TINSEL

On the eve of every Christmas, my mother – the matriarch – assembles our family for a feast. Together, in an intimate setting, we sit around the dining table, feasting, opening gifts and laughing at my pet-children trying to sneak-off with the leftover food on our plates, though everyone seems oblivious, all too distracted by their own full stomachs. The table, so artfully decked hours before, is now arummage of torn wrapping and dwindling candle sticks – but no one seems to mind. It’s as if the scene around us serves to articulate the common themes of Christmas; giving thanks, feasting with loved ones, and the gift of giving to those we care about. TINSEL

WISHBONE

S tories from my childhood were to me endlessly fascinating, and throughout my schooling career, I had conjured up quite a few of my own. Before high-school, storytelling was often accompanied by poorly attempted drawings, which never seemed to matter to me, while writing became a true labor of love, considerably so the older I got. At the start of high-school, my first WISHBONE

FAILPROOF MONDAYS

I think many of us can agree, Mondays have become increasingly pejorative, despite it’s very nature to bring about new opportunities. I also feel obliged to elaborate on that last thought, so as to not sound overly optimistic as is common with some of us freelance creatives. Indeed, Mondays are different for everyone, and I certainly do take in to account that my job doesn’t demand an early start at the office, or the common 1 day transition from weekend to work mode – but that’s partly due to the fact that I work right through the week and well in to the weekend. With constant deadlines, FAILPROOF MONDAYS

AFFAIRE D’AMOUR: VOYAGE ET MODE

T o travel just outside of your city and still be enamored by the beauty of a sunrise, or the sound of the ocean drifting like background music at a tranquil spa, gently ushering you to sleep – is something everyone should experience if by the means to do so. Speaking presently, this past weekend away in Paternoster feels distant, like a memory I’d imagined myself having, despite it being such a recent experience. Amidst the daytime overcast grey skies, and otherworldly sunsets – lasting no more than a mere glimpse from our veranda – I still need a moment to recollect that it was real, and that AFFAIRE D’AMOUR: VOYAGE ET MODE