Her ears tuned in to the dissonant metallic notes that reverberated with every snip. She tugged those Shirly Temple curls straight and watched each lock elegantly float to the floor. They glided gracefully like feathers, forming a circumference of goldy-locks around her feet. How can something so light feel so heavy?
Hi my name is Hannah, and while I may be the Grammar Police’s Commanding Officer, I am the latest member to enlist in the Anti-Pronunciation riot squad. When did my membership commence? Last week, when I was in a fine dining restaurant ordering my meal.
“What would you be having this evening, ma’am?” The eloquent waiter asked, notepad at the ready.
“For entre I’d like to order the scallops”.
“Excellent choice, the scah-lleps are very fresh”…. Oh no scallops like dollops, or scallops like gallops… have I been saying it incorrectly my entire life?
“For main I will order the basil crusted beef fillet with potato and shallot salad”
“One bay-zhil fih-lay with potato and shah-luht salad,” He repeated my words as he scribbled down my order…. Come on, ba-zhil, fih-lett and shuh-lot are perfectly acceptable too right?….
“And for my dessert, wow those macaroons sound amazing; what filling do you recommend”
“Yes the mack-arh-rons are very popular here, especially the white chocolate and almond flavour”
….I ain’t got time for this. Bring me my food.
Microwaves. They are a true blessing to cash-ridden university students and to culinarily-challenged singles around the globe. They are the pinnacle of convenience, and yet ironically, I ain’t got time for ’em. No, I am not Jamie Oliver. I do not profess to despise microwaves because of the starchy, fatty concoctions we place inside it. Microwaves are not entirely at fault here; they do not deserve to cop the blame for our expanding waistlines. But do you know what they should be accountable for? My second degree burns. That’s what.
With an English teaching mother, and a mathematically minded father, I frequently find myself entangled in a ‘Words vs Numbers’ web of banter. Both my parents exhibit extreme zeal for their respective fields, and I thoroughly enjoy how this passion surfaces in our daily repertoire. Mum’s words are always well-crafted and poetic in nature, and Dad’s way of logical deduction is admirable. I am very fortunate to have grown up understanding how both language and figures can be utilised to reason, justify and analyse.
Dad’s arithmetic brain frequently clashes with mum’s expressive mind, and it’s very interesting to witness how different scenarios and ideas can be interpreted in unique ways. One of the most comical examples of their dichotomous ways of thinking occurred when Mum attempted to explain to Dad the meaning of the term ‘simile’. It went something like this:
When I was younger, I used to follow my dad to the register at our local café and supervise his order. While most children would longingly glare at the picturesque pastries, creamy carrot cakes and moist, mouth-watering muffins that stood behind the glass counter, I instead would ensure that my dad remembered to change his usual double-shot flat white order to a cappuccino. Why? So that I could indulge in the warm chocolate frothy goodness that sat proudly above the strong coffee beneath. Each spoonful of aerated milk felt like a cloud disintegrating in my mouth, and the mellow hum of espresso that lingered on my tongue excited my taste buds.
If your only experience of Sydney is frantically bolting through ‘troops in white collars’ on a mission to attend a meeting you are already late for, an espresso in one hand, a briefcase in the other, and your iPhone skilfully hoisted to your ear by your trusty shoulder…. You’re certainly missing out. If your venture into the city involves hurdling across the Druitt/George Street intersection to squeeze in a quick Woolies run before boarding the M10 to University… you’re missing out too. Actually, if you find yourself in the city with the intention of splurging at Top Shop, waiting for a train or getting wasted at the Cross …. well, you are denying yourself one of life’s most underrated pleasures; strolling through the streets of Sydney after dark. Nightwalking. Not purposefully exploring, just simply walking. Walking without being interrupted by the hissing of morning coffee machines, the roar of city traffic or the irritating buzzing of mobile phones. Escaping the noise that cloaks our existence by strolling in silence. Continue reading
Why hello there!
I was just preparing to write my first post using the standard ‘who, what, when, where, why’ structure…But then I realised, I don’t really know how to answer any of those questions. I’m not sure what prompted me to start writing today since blogging has been on my mind for a while now. When friends, family and mentors suggested the prospect of writing, I used to offer the cop-out excuse that ‘I’m too busy’ and ‘life’s too hectic at the moment’. But the real reason why I have never attempted to write before is because I am afraid to discover that I have nothing to say. Words have always had the ability to affect me deeply, and seeing words printed on a page truly does excite me and terrify me at the same time; especially if those words are mine.
You see, I think the world has a secret; everybody pretends to, but no one knows what they’re doing or where they’re heading. And right now, I have come to a point where everything is up in the air. It’s a scarily electrifying mix; and perhaps not knowing or comprehending a meaning to it all is what makes it so thrilling. Hopefully sorting through my thoughts and witnessing my words spill out on this blog will enable me to vent what’s on my mind and witness some sort of evolution as a writer.
And now the customary dedication
To those I love and admire, to those who have believed in my abilities, to all to all who have hurt me, nurtured me, inspired me and impacted my life in one way or another: every word I write is laced with you.