I’ve taken lots of road trips and most have been amazing, save one or two. It’s a little impossible for me to say which has been the most memorable because they’ve all been special and people I love.
The most recent road trip was in October 2024 with a good friend. We were headed to the island city of Penang from Kuala Lumpur. It wasn’t a complicated trip and we were both tired from hectic schedules.
We planned to leave the city really early in the morning and we stuck to it. It was still dark! The drive was smooth as we’d managed to bypass the workday traffic.
We had planned to stop for breakfast in an idyllic town called Ipoh. It was simply lovely enjoying a kopitiam-styled breakfast! Yummy. The lines to the restaurant were testament to its reviews for being a wonderful place for local delights.
After we ate, we decided to look for one of the shops where we could get local treats. What trip would be complete without snacks on hand. We hopped back into our car, armed with the GPS and without too much difficulty, located the shop. Parking was anywhere by the road, which felt like we’d been transported back in time.
The shop was simply brilliant! Nothing too fancy, but with lots of treats and more of those long lines that made us realise that they were a good gauge of whether a place is good or not. We overbought!
Once we were armed with goodies, we decided to head off to Penang. We did get lost a little, which wasn’t too bad because we got to see some really old-styled houses. The change of pace was made apparent.
On our way to Penang, we could see black rain clouds forming. For a bit it felt like we were trying to outrun them. But they did catch up with us at various points.
At our final destination, it was sheer bliss looking out at the sea from our room and spending time by the pool – and simply relaxing. Everything was just lovely.
I’m writing about it because we stayed true to our plans to relax. This isn’t always easy when we go on a break – and I’m thankful that my friend and I did this. I felt so very rejuvenated after our trip!
I have very clear memories of writing letters to my best friend. She is from the UK and I’m from Malaysia. After I returned home from university, we kept up our conversations through letters. Letters were also the way my parents and I communicated with each other while I was a student in the UK. I have a lot of great memories over letters – I remember the excitement and anticipation.
Today, I think we’re so incredibly blessed to have so many forms of communication online. The waiting is gone. It’s not like I have to wait for two weeks before I can get news or have my news communicated. I love it when I see emails or WhatsApp messages from friends or some more exciting work related ones. I feel like these ways of communicating are so helpful in bringing us closer, when used properly.
Right now, I’m trying to communicate better over LinkedIn. This is because I’m trying to grow my consultancy – Progressive Pathways Consulting. There are so many things I’m learning about communication there. It’s not my most natural platform. So the learning curve is steep.
I’m also trying to grow my podcast channel on YouTube, called Pathways to Thriving. This has been an exciting way to communicate with the world. I get to highlight stories of others who may not always get heard. I’m hoping this grows.
I hope to get better at online communication simply because it means getting better as a communicator and connecting with more people. This is important for all of us as individuals. Connection matters!
Some of the people I’ve interviewed on my podcast.
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I love dogs! I didn’t always have dogs but around 2010, I got my first dog whose name was Patches. Patches was a rescue we got around the time he was four. He was gorgeous. He had a white coat with black spots that seemed to fade at points. He had such a lovely personality and I nicknamed him The Turkey Thief because one Christmas he stole a turkey and ate it!
My second dog was Loki. Loki didn’t live very long. I had to put him down when he was three. I had Loki from the time he was eighteen days old. His, was such a tragic story. All he knew from the moment he was born was pain and agony. Loki didn’t do well with people as a result of such deep rooted trauma. His eating and drinking capabilities were also significantly reduced. It was a hard decision, but the right one. He did have lots of love in his short three years.
My present dog is Gamora. Gamora is half-pug-half-dachshund. Initially, after Loki died, I thought I wouldn’t take another pup. But a breeder was in desperate need to find homes for the pups after a pug (Gamy-girl’s dad) and a dachshund (Gamy-girl’s mum) fell in love and had a litter. Gamora chose me. She’s the first female dog I’ve had and she’s a beauty. I named her Gamora because of how she out-muscled her brother and made me pick her.
Gamora’s an absolute sweetheart. She’s very different from Patches and Loki. Apart from being much smaller than the both of them, she’s also by far more intelligent. She seems to have problem-solving skills – especially when she sets her sights on something. She’s also incredibly brave in comparison to both Patches and Loki, which is hilarious. The hunter personality from her dachshund DNA is strong and she takes her duties patrolling my garden very seriously.
