What if…


We probably won’t have this opportunity again.

In Jan ’15 it will have been three years since we moved to the Far East. That’s a long time, however, we haven’t taken advantage of living here at all.

I rarely venture out of doors even though the weather is quite frankly magnificent, day in day out. Sure, there are bursts of rain during the monsoon season (Oct-April) which sounds long, but it rains perhaps twice a week, and within an hour of raining, the sun is so deliciously hot and intense that it’s all dry again.

Of course, it’s intensity and deliciousness is preferred from the safety of my air conditioned apartment (though I won’t deny it, I’m scolded severely for attempting to turn the children into hermits too).

I live in the Far East, the opportunity to travel is limitless, exotic locations people can only dream of and cry off due to distance, are a mere few hours away, yet, we haven’t travelled.

Perhaps it’s because we moved at a time when our little family is more intent on expanding….

I can’t help but think if we came here a few years earlier, when it was just the two of us….hmmm…. though I can barely remember a time before my children and even less of my time before I met Mr Foof, does that make me pathetic? Does it? If it does, I have no shame in saying I’m happy to be a pathetic mess.

For I am happy, it may not seem it, because I’m a certified grumpy grumpuss, but I *am* happy, so why would I yearn for a time when I was less so.

Anyway, I digress, where was I… Ah yes, travelling.. Perhaps if we moved here after we had had our children, or completed(!) our family, then I wouldn’t worry about travelling when pregnant or being fat and not having the get-up-and-go attitude, except to be honest, I’ll always blame everything but myself.

I could probably travel now. Yes, baby Foof is only a year old and will need chasing, watching and general seething at, but I could still do it, and therein lies the problem. I’m too big and lazy to run after her, so I blame time and circumstance instead.

If we had moved here when it was just the two of us: read, I was slimmer back then, able to actually shift myself from A to M…

If we had moved here after I was done having children: read, I’d probably have attempted to, and so shifted some of my weight, possibly being able to move from A to E…

If I wasn’t still in the process of expanding my family, yet trying to shrink my fat.

To be honest, I can always pepper my life with ‘ifs’ yet fundamentally it’s me who needs to change, not time, not circumstances…. Me.

When it come to the fight between being lazy and being industrious, I will always opt for being lazy.

So I convince myself that it’s the ‘what ifs’ that prevent me from living life, when really it’s just me.

I despise lying and cheating, but I can always, without fail, lie and cheat myself out of anything. It’s a good thing I only subject myself to this villainy, or is that another lie I tell myself.

Either way, I often make decision that ‘Enough is enough! I will fix this! I will do that!’

Except I don’t…

I don’t *fix* that…

I certainly don’t *do* anything…

However I keep the faith that one day I will.

Therefore ‘travelling’ or ‘adventure’ rather.. Well that will have to wait, but holidays… Now, those I might just be able to squeeze in.

What doesn’t need to wait, are the small changes, the baby steps towards making our small apartment a home. Even if it is after almost three years, it’s good enough for me (as an added bonus, it also meant I managed to clear out some junk and find some much needed space in my cupboards).

So for today, I’m happy that the cupboard under the sink looks fantastic and that I have more frames to put up.

Baby steps that will hopefully lead to shifting this post-baby weight and maybe some adventure after all.


How important are you really?


I promise it will be over soon.

This self indulgence. This poor attitude. This wallowing in misery.

Tomorrow I might count my blessings, perhaps even the day after, because I too hope it will be over soon, just not yet, I’m not quite ready, for now, I wallow.

So… How important are you really?

Are you completely insignificant?

How often do we overestimate our importance in the lives of others.

Do we feature in their lives, their thoughts or feelings?

Do they think of us when were not around, or are we a mere afterthought, clumsily gatecrashing when their mind has drifted out of their comfort zone and we appear like a wisp, faintly echoing.

And they think, ‘I wonder how ‘blah’ is?’

Blah.. Rather apt wouldn’t you say?

Do we feature heavily in their thoughts. Do they smile when they think of us, do they think of us freely, giving us time to consume their thoughts, or is it a rushed memory, blitzing by.

Do they plead for this fleeting moment to remain?

Are we the star of their show? The star of their memories, their now and future thoughts?

Or are we, mere supporting cast?

If we sat and counted, could we come up with someone, just one single some one to whom we are the ‘most important’

I know one thing for sure, I am the most important person in the lives of my children. My incredibly beautiful, extremely irritating daughters. Until that is, they see their father, then I’m shunned. The maid is ignored, the cook isn’t thanked, and who was it again, who tended to their every requirement?

I feature in the lives of others..

Does it matter, that I just feature in the chorus?

And in the shadows they all stood.


My day begins and ends in front of a sea of people.

I brush my teeth, they perch on the edge of my bath, marvelling at how good I look, after a mere three hours of sleep.

I make breakfast, they ask me where I learnt to cook, this is the most delicious thing they’ve ever tasted.

I vacuum, they’ve never seen anything quite so clean.

I dance like a loon, and they watch, mesmerised, like I am a seaweed moving with the rhythm of the sea.

They lie.

And they lie.

And they lie.

And I let them.

I live in my mind, my life played out like Truman’s.

I escape to this world every day, The Shadows keeping me company, laughing at my jokes, marvelling at me, empathising when I am low, and in awe of all I am.

They say the perfect things.

Why wouldn’t they? After all, they know just what I want to hear.

What I need to hear.

I can’t quite pinpoint when I retreated inside my head, but I do know, that I don’t know how to leave.

That I don’t want to leave.

(Un)forgettable that’s what you are..


Pamela, was a very caring and popular member of the office. She liked everyone, she got on with everyone, she was friends with everyone.

Or so she thought.

‘I’m so sorry you’re leaving…’ She would write on their leaving cards.

‘I’m so sorry you’re leaving, you always made meetings much more fun to be in. You always brightened up my day and I’ll never forget the way you cheered me up when my cat died. I’ll really miss you. Lots of love, Pamela

Every message she wrote would have a special turn of phrase, though it only ever differed slightly: she was always sad they were leaving, she would miss their meetings and she had hordes of dying pets.

Oh, Pamela was indeed very sentimental with her words on leaving cards. She always made sure to write something heartfelt, whether it was about her dead dog, cat, parrot, gerbil, hamster or favourite butterfly. Pamela always made sure the leaving colleague had comforted her and given her the much needed support to get through such a terrible, terrible time.

‘Lots of love, Pamela’

Poor, sad Pamela, who felt ‘such a connection’ with her colleagues, none of whom could ever ‘quite’ place her.

How could they….

….when she never existed.

And yet…. yet, I would feel such mirth and chuckle to myself as I wrote those words. My face trying to hide the escaping smile and childish giggles that poured forth when I thought of my leaving colleague…as I thought of them, scratching their heads in puzzlement and thinking to themselves…

“Pamela??? Who the hell, is Pamela?”