love myself?


Suck your tummy in girl, you’re about to kiss all your Bubu and Nei. 

Here we go again.

Another family function.

The dry and hot earthy aroma stirs enough excitement in me to do a little happy dance. Wait – I’m more excited for lovo than meeting people? Now that might be a problem – or just another strong confirmation that I’m a legitimate foodie.  See?  Perspective is everything in life.

Time to say hello to everyone – cousins in the lounge, aunties crowded in the kitchen, uncles chatting while waiting for the lovo,  Bubus cackling and hassling the younger cousins to stop flirting with the good looking teenage neighbour raking bullshit leaves outside and go make them a cuppa.

“Weleeei viagoqu!” Bubu M exclaims after spotting me near the make-shift juice stand. Her arms stretched wide open as I dived in for a bear hug. Eyes smiling with tears, she wails, “why haven’t you come to visit me?!”

I smiled with guilt and stepped aside for Bubu M to greet another cousin closer to my age.

Oh, well that’s funny.  Bubu M didn’t stretch out her arms as wide as she did when she hugged me.  Why did she do that?  Is she indirectly telling me that I’ve PUT ON WEIG – 

“Viagoqu! You haven’t said hello to me! Come come I want to kiss you!”  Bubu K (the fancy grandma) said to me with her arms also outstretched.  I respectfully made my way toward her and the rest of the older, classier looking ladies cooed in unison.

“Sa rairai bulabula saraga o viagoqu kwe!”

“I agree! Oh, I agree!”

Kisses ensue.

My cheeks burn a soft red from all the kisses, hugs and compliments that I felt like crying tears of joy as I affirm to myself that YES! I am healthy! YES! I feel so beautiful and all my gangsta grandmas agree with me! So here’s a generous middle finger to my negative thoughts! I love my new plus size body along with all my extra curves on my round belly, boobs and thighs.

I love the way I look right now. 

I love the way I look right now. 

I love the way I – 

“Luvequ, the photos are up on facebook. Your cousin tagged you.”

Oh no no. 

“I think one of your friends liked it,” Na said almost to herself as she squinted her eyes.  After taking a sip of tea, she smiled.  “You look so cute. Oh look! More likes?”

Of course Na, because I am beauti – Whaaaaaat the – I look so faaa – look at my double chiiiiin!

I wonder if my cousin has ever heard of cropping as an editing tool – as in, TO CROP ME OUT of the photo.

I cried so hard – on the inside.  I never cry (at least in public).

I was so mad. Mad at my cousin, the world and myself – especially myself.

What have I done!? I’ve let myself go and become too comfortable to the point where I cannot recognise myself in photos anymore.

I don’t feel so beautiful anymore.

My gangsta grandmas would obviously say wonderful things about me just as they would with any of their grand kids. Were they even genuine?  

At this point, it does not matter anymore because now I’m changing my social media settings to private to protect myself from hurting any further when horrendous photos of me surface.  I also need to check out clothes that complement my plus size figure – I’ve got my sights set on those gorgeous flowy dresses.  That would be nice.  There are also beautiful stores that cater to plus size women just like me.  Vinaka Google for your tremendous recommendations.  There are also closed groups and YouTube videos and – just so much information out there for people in my situation.  For a minute there, it almost felt like my issue isn’t so isolated anymore.  Thank you, Internet.

I discretely walked into my room, stood in front of the mirror and took a good look at my reflection.  As vain as this sounds, I’ve got to be brutally honest.  If I weren’t me, would I even date me? Be honest, do I look good?  HELL YEAH, BABY!  GONEI, I’M ATTRACTIVE (so I’ve been told).

So what exactly is my issue!?  I should close this case and go on living my life not giving a damn what people think.

Righto then! I’ll do just that. I’ll change all my privacy settings for all my tagged, unedited, uncropped – hold on…hold on…HOLD….ON!

I don’t feel so good anymore.