I loved Patches and Loki with all my heart. In fact, I still love them. When I think of them, they make me smile. But there’s something about Gamora that has totally captivated me. I don’t know if this makes me bad and if I’m playing favourites here, but this little girl has simply got me. She’s got the most curious little way of worming her way to you. She does a sploot and then starts crawling towards you to give you the biggest, warmest licks of love. It’s her love attack position. She does get you. There’s no winning.
She’s also incredibly matter-of-fact about what she wants. There’s no two ways. It’s either Gamora’s way or the highway! Every night when we go to bed, the same thing happens. She decides that she wants to sleep in the exact spot that I’m sleeping in. It doesn’t matter if she chooses first – but once we’re settled, she very confidently marches over and creates a space for herself. Even in the dark, you can feel her working it out. She makes you cooperate!
Gamora loves people. She has a few favourite people who are often in our home. Some babysit her regularly and she shows them special greetings when they arrive. In the mornings, some of our neighbours have to stop by at our gate to greet her and have a moment with her. It’s poignant. I don’t need to be around – it’s their thing with her. Gamora makes her disappointment know if anyone of these gets into their car and drives off without greeting her. It doesn’t matter if they’re rushing off. She expects to be paid homage!
Gamora also has favourites among delivery people. I dislike going shopping, and I try to reduce my having to go to physical shops by buying stuff online. Gamora has her special routines with some of the more frequent delivery folk. They tell me they love her and that it makes them happy knowing they’re coming to our home. One even told me that he knows our home address because of her! What’s amusing is that they actually take a moment to greet her and engage with her. She loves it.
If there is one thing that motivates Gamora, it is food. Unfortunately for her, both pugs and dachshunds are prone to weight gain. It shows! It doesn’t help that Gamora is allergic to grass and has to be on some allergy meds, which seem to add to her weight dilemma. She doesn’t appreciate not being given my food, even thought she has just eaten hers. The look of heartbreak she manages to give, as if she’s been starved and abandoned her whole live and never has seen a day of kindness, is simply unmistakable. She’s got chops!
The most difficult thing for me when it comes to managing Gamora is not having my dad around. When it came to Patches and Loki, my dad’s presence always helped. There are times when I need to be out for work. Patches and Loki always had my dad to fall back on to. Gamora only had my dad for about five and a half months. Saying this, her memory is remarkable. There are moments when she demonstrates her sorrow at his passing. Once the son of a friend who was visiting, a toddler, grabbed my dad’s walking stick from a corner it was in. It surprised me for a moment to see my dad’s walking stick and at the same time, Gamora became very quiet. I thought it was because she wanted to hide from the child. However, the friend left very shortly after that and when I got back inside, I couldn’t locate Gamora. I finally found her curled up next to my dad’s walking stick, looking at it with her sad puppy-dog eyes. It made me cry. This little girl is intuitive.
I love this little girl and I love this time of my life where I’m working for myself and get to spend time with her. I wouldn’t have it any other way. She’s been such a special little gift to me from God and I am so thankful to him for her.
Gamora draws people into her little galaxy. She’s full of love, cheer, and mischief. Love you loads, little Gamora!
There’s a strange peace that resides in my heart as I contemplate the twenty years that have passed since I lost my mum. For eighteen of them, I had my dad right by me as a stalwart. Now I miss him alongside missing her, though her passing is further away than his, and his absence is the one that’s catching me off-guard. I’ve had twenty years to get used to mum’s absence.
As I feel a sense of grief over what I’ve lost with my mum, and now, my dad too, the biggest realization that dawns on me is that I am grieving the loss of something good. This is poignant. Not everyone has this grace. There may be grief, but it could be wrapped in guilt, for instance. I am so grateful to God that I don’t have that pain.
I’m terribly aware too of how the loss of my mum impacted my life. It was all such a shock. I think that’s the bit that really takes me back.
One minute I was getting ready to head out for a movie with a friend and the next I was calling to cancel not because too much was wrong but that mum was feeling a little unwell and we wanted to get her to hospital.
Even in hospital, there was nothing to worry about. Not until they did a CT scan. Then we were told she had about six hours to live.
My mum lasted more than those six hours, but not much more. It was excruciating waiting around and when she drew her last breath, it was surreal.
The whole thing happened so suddenly. I think I never saw it coming. It also makes me so appreciative of my father’s attempts to remove shock from his passing, as he tried to talk to me about it some years before he died.
This loss made it necessary for me to make a career pivot. In a work related blog, I wrote that these days career transitions are trendy.
When I lost my mum, I was living out my ambition of being a court-going lawyer, which I’d held since I was six years old. I loved my work. I still love that time I had in the practice. I speak of it with enthusiasm and fondness.
