iron sharpens iron

I’m so proud of my eldest daughter for being invited to join the Science Olympiad team at school. It’s a wonderful opportunity to deepen her understanding, build confidence, and develop her skills in science. It’s such an honour to be selected.

Only six students were chosen, and what makes it even more special is that three of her closest friends were also invited, meaning all four girls in her little group made the team. She is surrounded by studious, curious, and like-minded peers, the kind of circle where iron sharpens iron.

They are such a good influence on one another, encouraging each other to aim higher, stay focused, and grow together. Like a small constellation, each one shines brightly, but stronger together. It’s a joy to see her thriving with such inspiring young ladies by her side.

the fire after the fireworks

The movie Eternity poses the question: is love at its truest in the bright rush of the beginning, or in the long, unremarkable faithfulness of time? 

Elizabeth Olsen gives Joan a tenderness and intelligence that keep the film from collapsing into sentimentality. She captures the difference between young love and enduring love without reducing either one. One is electric, unfinished, almost mythic because it never had the chance to disappoint. The other is deeper, weathered, familiar, and less cinematic on the surface, but far more real.

Unlike Joan, I do not have two different husbands. I just have Dave twice. There is Boyfriend Dave: the guy I loved with reckless, gleaming, honeymoon affection. This Dave could do no wrong. He was young, handsome, proper, and such a gentleman. Then there is Husband Dave: the man I have loved through years of adventures and laughter, companionship and loyalty, dirty socks, abandoned cups, household chores, and all the small, unglamorous acts that go into raising a family.

He complains that I loved Boyfriend Dave more than I love Husband Dave, which is exactly why Eternity resonated with me. If Joan had two husbands, then in a way, so do I: Early Dave and Lifetime Dave. That is what makes the comparison sweet rather than sad. Early love is noisy. It sparkles. It is full of butterflies and daydreams. But lasting love is underrated because it stops performing and starts proving itself. It becomes less about the thrill and more about choosing the same person so many times that your heart knows the path by instinct.

So no, perhaps I do not love Dave now in exactly the way I loved him in the beginning. Back then, it was all fireworks. Now it is the fire still burning after the party is over, the chairs are stacked, and the house is quiet. Honestly, that is the greater miracle.

Eternity suggests that love has seasons, and that the softer, older kind may not look as romantic, but it runs deeper. Joan had to choose between two husbands. I got lucky. I chose Dave, and then kept meeting new versions of him along the way.

growing pains

I used to think heartbreak was losing a guy.

I was wrong.

The deepest pain comes when your own child disappoints you. No one lives in your heart the way your child does. They carry your love, your hopes, your prayers, and the dreams you held for them before they could hold any of their own.

When they make choices that wound you, reject what you taught them, or become someone you hardly recognise, the grief lands hard. It carries sorrow for who they are and mourning for who they could have been.

This heartbreak bruises love to the bone. This grief bears their name.

The hardest truth is that love stays. You love your child through every break in your heart. You keep hurting. You keep hoping. You keep praying they find their way back.

suddenly thirteen

Her room still carries traces of childhood: a dollhouse sits beside her Lego box, stuffed animals lining the shelf, the fresh scent of strawberry shampoo after her shower. You braid her hair and finish it with ribbons to match her outfit.

Then she turns thirteen. There is no warning. The change comes all at once. Yesterday she was role-playing with her toys and making stop-motion videos with her little sister. Today, she stands at Mecca, asking for lip gloss and press-on nails, studying her reflection as though the way she looks has suddenly begun to matter.

Childhood recedes like the tide. Loose hair and claw clips replace the neat plaits of younger years. For school, sleek ponytails. On weekends, her long, straight hair is carefully parted, falling exactly the way she likes it. Her dresser stacks with the things you never expected to see so soon: tiny perfume bottles, an eyelash curler, and skincare products she learned about from friends.

Her sense of style changes too. The pretty dresses that once filled her wardrobe are pushed to the back, making space for denim shorts, trendy activewear sets and oversized hoodies, birthday gifts she expertly persuaded her doting uncles to buy.

Children are always eager to grow up. They hurry toward the next phase of life, certain that older must mean better. Meanwhile, you find yourself wishing she would slow down just a little, so that princess costumes and tiaras, unicorns, braids, and ribbons might last a bit longer.

People warn you about sleepless nights with babies, the chaos of the toddler stage, and the rush of school schedules. But no one prepares you for the emotional whiplash of watching twelve turn thirteen.

The shift feels almost overnight.

One day, you are curling her hair. The next, she’s dabbing blush onto her cheeks, pushing against the no-makeup rule. Somewhere along the way, your little girl stepped quietly into adolescence.