Alright, I think I have a problem. The problem is not people’s opinions.  Of all judgments from family, friends and friendly randoms, the worst judgment I’ve ever received is from myself.  But I’m learning to change that.  Thank you, Counseling.

I look back to my reflection.

I’m beautiful.  Fact. God says this in Genesis, Isaiah, Psalm 139, John and so forth.  My parents tell me this, my gangsta grandmas, my friends – I’m beautiful, okay. No doubt.

I love my Buiniga.  Always have.  Always will.

I love my face.  Ditto.

I lower my gaze down toward the rest of me.

Immediately, the issue-spotting begins.  Oh Lord, just thinking about resolving these issues is exhausting. I need to take a break – a kit kat perhaps.  No, no.  Shit.  This stuff is difficult to resolve but it’s doable.  In order for me to morph these changes into a living, breathing lifestyle, I need to change the way I think about things.

I need to listen to what my body wants and right now, my body is telling me that it is not happy.

To counter this unhappy body vibes, I began speaking lovingly to my body.  “I THINK I LOVE my new plus size body. It may take a while to get used to, but I’m going to accept it.

I take a deep breath, close my eyes and wait for my body’s response.

My body responds:




I checked in with my inner vibes just now and it’s a definite, loud and resounding no.

I don’t love my new plus size body.  It’s the truth.

The last time I said that I love being bootylicious, I got too comfortable and let myself go.  Yes, I take full responsibility.  Which is why I need to take responsibility with getting my body back.

It’s time that I take care of what I put in to my body and mind.

Pray for me?

Day 1 Monday 9 July 2018: 8 minute dance workout (8 minutes seemed like an hour – seriously intense), sweated like crazy, learned a new dance routine and almost broke my neck doing so.  Intentionally missed dinner because I simply wasn’t hungry.  Finished 2 litres of H2O.  Crawled into bed, yawned and fell asleep immediately (as opposed to crawling into bed and reading online forums until 1AM).














love yourself

Ever since kindergarten lunch boxes, I’ve always had chocolates to snack on.

lunch box choc

Chocolates first came into my life as sweet gifts from travels beyond the South Pacific. My beautiful aunt – who also wore her Buiniga with pride – was a flight attendant who would spoil me with boxes of chocolate-covered macadamia nuts from Hawaii, silver wrappings of Hershey kisses and Reese’s Peanut Butter cups from Los Angeles, and Bounty, Snickers and Mars Bars party packs from Sydney.

variety mix

These are for you to nibble on during recess at school,’ she would slowly say to me as she handed the goodies to mother dearest.

The crinkling sounds the packets made gave me life.  

It was the main reason I prioritized school – and STAYED.  For instance, the hurricane in 1994 was so bad that so many trees fell around the streets of Lautoka and parents called up the school to notify their children’s absence in advance. Only 15 students attended school that cloudy day. Guess who showed up to class with a smile on her face?


The May 2000 coup occurred 200 kilometers or 4 hours drive away from home. Many fled the country while teachers surveyed a large amount of student absentees – BUT GUESS WHO SHOWED UP READY FOR MATH with seven other students?


The School Head-Master – who happened to be my class teacher as well – was so proud of his students for showing up to class. The gentle teacher was almost in tears as he gave the few of us a pep talk before continuing to teach us the syllabus for the day.

Call it early behavioral conditioning or the Pavlov theory in action, I couldn’t care less. All I know was, at the break of dawn, my uniform had to be ironed, my lunch packed – goodies packed and cross-checked twice – and I had to be out of the house and in school before 7:30am for the 8am start. No school meant no chocolates.  Learning was as enjoyable and as sweeeeet as the goodies hidden in my lunch box.