However, love for my work alone wasn’t enough. Grief took over. I needed an out. My dad stood by me.
Papa even pulled people off my back. So many felt it in their place to tell me to get a grip, that I was wasting the education my parents put me through, etcetera. It made me retreat from so many people. I was exhausted by them.
Over the years, I have at points had comments about how I never went on to pursue the law properly. How I’d held so much promise but … that sentence almost always ends with a shaking of the head.
I’m thankful to Jesus for the reminder of how his yoke is easy and his burden is light (Matthew 11: 28-30).
Jesus’ call to rest and talk about the ease of his yoke and lightness of his burden comes at the end of a fraught chapter. Disciples of John the Baptist come to find out if he’s the one they’ve been waiting for. Then he launches into a validation of John the Baptist and ends by denouncing unrepentant cities.
We rightly understand this to be his rejection of religious burdens placed on people. Do such and such to be saved or gain blessing. Submission to Jesus isn’t a religious ritual.
Submission happens in our hearts and then gets lived out in our lives.
There are huge takeaways from this – not just in terms of how I submit to God. My submission is constantly something I’m needing to work at.
In the beginning, after losing my mum, I worried about how I wasn’t able to build that huge corporate future. I worried about the lack of respect I received after leaving legal practice.
It took me a long time to understand that it was ultimately my identity in Christ that mattered and not the respect of the world. It helped me change perspective and reframe things.
Reframing is amazing. I saw that I needed to make changes and I did. These pivots take into account my broken heart.
In the last two years, my heart broke again – with the loss of my dad. I’m needing to make pivots as a result of that. But my lesson in transitions started twenty years ago through the loss of my mother and the support of my father.
I don’t thank God enough. I want to thank him as I end this. I thank him so much for my mum and I remember her so clearly and so deeply and I love and miss her so. I thank God for my dad. It’s still raw with his recent passing and I’m still needing to make adjustments but I’m grateful for having had him for as long as I did. I love and miss him too.
I’m thanking God for this grief over the last twenty years, for the journey it has brought me on and for the pivots I’ve had to make. I thank him for the people who came into my life as a result of the different paths I ended up taking. I thank him too for the experiences I’ve had as a result of change.
I’d love it if my home (me, papa, and mummy) was still the same. Even writing that sentence brings tears to my eyes. It’s not possible for things to go back.
Twenty years is a long time to be without someone you love. For eighteen of them I had my father. So weird to be without either now. But I trust in God’s promise for the future.
Christmas Day (2025) is just days away. We’re at the 21st of December and you can just tell by the frenzy going on at the malls, in people’s homes, and offices, that folk are busy prepping for parties or to go away or to take some time off at the end of the year. It’s hard not to get a feel of the seasonal rush.
I love Christmas trees, lights, and the festivities. For me, a lot of this feels a bit lost without my parents. This year, I forced myself to put up the Christmas tree for the first time since losing my dad. There was a real gut-wrenching moment when the new skirting I’d ordered arrived. A friend was around and immediately started helping me. But a sensation from within hit me so hard. Usually it was papa who helped me with the tree. Having the reality of his absence hammered in that way didn’t help.
I miss my mum a lot too. I remember her words and expressions whenever I made fruitcake. The whole cake making process this year, with the shutting down of a bakery supply store, made me reflect back on how she and my dad supported me as I grew in my baking journey. Another reality of their absence that was simply not needed.
I’ve been talking with a few friends. Everyone’s going through different things – from carer duties, work layoffs, health scares, and bereavement. Everyone’s talking about how it simply doesn’t feel like Christmas because they can’t do the usual things. I recognised my own sentiments being echoed there, and hearing them played back, as it were, gave me a momentary pause to reflect.
Is it not Christmas because I can’t have late night conversations with my mum and dad as we eat mince pies and sip drinks? Is it not Christmas when we can’t put up the tree? Is it not Christmas when the shiny decorations and fabulous sales don’t stir our hearts? Is it not Christmas because of someone near and dear to us passing away?
Even on a broader scale, the same questions come up. Is it not Christmas if your country or region is at war? Is it not Christmas if there has been a tragic attack or senseless killings? Is it not Christmas if there is government instability or if we’re governed by leaders we dislike?
Things are a little rough at home right now. It’s already hard enough trying to manage this season without my folks, but Gamora has ingested something and it’s doing a number on my little girl. It’s a bit of observation mode right now. There is rejoicing when she does her business – I think this is surprising her a lot.
