“Your face looks rosy, dear. Very healthy. How nice to be working outdoors most of the time!” my mom commented with an indulgent smile.

Aaah, my dear mom. No doubt she worries every time I travel to an off-the-beaten track kind of place. But whatever makes me happy makes her happy. And my dad and mom’s constant moral and tangible support means a lot to me. Thank God for them.

The thing was… the last time someone commented on the state of my complexion, it wasn’t flattering. In fact, it went something like this, “Are you feeling ok? You look pale, like you are going to fall sick or something.”

That comment was said just a few hours prior to my mom’s comment. And in between, the closest thing to exercise I did was to trawl a little in a shopping mall.

Two polar opposite statements by two reliable sources. One rosy and one pale. How could this be?

Then I glanced at the empty mug on my hand. A few minutes ago it contained a heavenly mixture of milk and Bailey’s Irish Cream. Long-time readers would know how my face goes aflame when I down just a teensy bit of alcohol.

Thus, the mystery behind my red face was solved. And mom wants to try some of that one day. I can’t wait to corrupt my mother. Haha.

Yep, I’ve moved out of the nest a couple of weeks ago. Yep, it’s something that’s rather overdue and something that any independent and self-sufficient person would have wanted. The benefits are great.

Immediately after moving out, I found myself more energetic because I do not have to brave through hours of traffic congestion each day. It is such a relief to be able to reach office within 10 minutes, too! Besides time, I save a ton of money on petrol (darn the hike though!) and toll. And because I don’t have to spend hours on the road commuting to and fro work, I have more time to socialize as well.

But still.

I find myself looking forward to going home at the end of the work week. For all the freedom and independence accorded to me by moving out, I still crave the comforts of the warm, loving home that I come from. Where my parents go all out to make sure I have everything I need and more. Where my brother, my one closest lifelong companion resides. Where I have all the space to dance a jig about and a big comfortable bed. Where I can unwind, recharge and recuperate from all of life’s ills. Aaaaah… it’s undeniable – I’m the happiest at home.

Moving out just makes me appreciate that fact all the more.

Tomorrow’s a big day. This little bird, or rather cat, will fly out of the nest.

I lost count of how many times I wished that I could move out when things were strained between my folks and I, or when I simply just wanted more freedom. And now the day is finally here.

It couldn’t come at a better time – there are no strained relationships home-wise and I do not feel inhibited living with them. I’m not running away from something bad but rather, I’m moving towards something good and different. I’m going on to a new chapter in my life. And that is really the best way to start things – a good exit with blessings from all parties will ensure a good entry to new settings.

With this move, I’m also looking for a new cell group nearer to my new digs. My soon-to-be ex-zone pastor gave his blessings and I sought his recommendation for my new spiritual home. He knows me well enough to know where I’ll fit in like a glove. There are four young adult cell groups in that vicinity, he gave the name of one but said that I could check out the other three as well. Initially, I was stumped as to which cell group I should visit – would take a long while to visit all four before determining which one I should settle in. Then I recalled that it’s better if the cell meetings are held in the middle of the week since I’m away on assignment most Fridays and weekends. I looked through the list of 4 cells and only 1 meets on Wednesdays. And that was the exact one my pastor recommended. So that’s where I’ll visit first.

New job.
New home.
New cell.

It’s not even half a year yet.

Whee!

A week before Mother’s Day, I made a card for my mom to encourage her as she recovers from the recent snatch thief trauma. Also it had been a tough week, and I wanted to do something that will restore a sense of positiveness and all things good to my fluey state of mind. Card making was the perfect remedy because it brings to mind all the good things that the person I’m making the card for has done for me. Plus it’s always a pleasure to create something beautiful out of a variety of materials that don’t look much on their own. Card making reminds me of the tapestry of life – how it is actually comprised of different, multi coloured pieces that sometimes do not make sense on their own, but when all the pieces are joined together, it becomes a beautiful picture that can bless others.

Because I was ill, I settled for a simple design. But thinking of the words to pen into the simple card had me in tears. My mom means the world to me and thinking about all that she has done for me touches my heart in places I didn’t know existed.

Kindred spirit – someone who feels and thinks the way you do. Popularised by Anne of Green Gables.

“The meal is so dry. I can’t possibly finish my rice like this,” she said.

The words sounded like music to my ears. In all my years of eating with friends, I have not come across many people who eat the way I do.

We both looked at our plates balefully. It was heaped with white rice, a few strands of vegetables and some portions from the yam basket. There was an acute lack of gravy. To us, it looked rather an impossible task to finish.

Then we started passionately exchanging stories of how we endured dry meal after dry meal with rice sans gravy. We were passionate because we discovered that it’s a subject that’s very close to our hearts.

“Some meals come with soup. But it’s not the same as gravy, you know.”

“I so know what you mean! I can’t imagine soaking my rice in soup. Soup is soup and must only be consumed on it’s own – in a bowl. Nothing like lots and lots of gravy swimming in your rice.”

“And I feel so bad if I scoop all the gravy that are contained in certain dishes. Like I’m robbing the others from their share of gravy.”

“I feel exactly the same! Long live dishes that come with oodles of gravy!”

“Yeah!!!”

Then we looked around our dinner table. The next dish had arrived. Gravy-laden, thankfully. My sister and I exchanged grins as we proceed to pour generous helpings of gravy onto our plates. Ah, now we can finally truly enjoy our meal.

Growing up, I used to think that we are so very different in many ways. In order not to get lost or mixed up with the other siblings, there was a constant and subconscious desire to individuate.

But now, I’m starting to realise that I do have a kindred spirit in her. And it’s a strangely welcoming thought. For with it, comes the unique kind of comfort and the joy of familiarity that only siblings share. It just can’t be helped. We were brought up by the same folks after all. I can only marvel that it took me so long to see it.

Wah.