tiers of time

The first time I saw a three-tiered dessert stand was at my best friend’s Bridal Shower in 2007, the same year that I started dating my husband. It was arranged with cute cupcakes and pastries, and I remember thinking how pretty and elegant it looked. But at that stage of my life, it never occurred to me to buy one - I had no reason to.

Six anniversaries later, when Amelia was a newborn, the dessert stand popped back into my mind. Perhaps it was the sleep-deprived haze of early motherhood or the longing for something beautiful in the midst of chaos, but I suddenly felt drawn to it. I started searching through online marketplaces like Gumtree and eBay, slowly piecing together a collection - not just of ceramic dessert stands, but of cake stands, plates, ornate tea pots, sugar & milk jugs. Each item felt like a little treasure, waiting for the right time to be used.

But life got busy, and when we moved houses, they were packed away into storage and forgotten. Seasons changed, and the collection remained untouched, tucked into boxes, waiting for an occasion I wasn’t even sure would come.

Who would have thought that the opportunity would finally arrive at Amelia’s 12th birthday party? She had chosen a pastel theme, and as I unwrapped each piece, I realised just how perfect they were. The soft hues, intricate patterns, and timeless charm made everything feel so special, almost as if they had been waiting all these years for this exact celebration. It was a full-circle moment, something I had unknowingly been preparing for since the very beginning. 

carve diem

I used to dislike skiing - every trip felt like a painful and frustrating struggle. I stuck with it for my family, knowing how much they loved the sport and the joy it brought them. But for me, skiing showed how much I’d changed with age. The fearless adventurer I once was, racing down trails and attempting wild stunts, was long gone. I miss that version of myself, the one who wasn’t afraid of falling. Despite my challenges, this winter sport has become a great way for my family to bond and carve lasting memories. 

Skiing reminds me that I’m not as young or invincible as I once was. The days of carefree risks have passed, replaced by the responsibilities of family. I miss the reckless freedom of youth, but there’s a deep satisfaction in being needed, even if it means approaching life with more caution.

When I first learned to ski in Queenstown, I was stressed and rigid, overwhelmed by my instructor’s directions. The steep hill ahead felt impossible, and I genuinely thought one wrong move would send me tumbling to my doom.

But this time, something shifted. It wasn’t just what I’d learned - it was that I stopped overthinking and leaned into what felt natural. Drawing on my rollerblading experience, I trusted my body to guide me. Suddenly, I moved with a fluidity I’d never felt before. The fear was still there, but it no longer paralysed me. I wasn’t impulsive, just confident, and for the first time, I felt in control. My turns aren’t perfect, and I’m nowhere near as fast as the skiers speeding past me, but I feel happy and at ease. Skiing has helped me rediscover a part of myself I thought I’d lost.

my girl

The first day of kindergarten feels like just yesterday, yet here I am, watching you walk across the stage in 6th grade to receive the Academic Prize. I can still picture the first time your bright newborn eyes met mine - I knew then, with a quiet certainty, that you were bound to become someone extraordinary. Now, here you are, in your final year of primary school, making us all so proud, Amelia! You are everything I dreamed of being at your age, my special girl. 

1 degree hotter

When my peers learn that I’m pursuing a Master’s degree, they often say, “I can’t imagine studying now; my mind has retired at this age.” For me, though, it’s the opposite - I’ve never been more intellectually engaged in my life.  It’s as if my brain didn’t fully mature until I reached my thirties, or perhaps I’m just less distracted than I was in my teens and twenties. Back then, I remember feeling overwhelmed with work, juggling my social life, fretting about the future, and searching for a husband while also trying to find myself, which made studying feel impossible.

I remember RD asking me, back when we first met, what I would do if I had financial freedom. Without hesitation, I told him I’d dedicate myself to studying. Little did I know, he would be the one to turn that dream into reality.

fortnight

Taylor Swift’s double album defied expectations, surprising fans who anticipated a deep dive into her six-year-long relationship. Instead, Taylor chose to explore a whirlwind romance that lasted merely a fortnight. While some fail to understand, I see a profound truth in her focus. Fleeting relationships, though brief, often leave a lasting impact precisely because they lack closure. There’s a particular intensity in the abrupt end of something that feels like it’s just beginning - it retains a sense of perpetual newness, never fully realised, and leaves behind a haunting sense of unfinished business.

In contrast, long-term commitments, which have weathered birthdays, holidays, and countless shared milestones, allow for a gradual detachment. These partnerships often end with a slow fade rather than a sudden stop, giving both parties time to adjust and process the separation. But the short-lived romance? It cuts off before it even seems real, leaving a trail of what-ifs and might-have-beens. 

This stark juxtaposition in Taylor’s latest tracks speaks volumes about the complexity of human emotions and connections, emphasising how deeply we can feel for someone who has barely grazed the surface of our lives compared to another who has been firmly entrenched in it.