She’s got moments when she seems alright and at times her belly is so swollen, it’s worrying. I’m feeling stress too. Literally after walking out of the vet, I was so overcome by the potential dangers facing this little one, I threw up. I don’t want to think about it. Yet, this is a good time to ask – isn’t it still Christmas?
It is still Christmastime. The festivities of Christmas and the countdown to the end of year have such a lot of potential in the secular world. Everybody’s doing Christmas! It’s almost fashionable. But that’s all it is. No wonder it feels difficult if you’re grieving, unwell, or going through a difficult life circumstance. Christmas Day will arrive on 25 December, right on schedule. Plans for Christmas Eve and Boxing Day are on everyone’s lips. It’s unending!
As I reflect on the challenges of home – I’m not enjoying this season of life after both my parents’ passing, and as I navigate this stressful patch with Gamora’s condition, I am very far from enjoying the festivities. I am missing papa and mummy, and I’m very worried about what’s going to happen to Gamora.
Yet, I cannot say that I’m sad about Christmas. On the contrary, I’m so thankful for Christmas. I believe that Christmas time is when Jesus came into the world to save us from our sins. Even as I say that, I feel a sense of relief that He did.
We sing about a Christmas babe. We play these carols as background music at parties and in malls alongside a nonexistent idea of a jolly, fat man riding a sleigh delivering gifts. We don’t talk about the actual gift of Jesus at a lot of our parties.
This is really why I miss my parents. After the last of our visitors, we’d sit down and inevitably get down to the business of recognising the birth of Jesus and what it means to us. These conversations never got old. For the years after my mum passed, my dad and I kept up this tradition. I miss it.
I am so thankful that we have a birth to celebrate- regardless of whatever’s going on in our lives and in the world. It is the birth of this Christ child that believers are thankful for. Not the Christmas trees, lights, and whatnots. Whilst we enjoy these things, most of us are only too familiar with challenges that are deeply personal or even on a broader level.
It would be too difficult if I didn’t have Jesus to be thankful for over this season. I’d have to celebrate something that is only pretend shiny. I’d know that there are troubles. I’m thankful that because of Jesus, I don’t have to sugarcoat my troubles. I also know there is a genuine endgame. For this, I am immensely grateful.
At Christmas, the hope of reconciliation between man and God entered into the world. It was the guarantee we were given that one day, all who call on His Name will rise in glory. It is a hope that the troubles of this world cannot dent.
How’s it going to be for me this Christmas? It is already different. I’m missing home as it used to be. I’m also extremely worried about little Gamora who is curled up by me as I write. But these things I am dealing with, alongside all the devastation that others may be enduring, don’t make the birth of Christ and its reason any different. Nothing changes the meaning of Christmas. There is hope for a future that God has organised for us. I am thankful.
The three of us – many moons ago…Gamora having a quiet moment todayA nephew and niece with Gamora and me at Gamora’s Birthday and Santa Paws Pawty My last Christmas with papa – 2022
I just got off the phone with a dear friend. It’s funny how sometimes what is meant to be a five-minute conversation goes on for an hour or more. I love when this happens. It means that we’re spending time together. There are the friendships where this happens and the ones where we just stop communicating. There are a lot more friendships in the latter group, and we put it down to busyness, which makes me appreciate the times when I get to have these chats.
In our phone conversation, we talked about how fear holds us back. Sometimes we even make blanket decisions. How often do we say things like ‘I’m never going to trust anyone again!’? There are so many such stands that we take. We decide we’ll never give something a chance again after we’ve been hurt or when we’ve lost. We make declarations of how we’ll face certain elements, while ‘bravely’ shutting the door on other options. When we strip it all down, it is clear to see that we are afraid.
I don’t excuse myself from this. I had a great experience with a business partner. He was wonderful really, and he had amazing business sense. I felt very supported as a partner and even when our partnership ended, I never had any bad things to say about how it had all transpired. I was determined to find another such partner.
What this meant was that I closed the door to stepping out on my own at different points. I felt the need to have this partnership and that if I didn’t have one, I couldn’t move forward. There were various discussions had with different people at different points. But no matter how good they were, partnering with them never felt right. As such, I never ventured out on my own. Until now, that is.
I had to really think over a lot of things when I was made redundant. My redundancy came into effect in February 2025, but I knew from some time in September 2024 that things were in motion. Whilst negotiating severance terms, I frantically applied for jobs, attended interviews, and considered options that were put on the table before me.
