Recently, I started noticing some peculiar things about myself. Most of you have probably already picked up on a few of my quirks. That's mostly because I'm a weird person in general. The latest strange thing I’ve noticed is my sudden fascination with properties and home decorating.
Oh, it gets worse, folks.
I began to realise that my nesting instincts have somehow swallowed the little tomboy who used to look a lot like me—the one who thought it would be fun to climb the blackberry tree and who once intentionally scraped her knee against the pavement just to see it bleed. The little tomboy who talked tough, tore herself on barbed wire fences for the sake of adventure, and climbed over the neighbour's yard just to be chased by their vicious dog.
When did that little girl suddenly realise that maybe scars weren't the coolest things in the world and there was more to life than challenging fear and tempting fate? How did she turn into such a girly girl?
Now, instead of fantasising about catching grasshoppers in jars, I dream about decorating my house one day. Instead of searching for ladybirds in the garden, I search my heart to see if I have what it takes to be a mother someday.