Autumn. Even the word evokes a flurry of warm colours, all the while the mercury drops. It is my favourite season. For the music it inspires (think Vivaldi’s Autumn), for the soft cracks and rustles of falling branches, leaves riding zephyrs. For the gentle birdsong of those that remain, as winter waits on patiently to […]Read Post ›
I know, I’ve been very very naughty. Not a peep, not a word from a blog that goodness knows how much I have been paying for to keep the domain name and address barely alive over the past two years. I have no excuses for this radio silence save for following a 9am-5pm full time working […]Read Post ›
My phone emits a tinny alien-like tune: bee boop bee boop. It’s 7am, on the dot. I rub my eyes, I rub my belly to lull the pangs and dull aches, all the while muttering to myself why, oh why work on the last day of the year? Reluctant to emerge out of this half-slumber, I […]Read Post ›
I admit it. I have been an absolute horror, leaving my once-beloved blog to waste in wordless tedium. But I’m back, writing to you after all these months of inactivity. And boy, this will be a soppy read, perhaps another symptom, a pockmark associated with my aging. As the years flow, so too do my […]Read Post ›
Today, I received a pleasant surprise in the form of an artwork by Amazigh Moroccan painter and friend, Boulouta Ahmed. A rich orange ochre spans much of the painting, a reminder of Sahara’s infinite shifting sands and honey-gold skies. Palm trees crown the oasis below, their dark silhouettes obscuring the buzz of life that surrounds them. Tenere taqhim […]Read Post ›
It has been a year since I dabbled in beginner’s sketching to relieve insomnia or the return of cat-gulping pythons in my sleep. Here, I have sketched the portrait of a young man. Note to self: get a kneaded eraser to facilitate hair sketching.
The trees are drunk on wind and murderous intent. Twigs, branches, and logs bow down to Mother Nature in snaps as she wails on. Her cries, not unlike that of a banshee, is heard, felt, by all. A storm laps at Sydney’s feet, and not even the hardiest Sheltas or Fultons can survive it. Requiescat […]Read Post ›
Jesus loves them, Mary had a little one, and Little Bo Peep didn’t know where to them. Oh, sheep. Many of us even have their woolly coats knitted as our outerwear. So what makes the sheep/ram figure so endearing? And why is there a 15m statue of a merino ram in the heart of country New […]Read Post ›
Around 15 minutes away from home lies a little gem once unbeknownst to me, the La Perouse beach in South East Sydney, Australia. My friend drove me there, believing that sea salt and the forecast of falling seagull excrement could shock my brain into writing those pesky final essays for university. Extra large milkshakes aswirl with thick, chocolatey […]Read Post ›
O Captain! My Captain! our fearful trip is done… Thus commences the famous elegy by Walt Whitman in 1865. To think that I will forevermore associate this elegy with you, my friend H. W., the modern day Adonis, ever the high achiever. Once upon a time, it would have been unthinkable. You were my classmate in our freshman year […]Read Post ›