There was initially zero clarity because I kept thinking I needed that partner. It took a while for my faith to kick in and confront me on this idea. Finally, I did realize that I wanted to have my own gig, and that I had a partner in the God I trust. It was terrifying, which made me realize that as much as I speak about trusting God, I don’t trust Him enough.
My business is slowly growing. It’s not always easy, but I can say that I love every minute of it. I am enjoying work again in a way that I hadn’t in a long time. Even that realization, of how I stayed in a job that I wasn’t fully enjoying out of fear that I wouldn’t be able to do better because of chronic illness. It annoys me now when I think that I boxed myself in. I didn’t think God could do His thing.
Fear is a real thing. It makes us so very timid and we put ourself into tiny spaces, almost trying to minimize our existence. This feeling is not always obvious. We layer it up in what we call ‘rational thought’ or ‘justified reasoning.’ At its core, it really is fear.
One of my favourite stories in the Bible is of the woman with blood issue who touches Jesus’ garment and is healed. The faith of that woman is truly beautiful. It is strong. In that time, she was considered unclean and shunned. For her to overcome that fear and seek her God, just moves me.
In recent times, I am reminded too of how I have been given faith. Faith is a gift from God – not something I can whip up on my own accord (Ephesians 2:8). I am very aware of this. Yet, this is a gift that I have to do something with. I have to feed it. This happens as I consistently engage with scripture (Romans10:17). It is important I do this because it helps me mature and grow deeper in my love, knowledge, and understanding of Jesus (1 Peter 2:2).
As I say this, I know immediately that the fault is my own. A lot of the time, I am truly guilty of feeding my fear instead of my faith. The foolishness I reveal in this is staggering. God is the same God yesterday, today, and forever. The God I believed in sent help to Hagar, who was pregnant and flees from Sarah’s harsh treatment. In the New Testament, it is Sarah who represents the new covenant of grace by Jesus, not Hagar. And yet, God shows Hagar so much mercy and grace. I know this story. Why then do I feed my fear instead of my faith?
I think at the heart of it is the illusion that I can control things. There is nothing I can control. Little Gamora reminds me of this every single day, when she has moments thinking of whether to obey or not. In the beginning, I used doggy treats to persuade her to obey, and she has built a certain muscle memory. She now obeys with the hope of getting a treat. I tell you what, it works! Most of the time, she gets a reward.
Gamora demonstrates what I should be doing. I have God’s Word that shows me so many instances of His faithfulness to those before me. I have a lifetime of experience where I have indeed tasted God’s goodness. Yet, my muscle memory isn’t as good as Gamora’s. I forget. And I end up feeding my fears by dwelling on them instead of feeding my faith.
I think there’s a change of diet on the cards! From experience, I know this isn’t the easiest thing to do, but it is wise that I start being more focused on feeding my faith. I serve the God that my parents taught me about. I serve the God who gave me my faith. It is right that I serve Him by feeding my faith whenever I am fearful for He did not give all of us who profess a faith in Him, a spirit of timidity, but of power, love, and self-control.
As we start the charge towards closing out 2025, I am thankful for these thoughts that have been put into my heart to ponder upon. It will be my prayer that I continue facing my fears with courage, knowing that I have a God that I can fully trust with the final outcome. I wish so very much that my dad was around for this conversation – he tried to tell me about this many times whenever he tried to prepare me for his passing. Papa, the penny has finally dropped. You and mummy have given me so much by growing me in Christ. I am eternally grateful for you both.
I love the beach. I love it far more than the mountains. Please don’t get me wrong- I think the mountains are beautiful. However, for me, a beach holiday trumps everything!
I love the beach. There is something about being at the seaside that causes my body and mind to relax. I wonder if it is the air – the smell of the ocean, or the sight of it.
When we were little, my cousins and I got taken to the seaside a lot. It was such a lot of fun. Our parents would have packed all sorts of food for a picnic, but all we could think about was playing on the beach or swimming in the sea.
Till this day, when I go to the beach, I keep my eyes peeled for the first sight of the sea. That first glimpse of the turquoise, blueish-green shades of waves, never ceases to cause a sensory delight within me.
When I lost my mum in 2006, I was so brokenhearted. Some friends and I went to the seaside – I wanted the time to rest. A friend suggested that we each take time to write about something out in nature.
I remember composing a poem about the sea – about how its calm exterior didn’t always show the whirling undercurrents. It reflected how I felt when I lost my mum.
In 2023, less than a week and a half before he died, my dad convinced me to book a beach holiday. I booked it without knowing that I would be travelling there two weeks after he had passed.
