Saturday, December 05, 2015

Lessons in flour

Baking is both a relief and a lesson in self-belief. The time focused on following a recipe that requires figures that end in anything but "00" is time not spent working or worrying about work or pondering on the future.

In baking, it is ok to be flawed. That the baking paper is peeling away more cake than it is leaving behind can be rectified with a generous amount of cream and strategically placed decorations. That the frosting is not symmetrical is excused by artistic license instead of screaming amateur.

Baking engages the mind and brings dimension to learning. The importance of a good fridge that won't dry out the cream, a well-ventilated kitchen, proportionate kitchen islands and air-conditioning are all serious matters to consider when getting my own cinnamon-filled alcove "some day soon."

Above all, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger and I'm still standing even though the baking powder was accidentally left out.

Thursday, December 03, 2015

The art of dreaming

Not to be confused with Dreams, Wishful Thinking floats away in the breeze as another woolly notion takes its place. It drives no passion and generates no drive. It is seen in the smacking of lips for strawberry ice-cream topped with crushed peanuts but making no effort to taste. It is the catch in the eye as a shiny toy glides smoothly by but in the next minute forgotten as the DJ plays Miley's song.

Dreams on the other hand, burrow deep in jars of clay, germinating in hope, wrapping roots of emotion around fistfuls of desire whilst trying not to choke on self-deprecating fallacies. Far from being ever ready carebears of love and light, Dreams inch upwards in dogged perseverance, all the while anticipating failure, struggling to keep composure whilst thoughtless hands threaten to signal out its humble progress as hubris, shredding already tiny filaments of self-belief.

Dreams are no easy ambition to pursue, no easy road to travel, no pleasure cruise. Dreams are found in soiled hands, furrowed brow and a tested spirit, in questioning hearts, desperate conviction and limitless fulfillment.

Once in a while, Dreams may chance upon Wishful Thinking, wondering if life would be easier carefree and easygoing, but retrospective appreciation kicks it up a gear and drives Dreams off in a fluffy Bugatti.

Wednesday, October 28, 2015

Gut feeling

After lying dormant for a while, I decided to refresh my Linkedin  citizenship here.

Irreverent and irrational, my opening remark to any would-be employer was:

Relishing out-of-the-box, steep learning curves, I want my mind stretched like Italian pizza dough. 

Going against the stereotypical grown-up professional, I still hold out for someone who understands that the true Italian pizza base, once worked through with yeast, is the pizza's real asset; versatile, resilient and able to bear much flavour (olives and pancetta anyone?) though simple-looking and unassuming. 

I also succeeded in making myself very hungry writing my own introduction. Ah, the power of suggestion.

Monday, October 26, 2015

Tuesday, September 01, 2015


I'm swimming in the smoke of bridges I have burned,
Charred wood of faces drift away then return,
Memories of smoke unfurl on a twig...

I'm swimming in the smoke of bridges I have burned,
The arid air chokes out both the giver and the given,
Can't think clearly without a--

I'm swimming in the smoke of bridges I have burned,
Light-headed, faint-hearted, what just happened?
Why can't I brea---

I'm swimming in the smoke of bridges I have burned,
Grasping at unspoken ash from a past left dry, forgotten,
The dust is everywhere.

I'm swimming in the smoke of bridges I have burned,
There is no end.

I'm swimming in the smoke of bridges I have burned,
Charcoal stings spear eyes too dusted to turn,
Then a tear...

I'm swimming in the smoke of bridges I have burned,
So don't apologise,
I'm losing what I don't deserve.

Sunday, April 12, 2015

True mediocrity

Is achieving balance mediocre? Should balance be something to be achieved or is balance the final pit-stop for those who simply cannot continue to strive? Is excellence only found in the journey of those who speed on as crazed adrenaline junkies or can achievements be realised in the quiet, still moments of contentment?

Even now, success is an accident; neither by sheer force of will nor by talent nor imagination and it seems that where there is a will, there is but disappointment and faded dreams and falling short of expectations, even if they be self-inflicted.

In fleeing mediocrity, has something far more precious been left behind? In seeking contentment, has the one thing that can provide peace been overlooked? In pursuing grandeur, have eternal riches been abandoned, covered in dust?

Have I set my gaze too rigidly that I have forgotten that when I lose my first love, nothing else matters, even if I strive to shape perfection through flawed lenses?

Monday, February 23, 2015


The silent lie exposed, 
Her cloak is in tatters,
Her crowning glory, shorn,
Her open arms broken,
Her familiar embrace, cold,
Her joy humiliated,
Her power stripped away,
Her majesty diminished,
Her wonder, now decay.

Monday, January 26, 2015

Are we lost?

It is quite unbelievable how fast Time flies. 
The way she glides across the ripples of life,
Offering a glimpse that speaks into eternity.
The way she hurries not yet waits not. 

Life seems cumbersome in light of Time.
Slow, deliberate, wishful, thankful,
Harbouring, relieving, 
Hopeful, doleful.

Yet they are two of the same;
Creatures untamed.
Both substance and might;
Both phantom and flight.

Before we realise
Both will be gone
Before we surmise,
Both be reborn.