't ever have to worry again.
I will learn to rise above my circumstances and to be far-sighted.

I also believe that the ones who get hurt through trusting are the ones who know what pure love is. It doesn't have to be romantic. It is naive. But I'd rather approach life this way, because that's how I live. I know that my personality remains as the type that can rise up to coping with that (future) hurt.
After all, it helps me to write better poetry :)

snails

I just got back from Paris yesterday, and I've been out in the garden snail hunting with some little girls aged four to nine today! This post features snails, us in Paris, pictures from snail hunting this afternoon and other thoughts.

It's the Easter holidays now, and to have spent it in Paris with my bunch of friends from church back home tops it all for me (well, for the time being, since I've also got a play to write and a poetry collection to thread together by the end of April).
It's been the funniest, fattest, most eventful weekend ever and I still can't wrap my head round it all.
Meeting someone new was supposed to be the highlight of March, and I'm not saying it isn't, but friendships seem to have been proving themselves and building me up even more throughout the entire month.
We ate way too much in Paris. (My face is the roundest it's ever been. I'm a human ball.)
Paris was gorgeous, but the company was even better. This weekend in Paris shed light on the type of friends I want to grow up with, want to spend more time with, want to pray and laugh over silly shit with. We'd sit around after dinner just laughing over cheese and wine. Tired, but feeling so thankful and so blessed.
Maybe that's what I like about them - we verbalise what we feel, we declare and thank God where appropriate, and we spoke about problems within our cell group and the church in general.
It didn't feel like church camp, which was surprisingly different even as the days led up to Easter morning, though making time to find a church where we could attend an English-speaking Easter service made all the difference.

What David said really resonates with me: "Each of us approaches God on our terms."
That's true isn't it? Why do we force people to come to God when they aren't ready? Then again, the potential danger lies in not being able to come to God with our fears and joys at all. But with this bunch... it wasn't the case.
I've always hated having to be accountable to someone. And now, Kristen and I have decided to be each other's accountability partners. Because she was gentle in the way she asked me questions to provoke more thought and reflection in regards to my spiritual life, but she was also firm about it.
We want to cut out what does not bring value to our lives. We want to realign many things to God's will, because mistakes have been made. And they were necessary, but they also hurt us in return.
I've been reflecting on the fact that when God tells us to obey, it's always for a greater reason.
Especially when it comes to relationships. I focus so much on the lover side of me until I forget that I was always me, myself and I to start with. And sometimes I fail to be honest with myself, to face what I really want. When I settle for less, I don't even know it, until something happens along the way.

It's not so much of a trust issue; it's knowing what you want.

But what God wants for us is even better, and even though I'm personally not in the greatest place in my spiritual walk right now, my heart can't help but admit that the answer is Yes.
I remember when someone said, "God meets us in our character." I guess the next thing to deal with is knowing my character does not intimidate God, and that if I really want Him to come and change my heart, I only have to ask in surrender, and He will see the deed through in His own time.

But I am so impatient.
BUT, there are only so many 'but's I can write and say in a day. And Kristen knows that I don't need any of those, and neither does she. Accountability partnership 101 is going to be the start of a long and arduous journey... but we want to get there in the end.
We can't live in the Shire forever.

I couldn't ask for more. Our accommodation was expensive - but it was worth it. There was something about living in someone's actual home (they went away for the weekend) that was interesting. We started living like them. I thought we'd utilise their stereo system, so we sat and listened to some of their CDs from the amazing music range they had on the shelves. We had begun to familiarise ourselves with where we placed things in the house; things which weren't ours and things that were. Things that told us something about the family, and things that told us something about our own lives and how we live back home. How and where things were placed. How colours and lighting affected our moods. How loud we'd speak in the morning and how much noise we could make (I laughed way too loud). The kind of people through the books they kept: Kate was some sort of hippie and very learned in whatever she does / their son loves manga, and reads good manga. 