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The reason I’m only linking these chocolate delights with my learning journey is because it became strikingly apparent that this did not apply to other areas in my life. Take netball for instance. Our netball squad were proud champions with no losses in the Western Division Netball Competition. However, not many from my family showed up to any of my games and my nerdy best friends were equally as bored with the idea of watching me play and win. There weren’t any chocolates in my bag either during netball season. I lived on glucose and sandwiches prepared by the hardworking coach on Game Days. So, not even winning the championship trophy with the squad could later entice me to stay or pursue a netball career. When education called, I quickly dropped netball and never looked back.

But as time went on, I thought of cutting down on my chocolate consumption as it was slowly becoming a go-to stress reliever and an unhealthy addiction. I realized this when one of my friends found a stash in my bag.

You know, those healthy, vegan, gluten-free stuff is super expensive – SEVEN DOLLARS for soya bean crisps and fruits? Gerrarahia! I’d rather spend 2 bucks on this chocolate bar than seven bucks on that healthy snack. No thanks.

It’s not the same as smoking so why are you so quick to judge me?’

I’m part of a society in uni called chocolate aficionado where we appreciate, talk about and eat chocolates. Do you want some?’


Lies I’ve fed myself over the past few years to justify my habit whenever somebody would ask out of curiosity.

Whenever Lent came around, it was so easy for me to give up social media, TV and many other things, but giving up chocolates just for 40 days was never included in the meeting agenda, neither was the topic up for discussion.

Because I knew I had a problem that I currently had no solution to.

And as much as I tried to wean myself off of it on my own, my plans to stay away or create new habits would always backfire and I would always find my feet walking toward the isle in the supermarket ready to get my quick fix again, and again, and again. I was chained and permanently hooked by a habit that eventually got out of control.

So I gave up.

bart simpson

Last year, I gave up trying to resist my cravings and just settled into the fact that some people love their beer, packets of smokes and therefore, I am no different. I gave up trying to quit a bad habit on my own.

This was also around the same time when I drew closer to God in prayer.

better days

I made some time in my busy day to pray with other Christians, fast, read and meditate on God’s Word and just enjoy being in His presence.  

Around that time of prayer and fasting, I lived on water and an idea came to mind (Praise God) to put lemon slices and freshly squeezed lemon juice into my water.

lemon in pool

Ugh! Lemon juice made me nostalgic of the worst days during childhood where I fell terribly ill.  To help nurse me back to health, my mother would boil water, allow it to cool, squeezed fresh lemon juice in before giving me the mixture to drink.

I remember despising the bitter taste of the strong citrus drink. When I felt better a few hours later, I remember getting out of bed and walking out of my room toward the kitchen only to see a large gallon of that same lemon drink with my name on it.

lemon gallon

I had to finish the fluids in the gallon before she arrived home from work. The lemon in my water would always do something that made me feel so much better.  Obviously I’m not saying this is the cure to illnesses. Seek advice from your family doctor (our family doctor advised my mother to do this so I could drink more fluids).



So last year, I grabbed a beautiful water bottle, mixed the lemon water drink and drank it throughout the day.

water lemon

I wasn’t even embarrassed of my lemon water during team meetings. People’s opinions didn’t matter an inch to me during that time.  


In moments where I felt hesitant to drink this water, I turned to google and youtube to cross-check if I was mixing my water right. God also had a way of confirming things that kept me going and trusting Him in the process.

Maybe I needed to learn to give up all control? Let go and let God lead the way? I honestly didn’t have a clue why God was leading me to drink it but I did it anyway. Eventually, I gave up coffee and tea as well (don’t ask me how it happened. It just did). 

That was last year.

Why am I even mentioning this?

Well, last week, after a very stressful day, I decided to take a detour through the mall thinking to myself that the kit-kat blocks were a dollar special during this time. I was thinking about this.  This was weird because when it comes to making a decision concerning chocolates, I never think. 


I would simply be led by my feelings or cravings and I never thought about the price. $0.99 or $4.50, the old me would buy it anyway.

