Creative Non-Fiction Category
“They’re offering me a job in the US,” he said. My wanderlust choir harmonised in the background. And so began our jarringly brief consideration of the pros and cons of an international move. We have never been ones to allow the dust to settle on us, and we were in the seventh house, in the […]
A flash fiction piece I wrote this week elicited unexpected observations on the motivations of a character, and started me reflecting on comments made to me over the years, and the intentions behind them. When I was a very small child, I lived in a blissful world. As children do. Differences were barely noticed, and […]
It’s Remembrance Day in Australia today. A day of Legacy poppies, rosemary sprigs, and a minute’s silence. This day is marked by the playing of the Rouse and the Last Post, by an appropriate sermon, by men and women wearing medals of honour with pride, by flowered wreaths, national anthems and the Ode of Remembrance. It’s also […]
When I was a child I lived in a multilingual house in Brunei. The siblings were overseas and far away at boarding school, and my mother was determined not to make the same linguistic mistakes with me. My parents spoke to me only in Malayalam, and the lady who helped with the housework spoke only […]
We were gathered, a rag-tag group of kids, giggling and squealing. Engaged in the forbidden, we knew in the deepest recesses of our hearts, that our mothers would furrow their brows and waggle their index fingers. Cross-legged or legs folded under us, we sat on the floor of the walk-in robe of Ajita’s parents’ bedroom. […]
When you have got an elephant by the hind legs and he is trying to run away, it’s best to let him run. ~ Abraham Lincoln A strange thing happens between mothers and sons in the teen years. The chubby fingers of childhood loose their grip, the adoring eyes fall less often on you, the […]
They appear, carrying your fragile heart in their hands. Shlurrpff, off the breast. “I do myself”; an experiment in feeding. Mismatched clothes, and shoes on the wrong feet. Backpack on and away to school. Friends and teams. Is that my car? Silence.
It’s been nearly two years now. Two years since a home was packed neatly into a shipping container and transported across the world. Two years since lives were packed neatly into suitcases, friendships folded and vacuum sealed, family washed and dried and placed at the back of cupboards. Two years since we’ve woken to the melodic […]
Which mother? The one of my childhood, conservative, judgemental, and with a clear sense of how the world works? Or the one I am still becoming acquainted with now, who sees the subtle shades of grey, who perceives the nuances in tone at the age of 80?