It was an amazing experience ......even though five of us were terrified of this little porcelain figurine in the shower. (John didn't understand what there was to be afraid about. David jokingly blamed the supposed spirit for taking his iPhone 4 cable. Yung made me stand outside the bathroom to wait for him to finish brushing his teeth. I said it wasn't scary. Then when I had to shower... I was terrified. Kristen and Michelle felt like they were being watched. I don't know what Lime felt but yeah, he was scared.) 

On the last day, I told Kristen that I couldn't stay in Paris for long. To me, the streets stretched on and on, as if they had no end. It wasn't the walking, but more of the fact that I couldn't see an end destination. According to Kristen, the buildings are six storeys tall, and the pavements aren't very wide, so I felt like I was walled in on either side. 

But I'll never forget what Paris looked like in the sun. 

And this is this afternoon's snail hunting with kiddos: 

I was standing outside enjoying the "fresh air" when three of them came up to the front door, asking if we were the kind of people who would "come out with knives". 

I told them we weren't bad people, and they started showing me the snails they collected in a food bucket.

Pa called halfway to FaceTime, and after I hung up, one of them knocked again to show me that a Mummy and Daddy snail had made a mini one. They made three babies soon after.

I thought this was a pretty rare moment for anyone living on the Green, so I started taking pictures (being very careful not to get snapshots of their faces) as they showed me where to get snails - all from the mud in a row of weeds growing beside our house. 

When J was here, we walked past them and saw that they had built their own play dens amongst twigs by the shortcut leading up to where I live. But they'd get thrashed every now and then by the boys who'd stand around smoking weed and throwing condoms all over the road. 

We sneakily plucked bluebells from the neighbour's garden and sprinkled them all over in the bucket. Apparently the snails ate them up half an hour later. One of the girls said it was "healthy" for them. 

And as we sat outside the front door munching on some leftover cookies I found, we had little conversations here and there that made me pick up on how kids made sense of addiction, how things people say or do make them feel, how they respond and react, and how they simply... play. 

Me: "Smoking's really bad." 

"My uncle and auntie do it all the time. My mummy smokes every one hour." 

Me: "What would your mum say if you showed her your bucket?"

"She'd go Ughhhh!"

Me: "Remember to wash your hands after you touch the mud! You guys aren't snails!"

"No, we're SNAIL HUNTERS!"

Crystal: "Eva, can I borrow your bike please?"

*Eva shakes her head*

Me: "Oh let her on for a bit. Five minutes?"

*Eva smiles and ignores me. Crystal looks at her for awhile and goes back to playing with the snails.*

"These two are making babies!"

"They haven't gotten off each other since!"

Me: "What... That's crazy... they've had six babies already!"

"Seven!!!"

"Oh please don't have a baby on me..."

"Do you water your flowers?"

Me: "No, we don't. We should though."

"Let me go get some water. We water all our flowers in our garden." 

"What's your name?" 

Me: "Liling." 

"Leeee ling."

I also showed them a little whale I painted on the piece of card which had mine, Georgie's, Abi's and Tegan's names on it. They told me I was quite the artist, but most importantly, that the whale didn't need fins. 

"You can't see them, because they're underwater!" 

That line struck something in me. Then Abi got home halfway, and stood watching them for awhile with me.

"Can you drive?"

Me: "Nope."

"So who in your house can drive?"

Me: "Georgie and Abi."

"So it's just you and Tegan who can't then?"

Me: "Yup." 

"What does Georgie look like?" 

--

I touched snails once. I'd collect water snails that lived in our pond with the little drain fish. Today I looked at the little girls touching and picking the the snails up with mud in their fingernails, and a cookie in the other... and I wanted my childhood days back. But I didn't touch the snails in the end, even though I told the girls to notice how gentle they are. I never used to care about bacteria. So I told them to come back tomorrow to update me on how many more babies Mummy Snail and Daddy Snail had made in total. 

I guess I'm afraid of getting my hands dirty. I shouldn't be.