My feet would know exactly where to go, my eyes locked in on my target and not wavering. The old me would be on autopilot mode, picking up the goodies, purchasing it, leaving the store. Ripping open the deep purple and heavenly gold wrappings to expose the smooth block of decadent chocolate hidden beneath – I would quickly get my fix and immediately feel so much pleasure jolting the nerves bringing me to a place of pure bliss. 



Oh don’t laugh too hard.

At high school during class, I had discreetly slipped the food of the gods to a good friend of mine.


She took a bite right away (because d’oh, who could resist chocolate? Also, Lautoka enjoys a very hot and dry weather so I could understand why she had to gobble it down right away to prevent it from melting all over the place). The moment she indulged the candy, I immediately noticed how her eyes tightly squeezed shut and her body tensing up. She had a full minute of pulling weird faces.



Then I realized that she felt the same way about chocolates as I did.



We were both addicted.


But as I was mindfully approaching the supermarket isle last week, I recognized that something was evidently missing. I couldn’t figure out what it was that was missing right away until I realized that I had been standing in front of the chocolates section longer than expected.  

The store attendant slowly walked by to see if I was alright.

I was alright. I was fine. I felt normal.

Maybe I was undecided on the variety even though the kit-kat was indeed on special for only a dollar.

But I kept pacing along the isle, waiting for something to happen, perhaps to overrule my own judgment like the thousands of instances before.

This was unlike me to be so indecisive over chocolates – something I’ve had with me my whole life! Something I seriously thought I could never break away from. Something I gave up fighting last year and accepted defeat.

The old me that had the cravings, twisted undying attachment for chocolates – all of that in its entirety – was missing. Gone. I could feel the massive vacant space within me that the dark cravings left behind. 

It’s like that feeling where you don’t own a pet dog but you find yourself walking into a supermarket just to buy dog food. Weird and unnecessary.  

I finally turned on my heel and for the very first time, I walked out of the supermarket with no chocolate in hand.

It was only after a few minutes of walking away that my mind finally registered what had just happened a few moments ago. The chains I had wanted to break away from and set myself free a very long time ago, was finally broken. Tears streamed from my eyes. I was very happy. I still am. God did it. God set me free.



I laughed so hard when I got home to find one of my family members chuck a massive bag of M&Ms in front of me. When I told them that I no longer indulged in chocolates, this family member announced the news to everyone else and publicly vowed to bring home boxes and bags of chocolates just to test me. As I type this, there’s a massive box of Oreos and three packets of Tim Tams in the cupboard. It has been sitting there for three days now. 




With God in my life, I will strive to let go of the ego within and let God direct my footsteps.

Wishing you all a Blessed 2018.



Young Eyes Watching

I logged into my personal facebook account to find a message request.  The message was from a young and very handsome man.  Before reading his message, I did what most introverts would do and did a little digging on his profile to see what kind of personality I could place on his essay-looking text.  Hmm…a footy player who loves good food and is very loyal to his squad.  From the looks of things, his squad could easily pass as fitness gurus. Yes, he does appear to have the perfect virtual personality.

I proceeded to read his message which was a gentle plea to date one of my younger sisters. What a gentleman he is, to be asking permission from big sister.  He already wins bonus points of approval, if you ask me.  Now, lets pause for just a second here.  If a guy makes contact with you to tell you that he is interested in one of your close friends or [in my case] sister without her knowledge, what would you have done?  I guess we all have different personality types and there is no one-size fits all answer to this question.  But just out of curiosity, it would be great to know your response.

So back to the message request. What did I do?  Simple. I told my sister point blank.  She read the intimate message and smiled.  “Of course I am flattered. He is a great guy. But, no thank you.”

I looked at her to see whether she was kidding.  “Are you seriously saying, that you are not interested in this good looking guy with VERY good online etiquette?”

My younger sister smiled.  “Sis, I know me very well. And I know this guy very well too. You only just learned about him a few seconds ago from reading his message and doing a bit of background digging online, but I grew up with this guy. And the answer is NO. So can we just drop this?”

The entire arena erupts with loud applause for my younger sister.

