When tragedy strikes
My brief stint as a cursed widow
With Presence
Musings on widowhood, parenting, life and death
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Little miracles
I’ll preface this essay by saying that this is not a story about a pigeon but a meditation on holding grief, inspired by a pigeon.
The pull of the Earth
In one news reel, a monkey seen through squares of a metal cage backed into its edges hisses and reaches as blue paint sprays and engulfs its body A man saunters around the cage, one hand in his pants pocket one fleshy palm wrapped around the can's cool metal finger on the nozzle, spraying 'If convicted of animal cruelty', the reader is informed, the man whose finger was on the nozzle whose fleshy…
For safekeeping
I was reading a book at the kid’s club of Nikoi Island when Georgia handed me a small seashell.
Growing
“The sink seems smaller,” says my daughter who's four as she steps on the stool, leans and stretches forward to reach the tap.
The Griever's Concerto
The orchestra played the solemn first bar of Mozart’s piano concerto No.
Laundry
I often find laundry moving, the sight of pieces of clothing lined on poles stretching out and away from my kitchen windows.
On Beauty
Sitting by Larry’s side, I took in his face.
The Void Deck
I remember the exact moment that the void deck at my HDB block became coloured by my grief.
When presence is love
Of the many times I wiped, changed and fed Larry, I playback the times I was alone with him in the middle of the night most.