Again, the silence of the beach broken by the occasional roar of the waves, voiced the sense of overwhelm that I was feeling inside. It felt to me like the sea was acting out the restless I felt.
In October 2025, a friend and I went for a beach holiday. It rained almost the entire time we were there, but we had a sea view room. It was amazing to wake up to the glistening sea, and watch how choppy it got because of the wind and the rain.
I was exhausted from a gruelling schedule, but just being by the beach, looking out at the sea, I felt a sense of calm and peace. It was like the tiredness was being washed away.
Whilst I do admire mountains and nature apart from the seaside, there is nothing like a beach holiday! I am so thankful to God for the many beach holidays I’ve been able to enjoy. I pray for more!
I literally just finished reading Irfan Ortega’s Portrait of a Turkish Family. It blew my mind!
I bought the book on 29 January 2025, from Galeri Kayseri English Bookshop, located in the Sultanahmet Fatih area of Istanbul. I remember the date very clearly because it was the day that I was leaving Istanbul. My friends and I stopped in at the bookshop, and lo, and behold, we each bought our own copy of the book. Such were the exhortations of the store keepers, and we believed that it was a good book.
I think whatever the store keeper said really made me want to find a moment to read the book in leisure. It has been anything but that, with the start of my business and the intensity of trying to make things work. I held off reading.
In October, a friend and I managed to make a short trip to Penang. Penang is lovely- it is a city island, and is popular for its local cuisine. Our plan was to rest and recuperate, as we’d both had a busy year. I decided to take the book with me.
The book was so easy to read, which sort of surprised me. I was almost expecting some stuffy sort of writing style, and have been pleasantly surprised at how wrong I was.
Right from the word go, Irfan Ortega, draws you into his world. The story is rich, almost as if its tapestry was weaved intricately by a master carpet maker. It is hard not to feel the pleasures of the author’s family at its height, and their decline into poverty and shambles.
I couldn’t put the book down. References to Istanbul made complete sense because some of the places were located in the Sultanahmet area – close by the Blue Mosque. Having visited the place, it brought the writing to life even more.
It isn’t possible to do justice to the story by trying to explain it here. The emotions that Irfan Ortega conveyed could only be told with the emotional weightage of the person who had lived through the events detailed. I felt so thoroughly invested in what would happen to each of the individuals because of how powerful the writing was.
This year, I have spent time reading books on business. I reread a couple of my long time favourites by Jane Austen, a book on the Ottomans, which I started before I went to Istanbul but only finished after I got home, and a few other books. I have been wanting to read more, and given how busy I’ve been, I am pleased that I have been able to do this much reading.
What I can say with absolute certainty is that I was incredibly moved by this narrative of Irfan Ortega‘s. I heartily recommend it as a must read!
If you’re like me and you like baking, it is likely you often have conversations about it. I love it when friends or family send me pics of what they’ve made and share the experience of how the baking process went. I like doing the same as well.
There are certain periods, such as the build-up to special celebrations or around Christmas, where conversations about baking and trialing become rife. Whilst it may not be everyone’s cup of tea, I absolutely love it.
A friend had popped into my mind as I put a Christmas fruitcake into the oven yesterday. Last year, she had made a fruitcake using a recipe of a friend of hers who had tragically passed away. So, I dropped her a note, and inevitably, we discussed making fruitcake.
She mentioned how she loved the smell of the house when something has been baking. At that moment, the thing that had been pressing on my mind was the quality of the fruit I’d got this year. The cake supply shop that I’ve been going to for slightly over two decades had shut.
There are some major baking franchise outlets in my town. They are well-known ones, but as I picked up dried fruit for the fruitcake, I couldn’t help but notice the difference. Even when I cut up the fruit, I couldn’t help but think that they were much dryer than what I was used to. This came up in my conversation with my friend. I told my friend how I had instinctively set aside a few more egg whites for whisking, in the event the batter was dryer than usual, as a result of the fruit.
She commended me on my quick-thinking and went on to tease me for being a perfectionist in my baking. It was such an innocent comment, but it brought a whole load of memories flooding back to my mind.
I saw it as clear as day as I typed out my response about the strength of the memory associations that I had related to the dried fruit. At the core of it was how much I am missing my mum and dad.
When I first started baking at 13 years of age, baking supplies like dried fruit, weren’t easily available in the town I lived in. My dad would have to drive me to the city to get them. I remember my mum making calls to ask an aunt where they could be got, and my father, diligently driving me to get them.