She was right. Instead of choosing PATH B of stringing this poor guy along in the hopes of eventuating a promise that would most likely never happen without my sister’s knowledge and approval, I opted for PATH A.  Path A was to let the sister know and get her response on the matter, point blank, before telling the guy immediately so he can move on or pursue and not be left out in the cold, second-guessing.  If the answer was affirmative, then by all means, go for it. If the answer was negative, then be upfront about it to the guy so that he does not waste his time on something that will never happen and move on. Lord knows, he deserves to be treated better.

War Room

I will be turning the big 3-0 in a couple of months and to be honest I’m at a point in my life where I’m not sure as to whether or not I’m living up to my full potential. Sometimes I’m proud of myself beyond measure and it shows in how I carry myself. Other times I tend to be skeptical about the real purpose of my existence. There are so many things happening on this earth that as an individual you are tasked with the duty of devising a plan to either be sucked into the vortex that is life and be lost or stand upright and soldier on until all else makes sense. But does it ever make sense? Any of it?

Last night after so many months of not touching the television I finally saw fit to put on a movie and the list went from one movie to about 6 at the end of the night. The earlier movies are a haze, the only movie I remember is the final movie of the night “War Room” not all our readers are Christian and some may not even believe in God with all of that in mind, I feel I as a Christian and a believer in God I need to share my experience after watching that movie. I realized that as was portrayed in the movie, we are always trying to fight the battle on our own and we sometimes unconsciously rely on our human strength and abilities, when God is standing right by you encouraging you to let him carry that heavy load, that burdensome issue on your behalf and to fight the battle for you. You on the other hand need to just PRAY!!!

I must admit that during the recent 40 days of Lent where the rule of thumb for the season is Prayer, Fasting and alms giving I have failed miserably in all 3 areas. If I did one the other 2 would suffer, after watching the War Room I have identified that my problem was and is not that I do not wish to pray, I have just used my time up doing other unnecessary things. These things have taken up my time and therefore the time I should have been giving the Lord in prayer is given elsewhere. My time is given to watching TV Series, listening to my music on my playlist, constantly updating my Facebook, Twitter and Instagram account. I realize with much embarrassment that I have become that person. the person who checks to see how many people liked her profile picture, how many people liked or commented on my status update. It’s atrocious and disgusting I know, but it is my reality. I think that had I not realized this earlier I would be spiraling down a road to a slow and agonizing demise. Kinda reminds me of the story of the frog, put that frog into a pot filled with water and turn on the heat, as the pot heats up the frog stays on unsuspecting of the end result until it is too late.

With so much noise and distraction around us in this day and age we need to take the time to reconnect with our inner core and also our spiritual links. We are of course more than just our physical selves, there are so many aspects to the human being that we so unconsciously close off because we allow ourselves to drown in the problems and issues of the world. I urge you call on God in prayer, let him fight and carry our battles and trials for us.

At the end of the day the battle isn’t exaclty ours to fight, it is ours to pass on to God to take care of for us. Take for instance a child trying to open a bottle of candy, the child does not possess the ability to open the bottle, the child will look for an adult (most of the time it is Mom or Dad) they will request the adult to open this bottle for them. We are the child and God is the adult (Mom or Dad), let us take our closed bottle of candy (our problems) and request God to open this bottle for us. Let us also pray for the ability to accept that also the answer may be”NO” because the candy may surely disrupt your appetite since the dinner feast (greater blessing) is close at hand 🙂



Bare feet on concrete slabs, underneath the blue, cloudless sky, I hear the roar of engines from the heavens. Tearing through air and space, the black, sharp-looking fighter jets following its trajectory toward the half-intoxicated yet curious crowd. The jets neared and zoomed past us within a mere few seconds; its engines roaring like a loud, angry lion, leaving people utterly terrified and yet in awe by its majestic beauty. Following a heavy round of applause from the extremely satisfied crowd, the Masters of Ceremony proudly listed down all the names of the fighter jet pilots who flew overhead.


