friendship 101

I started school without speaking any English. Making friends felt impossible, and I spent much of that year on my own. Those lonely months shaped me in ways I couldn’t understand at the time, teaching me resilience, independence, and how much a simple act of kindness can mean to someone who feels invisible. They also showed me that friendship takes courage, and that you often have to make the first move. Those lessons became part of who I was and changed the way I treated people for the rest of my life.

I went from having a wonderful group of friends in sixth grade to starting high school without any of my primary school classmates. I found myself alone again, as if I were back in kindergarten. But this time, I already knew how friendships were built, and I quickly found my place once more.

By the time I graduated high school, I felt a genuine sense of belonging and had formed many meaningful friendships. That ability to connect with others has stayed with me into adulthood. Looking back, I believe those hard times made me a softer, more compassionate person.

Today, I am fortunate to remain close to friends from primary school, high school, university, and every stage of life since. I cherish those friendships because they are a testament to the enduring value of investing in relationships and showing genuine care for one another.

Now, as a mother, I try to pass those lessons on to my children, reminding them that to have good friends, you first have to be one: kind, inclusive, and thoughtful. But I also know some lessons can’t be taught, only lived.

It breaks my heart to watch from the sidelines when they feel left out or lonely. Every instinct tells me to step in and protect them, but I hope these moments instead build their character, strengthen their resilience, and teach them empathy, just as they did me. If they learn to include others because they know what exclusion feels like, then their struggles may become one of life’s greatest gifts, not only for them but for everyone they meet.

hearts and hammers

Sometimes I wonder why God gave us the power to love and the gift of free will. He could have made us incapable of hurting one another. Instead, He gave us the choice to love or to leave, to build or to break, to heal or to wound.

Yet the very things that are meant to bind us: love, family, friendships, and relationships, are fragile in human hands. We forget to nurture them and take them for granted, stumbling through foolish decisions that ruin what we were supposed to cherish. We are God’s creations with fractured edges, capable of extraordinary kindness and unimaginable pain.

As a parent, one of the hardest lessons is accepting that you cannot protect your children from every heartbreak or fix their mistakes. Sometimes they are the ones whose hearts are shattered, and other times they are the ones holding the hammer. Loving them means embracing both truths and praying they grow through each one.

Maybe that is where God is found. In His endless willingness to keep loving us through our imperfections.

shear nostalgia

In my early 20s, I used to get my hair cut in someone’s garage. For just $14, I’d get a wash, cut, and blow-dry. It was an absolute steal, and he always did a great job.

I stopped going about 18 years ago, but last week I happened to park outside his place and wondered if he was still in business. Feeling a little nostalgic, I decided to knock on the door. Sure enough, he was still there, still cutting hair...

So I booked in for old times’ sake. Same garage. Same guy. Same no-frills setup. The only noticeable differences were that I had picked up a few more silver strands, and his English had levelled up over the years. The same package now costs $30, which, considering it’s been nearly two decades, is still a pretty impressive bargain.

porcelain princess

Few things matter to me more than a clean toilet. It sounds like a bizarre hill to die on, but a spotless bathroom improves my day more often than most people realise. Even when I’m planning a holiday, one of my first thoughts is what the toilet situation will be like. Is the water level too high? Too shallow? After travelling to plenty of countries, I can confidently say Australia has perfected the toilet water level.

I avoid public toilets whenever I can. My home toilet has blue water that foams when I flush, almost like it’s giving the bowl a little bath after every use.

Sometimes I joke that if my husband ever dies, I’m not remarrying. Not because I couldn’t love someone else, but because I don’t know how I’d explain all of this to a new person. Imagine telling someone early in a relationship, “By the way, I have toilet issues, I can’t share a toilet, and I need my own bathroom.” Somehow that feels like a much bigger hurdle than finding love again.

It probably sounds ridiculous to most people, but having someone who understands these oddly specific toilet anxieties makes a bigger difference than you’d think. Especially someone who appreciates that the right toilet water level and a little blue foam aren’t preferences, they’re basic human needs.