When I first started baking, my parents weren’t sure if my interest was just a fad or if it was something that was going to grow. My mum was never much of a cook or baker, and we didn’t have an oven. I used an ovenette, which was quite horrific because you couldn’t control the heat. Since fruitcakes took a long time to bake, my mum and dad would help me play around with the heat, by turning the ovenette off for a minute or two, just to make sure the cake wouldn’t burn.
They loved the fruitcake and other cakes that I made, and by the time I was 15, they decided to buy me one of those big gas stoves with an oven at the bottom. I used that stove till 2020, when the freak flood that impacted my home destroyed it! Even with my new oven (at the time), supplies weren’t so easily available. My parents supported my baking through this. My mum would help me calculate what was needed and write a list, and my dad would drive me to get all the stuff I needed.
Maybe when I was about 17, things started changing. More things were available in my town. Sometime after I got back from university, the cake supplies shop opened up in the housing estate next to mine. I could walk to it, but usually, I drove because it wasn’t easy carrying home stuff that I had bought.
That cake supplies shop wasn’t a fancy shop at all. It was small and friendly, which I loved. The couple that ran it used to import dehydrated fruit from a family-run business in the US. The quality of the fruit was so notably different, that the first time I bought it, even my parents commented on how fresh it all was. I think as a family, we appreciated the turn of events.
These memories are very strong for me. When mum died in 2006, I found it hard to think of baking or anything. It was papa who slowly encouraged me to get back to it. Until he passed away in 2023, he was always an eager volunteer for tasting anything that came out of my oven.
Remembering this has made me realize why I feel a sense of deep sadness when I bake. When mummy passed away, that sadness came to reside. It has never left. Now with papa’s passing, it has taken up more space within. Oddly enough, I don’t want it to leave. It connects me to papa and mummy.
This simple act of buying ingredients and baking, make me feel such a strong connection to the home I once knew. This memory makes me see that so clearly. This is the home that shaped me – from my faith, to every mistake I’ve made, and every success I’ve achieved. It is the home that both my dad, Stephen and my mum, Leela, with all their imperfections built for me. It is the home I miss dearly.
I am grateful to God for my friend’s comment that triggered this entire memory. I am thankful to Him for the parents He blessed me with. I cannot thank Him enough. One of the Psalms that I like is Psalm 34, which is a Psalm of my favourite king David. Some of the verses in this Psalm are astounding:
I will bless the LORD at all times; his praise shall continually be in my mouth (Psalm 34: 1)
My soul makes its boast in the LORD; let the humble hear and be glad (Psalm 34: 2)
Those who look to him (the LORD) are radiant, and their faces shall never be ashamed (Psalm 34: 5)
Oh, taste and see that the LORD is good! Blessed is the man who takes refuge in him! (Psalm 34: 8)
The LORD is near to the broken-hearted and saves the crushed in spirit (Psalm 34: 18)
There’s a lot more to this Psalm, but I like these verses because they are full of hope, and because they bless the LORD and recognize his goodness. The interesting thing about it all is that when David wrote this Psalm, his home at the palace was under threat because of king Saul.
David had fled into Philistine territory, which was enemy territory, and in order to survive this, he pretended to be out of his mind. It is hard to imagine how low one would have to be to act this way. It was an awful, awful time.
My life isn’t on the line like David’s was, and I am writing from far more comfortable settings than the Adullam caves, where he was likely hiding out. I know there is a debate on whether David sinned by feigning madness. Whilst I haven’t pretended to be mad (and let me just stop you right there, if you even think it’s because I don’t need to pretend!), I know that I have been called out for the sadness that I have felt.
I have spoken and written about this sadness. There have been times when I’ve been told that my faith is weak, and that I am not showing good Christian character when I express this sadness. I’ve been told that I am not showing strength.
It has been awful dealing with these. One of the comments after papa passed away was to the extent that since I had the experience of losing my mum, this wouldn’t be so hard to deal with. Who are they kidding? Do they know how present he was in my life?
I may be in my own version of the Adullam caves (with plumbing and without bats). My home as I knew and loved it, is no more. It is hard to explain this feeling to many people. I don’t have brothers or sisters who grew up alongside me. The only two people who shared in the most significant parts of my history, are no longer here. There’s so much of me that they knew, which no one else knew. There are elements of me that they brought out, which no one else can. Their absence as individuals and as a unit in my life is something I feel so keenly.
Yet, I hope that it is clear that despite this feeling of sadness, I have such a strong sense of thankfulness and gratefulness to God. He has given me so much for which I can only be thankful. When I look back at my parents and process our ups and downs, I can only say that I have been extraordinarily blessed.