They were all male fighter jet pilots.

Hair still standing at the back of my neck, with eyes wide open in mini-electrifying shocks.

I took a deep breath and sighed out loud.


I looked around and saw the reflection of my thoughts from the crowd. Most of them were just as amazed as I was at the air-entertainment showcased at this particular event. The fighter jets made a U-turn and flew back to show off more of its extremely dangerous fighter pilot skills.

One thing was very apparent. One thing I strongly felt at that event.

There was this strong presence of really scary, crazy dominant red-blooded male, adrenaline pumping, masculinity showcased in the air. And yet, from what was felt as an emotional chaos, there was this strong sense of order of execution of the event. How…mind-blowing. It was definitely a sensory overload experience for me.

To be honest, that particular event got me thinking a lot about masculinity. Nobody at that event had to spell it out. It was definitely felt. Or at least, I did.

How do I view masculinity?

Masculinity is; that mechanic guy with oil tainted overalls hard at work every night for three months straight bringing an old, hopeless, run-down truck roaring back to life. It’s those veins etched along the smoothness of the arms that handle heavy cargo boxes all day without complaint. It’s that “I got it” nod to the grateful Asian grandma who needed help carrying her trolley full of vegetable groceries down the stairs. It’s most, if not all, of Quentin Tarantino films (especially Django. Oh! And Inglorious Bastards. As well as The Hateful Eight, Kill Bill, I honestly could name a few more, but, you get it). It’s heavy duty construction work on a hot 38 degrees Celsius workday, deep sea fishing and bringing home massive King fishes, whale hunting, shark feeding, bush-hiking, adrenaline-seeking, artistically riveting, raw and powerful and yet such naturally executed – presence.

Masculinity is; that immediate strong grasp around my shirt collar pulling me back to shore when that strong wave current almost swept me out into the open sea at Natadola Beach. It’s those bruised fists that was more than willing to give another black eye to that ex-guy friend (not boyfriend. There’s a difference) who just didn’t understand that 1 AM was bedtime – not ‘Psst…I wanna tell you something, just come outside mada’ time. It’s the sweat gliding down from his forehead as he continues to drive the digging fork deeper into the earth with the weight of his right foot, planting and harvesting food crops enough to feed the whole neighborhood. The sound and sight of colorful sports cars speeding to the finish line. Of motorbikes flying into the air and through fire-rings. Of farm boys wearing cowboy hats mounting an angry stallion purely for entertainment purposes. Those fighter jet pilots skilled in taming the mechanical beasts of the air.

Masculinity is; seeing his many sons behave like respectful yet diligent young men who respect, protect and look out for their sisters, mothers and grandmothers. Pouring my drink into my glass without me asking. It’s gently pulling me aside, away from everyone, to assertively remind me not to hurt my back lifting those chairs into the meeting room as he’s already organizing it himself. It’s willingly placing my safety and well being as a top priority before his own. Staying healthy and the neatly trimmed beard on his face. How beautifully well put together he is; and the handsome, rugged form of art when he isn’t. The thunder of his laughter uncovering even deeper laugh lines. That rugged scruff I feel against my smooth cheek when I lean in for a kiss hello, and that whiff of that subtle cologne beneath his neatly ironed shirt. That towering height, those wide shoulders, that calm confidence, that strong presence in the room. Those little mindless fidgets with straightening his neck tie, leaning in to discuss points of importance, or clearing his throat before speaking his mind assertively, unbeknownst to the group of eagerly attentive force of femininity slowly conglomerating nearby (and obviously triggered by his presence).

Masculinity is; a terrifying force against the weak, if it doesn’t mature well enough, or at all. It is definitely intimidating to the misunderstood. Yet, in the most common language of love, masculinity is protective, safe, and very warm.


Masculinity is good.

