IF ONLY TIME STANDS STILL

There are some things and events which always bring along with them a sense of nostalgia. No one - dead or alive - has ever been spared from its claws.

I miss the days of a student - where the primary duties were homework, grades, and exams. I miss the days in school. Those were the days when - the heavy readings, mugging, and permanent head damage aside - lectures and tutorials occasionally end early in the early afternoons.

I miss the days of having early time off. Hanging around the mall for the occasional quick window-shopping. Dropping by and lingering in bookstores. Scooting off to Giant or Carrefour in the early afternoons and heading home eagerly with bags full of groceries, in anticipation of the food that's to be prepared. I miss cooking, baking cookies, cakes, making sushi, bulgogi, and trying out new recipes. I miss experimenting new things and doing new stuffs.

There are some things and events which always bring along with them a sense of nostalgia.

These are things that make me feel belonged. Things that I would love to do. And without it, it feels like something is glaringly lacking.






I still want to sew that bean bag chair. Do my first knitting. Try out some recipes. Cook new stuffs. Experiment with new things.

I want to maintain a cozy home; a haven. Of course, not forgetting that yellow study room.

Out of the 3 square meals per day, I would want to personally prepare at least 1 for my loved ones. I would like The Hubby to look forward eagerly to coming home to a good meal and a fruitful rest; after having battled it out gallantly a whole day at work.

I would want to be there when my kids open their eyes and catch their first glimpse of the world. Hear their first giggle. Take their first step. Hum the first song. Babble their first 'word'. Sprout their first tooth.

I want to be there. Beside them; with them.



In the early afternoons, we would take little strolls, or go to the supermarket, or play by the beaches, or just simply lie idyllically under the bask of the sun. The little ones would lumber about in zealous exploration. Build clumsy sandcastles. Taste some alien-looking algae and seaweed. Roll about in the grass. Chase birds. Catch butterflies. Feed some strays. Pat some dogs. Tease some cats. Poke some caterpillars. Collect leaves. Squeeze beetles. Squash chameleons. Flick spiders. Stack up snails.

They'll actively zoom around like busy worker bees - gushing and yakking excitedly about some weird bugs or creepy-crawlies which they've just discovered. Or asking frustrating questions like "why is the sky blue?", "where does Santa Claus live?", "how can a fat guy like Santa squeeze through the chimney?", "why don't we have a chimney?", "why can't chicken fly?", "why can't I have ice-cream for breakfast, lunch, and dinner?", or "what time is Daddy coming home?".

On other afternoons - if we are in the mood for indoor activities - we'll roll some dough together, bake some cookies, and make little messes in the kitchen. Or pop some M&Ms. Listen to some old English oldies or English country music. Play with bubbles. Grow our own mini-ecosystem in a 1 litre plastic bottle. Do some art and craft. Pot some plants. Play around with colours. Eat popcorn and watch silly programmes like Twitty Bird or Bob the builder.

In the evening, the little ones would be all exhausted that they'll sleep so deeply while I prepare dinner. The Hubby comes home. He showers, while I warm up the food. The kids wake up. We would eat, talk, play, bond, and then, retire for the night. The next morning, another new, exciting adventure unravels yet again.



I want this kind of life. This is what I see; and vision for.