I don’t need to prove the strength of my faith or character to anyone. This isn’t a dance that I’ll be doing. I miss my mum and dad so very much. I miss them unashamedly.
Papa and mummy, thank you for teaching me this faith. Thank you for growing me in Christ, and for helping me see that there is so much more ahead because of Jesus. I thank God for this blessing He gave me through you both. I thank Him for this memory that has triggered such a strong feeling of connection to you. Bless the Lord, indeed!
It’s such a wet Sunday as I write this. It stopped raining a short while ago, but you can see large droplets of water on the plants and puddles all over out on the road. The rain that came was heavy. I like the rain because of how it cools things down for us. If it’s not heavy enough, there’s a kind of mugginess that envelopes us within minutes of it stopping, so I’m glad that this was good rainfall.
I didn’t go to church this morning. I’m a little tired and am managing levels of pain that are coming up for me. Whenever my body is pushed to more exertion these days, the lovely disease that’s an occupying force within me reminds me that it holds the keys. In many senses, it keeps me in check. I need to make sure I have downtime. I don’t think it is a bad thing, except I don’t like the feeling of unwellness that it makes me feel and the heightening of pain levels. It makes me walk funny – or should I say funnier? It makes me trip, slip, roll my ankle, or step a little wrongly as I move about.
Pain is an interesting thing. It makes me miss my mum and dad a lot. My dad, most recently, would ensure that I was fed or had a supply of hot tea coming my way. It would make me feel like I didn’t need to worry too much. Without his presence, it is different, as I still need to get things done. I have to make my own cuppa!
When I feel pain coming up in my body, I often wish I had a full -time butler like Jeeves. At times like this, when even my thoughts feel like they hurt, I think it’d be a good idea to outsource my thoughts to an intelligent being, like Jeeves. There’s character there, unlike the AI that I’m trying to get used to working with. At present, it lacks humour, discretion, and physical appearance. Who knows? This might change in the not-too-distant future!
For now, I have a little ball of fur right next to me. This little one, if I’m honest, even Jeeves has nothing on her! My darling girl, Gamora. Gamora isn’t human, and delightfully so. Her puppy-ness is what I find fascinating and most amusing. There are times, I find it moving. She’s able to relate. She reads situations well and she responds. This challenges me to do the same. A puppy teaching me about my humanity! This is why I’m certain she is such a blessing from God. It is why I feel like He sees me.
When the rain stopped this morning, Gamora and I were napping on the sofa. It’s bliss, I tell you. My housing area is quiet and the stillness is therapeutic. Gamora tends to love these moments when she’s cuddled right by me, and she doesn’t give them up easily, which is why I was surprised to see her suddenly fly off the couch and make urgent noises to want to go out. I let her outside and she flew out to the porch in such haste and started barking rather ferociously.
Recognizing the urgency in her bark, I walked over to her, only to see a large monitor lizard not too far from our front gate. Gamora’s radar for monitor lizards is impeccable. She seems to be able to sniff them out even at a distance. Sometimes in the park, she will spot one that’s having a swim. Even at that point, her little body goes into a ready-to-defend-warrior pose. I do not want her engaging in battle with monitor lizards. As smart as she is, I worry about the reach of their tails, which can hurt her.
I immediately sprang into action and ran to get a long, sturdy spade-like tool I have at the back of the house. Whether it’s a monitor lizard, frog, or cockroach that I encounter, I fervently start whispering prayers. I have such an intense dislike that springs from fear, towards these creatures, but living in a house, you inevitably have to deal with them. I could hear Gamora still letting out her warning barks and I tried as quickly as I could despite the pain my body was in to get back to her, and I did.
There was no more monitor lizard. I stood for a moment blinking, wondering if I’d dreamt the whole thing, when a neighbour who was walking his dog called out to me. ‘Your dog just made that big monitor lizard run!’ He had seen the whole thing unfold. My little Gamora was as proud as could be. She strutted back into our house and settled by me with a sense of satisfaction.
In these moments, I feel a sense of grace. I feel seen by my God. Why? Because I was dreading having to deal with that monitor lizard. I was dreading having to call the authorities for help because I am tired and am in pain. I didn’t want to spend time dealing with this. It is hard to explain the tiredness. I just want the quiet right now.
Thankfully, because of this little four-legged creature He put in my life, quietness is restored. She has been such a blessing, and I am thankful to God for her.
Grace for the soul 