The struggle is real #Lent2017

When you’ve lived with someone for, lets say, more than twenty years, you tend to predict much of their little lifestyle habits. You know their favorite list of television shows off by heart. You know their favorite drink to sip whilst scrolling through facebook to unwind after a long day at work. You know what they’re going to mumble to themselves before hanging up the phone on one of their close friends. Heck, you can even predict how long they’ll take in the shower. You would know the person inside out just from living together for more than twenty years, given there are a few exceptions of course.

Take for instance, my Dad. Right from age 7, I was well aware of the fact that he disliked sweets. He would lecture all of us kids – not about the dangers of eating too much sweets – but how much he despised sweets, period. He even gave longer lectures when he saw cream buns, chocolate cake, cakes with fancy decorated cream or any cake with cream that was served for afternoon tea. He just didn’t prefer the sweeter side of life. But what he did like, was plain, wholemeal bread. The more boring looking, the more appealing.


But something really weird happened today. Out of the blue, my Dad comes home from work with a plastic filled with blueberry muffins, (my favorite) French Brioche and (my-ultimate-favorite-food-I-swear-I-go-weak-if-I-don’t-have-it-when-it’s-just-sitting-there-on-the-table) Madeira cake (mouth-watering sweetness. ‘Nough said).

But the only problem is, this is unlike my Dad to buy something like sweet food out of the blue. He doesn’t even eat these kinds of sweet food.

So the question is, why did this have to happen today?

What is so special with today that got me scratching my head wondering whether or not Dad would go through all that trouble of spending his precious loose change to buy something he wouldn’t eat himself? Weird, isn’t it?

While no other answer seems legit enough, I do know for a fact that I’ve been looking forward to today since last week.

You see, today is Ash Wednesday.

The day when the Lent season begins. There will be a lot of Christians (including yours truly) across the nation and around the world recommitting themselves to God this season. A special season has commenced for Christians across the nation and around the world. A special season that commenced with the mark of The Cross by Holy Water to the forehead to reaffirm that I belong to God. A special season that commenced with the mark of The Cross traced in the symbolic black ashes. Since Lent is an intimate opportunity to draw closer to God and people with sincere intentions, ensuring that we stay strong against moments of temptation can be a struggle.


And once objectives have been established and words of deep reflection parted by the Reverend Dr. at tonight’s Ash Wednesday Service, I come home to my first temptation – sweet food – especially since I’ve always had a soft spot for Madeira cakes and Brioche for the longest time.

I swear, the struggle during Lent this year, is real.

Temptation is already here, sitting in that grey plastic from Woolies, absent-mindedly purchased by Father dearest. Of course I forgive my Dad when he’ll wake up tomorrow morning clearing up his throat to deliver yet another long lecture on how much he despises Brioche and Madeira cake, and possibly (and this is my personal favorite prediction), why didn’t anyone talk him out of it? “Obviously, I was busy talking on the phone and not knowing what I was putting in the trolley. You know how much I hate these kinds of food, why didn’t you say something!?” LOL


What do you do if you have only 15 minutes left for class?

What do you do if you have only 15 minutes left for class?

I notice something while preparing for class.

I let that something continue to distract me to the point where I find myself here, writing this blog post instead of packing up and making my way over to class which begins in about 12 minutes now.

So what is this distraction you might ask.

It’s a fellow student standing next to me. His eyes tightly closed behind his thin black rimmed glasses. His hands clasped together against his chest. His lips moving, uttering something as if in prayer.

He stoops to the floor. Kneels on both hands and knees. His head dives down. Right down. His forehead touches the floor. He gets back up again and repeats the whole thing three times or so.

I look around and notice groups of students studying, slurping down water and chatting about recent group work assessments before returning my attention at the student praying next to me.

What a sight to watch. All I see is commitment and real dedication to God.

A part of me is overwhelmed with guilt as I watch him return to his laptop and pile of papers on his desk next to me. I’m suddenly left asking myself, how is my current relationship with God?  Hmm…