You probably all know the expression “no use crying over spilt milk” or some variation of it, right? Well, whenever I hear it, I think of this one time in my childhood when I actually did cry over spilt milk – not just figuratively speaking, but literal spilt milk and literal crying.
I was quite young at the time (maybe six? maybe four?) and it would’ve been at home one day, in the kitchen. I really don’t remember the circumstances surrounding it, but I remember there was milk spilt, and for some reason I was really upset and cried.
Today is Australia Day. I’ve actually scheduled this post ahead of time because I’m expecting to be a bit busy that day (i.e. today). Not working though (surprisingly). I’ll be moving house soon, so I have to pack and make preparations and all that. Also need to think about packing for my upcoming holiday. It’s kind of weird trying to move house and go on holiday at the same time…
Anyway, all that’s probably something for another post (or several posts, depending on how well/badly that goes… The moving house part, of course. The holiday part is probably going to get more posts than anyone’d care to read, regardless of how well/badly it goes.) Continue reading
The other day, I randomly recalled this surprisingly meaningful conversation that I had with my sister when we were kids. I don’t remember how old I was, but it was definitely while we were both still in primary school (she’s only a year older than I am), and I’m almost willing to bet that I was less than 10 at the time. Basically, we were just kids.
To be honest, I don’t remember a whole lot about the conversation or how it came about (maybe we were at home listening to music?) but the general bones of the chat are still there in my mind. It all revolved around this one question: Would you rather be rich or famous?
During my childhood, I had many dreams and ambitions regarding my future career. Most of the time they weren’t lofty goals. Sometimes I think I must’ve been a rather impressionable kid because a lot of the things I wanted to be were inspired by people I saw on a regular basis. Of these, I distinctly remember phases of wanting to be a baker, a postie, bus driver, and librarian. Maybe the ones I encountered just always seemed cheerful or seemed as if they enjoyed their jobs…
Anyone who has ever had a meal with me will surely know that I am a slow eater. I know very few people who eat as slowly as I do (maybe only one other person? or two?) Recent conversations, over the last few weeks, have led me to wonder about the origins of this quirk, and to really analyse my penchant for slow eating.
Often I hear people say that eating slowly is a good thing because it gives yourself time to realise when you’re full, and hence not overeat. This might be well and true, but I don’t consciously eat slowly – it’s not a purposeful decision that I’ve made in order to attain some sort of benefit. In fact, I generally feel like I actually eat at a reasonable pace, and perhaps everyone else just eats too quickly, causing me to become an outlier on this bell-curve, and making it seem like I eat really slowly.
Isn’t it funny, the multitude of ways in which we are encouraged to make wishes…
We make wishes when we blow out birthday candles, and when we blow away the seeds of dandelions. I believe the general idea is that if you get all the candles, or all the seeds, in one go, then your wish is supposed to come true. We also make wishes on stars, be they shooting stars or first stars. And there’s always the traditional wishing wells/ponds/fountains. All of these I learnt about, and participated in, in my childhood.