All posts filed under: Thoughts


Imagination Is The Blueprint

I (finally) watched Maleficent last night. Truthfully, I yearn to exist in a logic-defying world. Somewhere where none are held captive by the confines of normality. The sort of place where flights of fancy are the norm, rather than the exception. I fell in love with Maleficent’s technicolour world as well as all those wondrous beings residing in every nook and corner of the moors. It’s that very same sensation that flows through me whenever I watch a Harry Potter flick, or any Narnia installment. An incredible sense of awe and childlike wonder that echoes my childhood. And I know it stems from being raised on a literary diet of Blyton, Tolkien and Lewis, since I was old enough to recognise my mother’s voice. Sadly, fantasies don’t have that much of a place in everyday life. For the most part, we’re dissuaded from what society terms as “daydreaming”. I’ve lost count of the number of times I was urged to yank my head away from fluffy clouds. I was one of the lucky few though for …

Style: "Portrait B&W - high key"

Creativity As A Muscle

I haven’t been all that prolific lately. In fact, writers block struck approximately 7 days ago.  Since then, all I’ve been able to string together is easy-on-the-mind recipe as well as event posts. Not at all stimulating, neither for me nor you, I’m certain. The problem with the inability to write is that it can very quickly spiral into a chronic condition. Truly. The longer you allow it to fester, the tougher an obstacle it is to overcome. When it comes to writing, perhaps the most challenging aspect for me is staying creative. Staying inspired amidst the distractions of full time employment and life in general. Considerations which never once surfaced when I began this blog. Then, my mind was brimming with ideas. So many ideas. Things were fresh and exciting. I was a child let loose in a carnival with pockets full of tokens. Over time, I’ve come to realise that, as though it were a muscle, creativity needs to be developed. And that for the workout to be effective, consistency and variety were …


A Question Of Time

This isn’t a timed writing piece born out of the need to complete a challenge. This is actually self-imposed. As I’d mentioned before, I’m rather enjoying writing within the confinements of a timeframe. I never know what will come out of my brain and into my hands as they type. One thing that’s dominant in my mind at this very moment is waterfalls. I don’t know why though. Not the sound of water gushing forth. Nor the imagery of beautiful blue water. Just the word waterfalls, imprinted on my mind and, I suppose, viewed through my mind’s eye. Isn’t that odd. Waterfall in graphic Black and White. And that’s another unusual thing because I always visualise and dream things in glorious technicolour. It’s something rare; I’ve been told. I’m glad. I can’t imagine not always seeing things in colour. It would be so sad. Now, I’m suddenly thinking birds. Hitchcock’s birds and how, for the longest time ever, the mere sight of a bird would have me scuttling for cover. Have you read the book? …


On Losing Graciously & The Spirit Of Sportsmanship

We know now, of course, that it’s Amanda Valentine filling up that mysterious spot!! Throughout its history, I’ve not once blogged about Project Runway. Not because I don’t adore the show, I’ve watched each episode of every season religiously for the past 12 years (wow, it’s been that long). I simply feel there are already so many bloggers covering the show (and doing it brilliantly, might I add) that I don’t fancy being a teeny, nondescript drop in the ocean. However, the recent fiasco surrounding Korina Emmerich’s departure from Season 13 has kicked the rock under which I’d been happily living and prompted me into hitching a ride on the bandwagon. Losing graciously. Does the spirit of sportsmanship truly exist? Or is it simply an act put on for show by those who fail to win the coveted top prize? Saying the right words, outwardly demonstrating politically correct expressions while boiling on the inside? Throwing tantrums and mentally yelling, “It’s not fair! It’s not fair! IT’S NOT FAIR!!”   {  Win With Class, Lose With …


Of Flavours & Flowers

The concept of free writing used to scare me. Quite a lot. But after several attempts (here and here), I’ve come to realise that it’s really quite the best way to write. So spontaneous. I never have any idea what I’ll come up with and that’s the beauty of the entire process. Like right now. I’m typing as I’m waiting for the chicken to roast. My mini bread puddings are already on the table. Thank the lord they didn’t burn. I’ve never made savoury bread pudding before, let alone mini ones. { inserted three hours later } These mini savoury bread puddings were born out of the desire to finish a very stale loaf of Whole Wheat Bread and an equally lacklustre bag of frozen Spinach which had been cooked in the skillet once. Spinach which had seen better days, let’s just say. I cooked it with shallots and Andouille sausages, with generous sprinklings of Ground Chipotle Powder. Mixed that with the cubed bread, 4 eggs, some milk and some heavy cream. And a little …



It’s October and so much of the year has already gone by. Too many wasted moments. Too many dashes out of the door. Too many hugs not given. Too many words left unspoken. And far too many special moments that should have been savoured, I’ve let slip by. So here’s what I’m doing right here, right now. I’m setting aside time to be thankful. I am thankful for still having a head of hair. After over two years of fighting elevated IGEs of close to 5,200 wherein Prednisone was my only friend, I’ve lost almost half of my hair. And what’s left is incredibly weak. But I am thankful. * I am thankful to live in a country wherein the freedom to be Catholic exists. Not all of us are as blessed. Being from a Muslim country, I have sadly borne witness to this on a personal level, numerous times. I am thankful for the kisses my daughter gives me each morning before she heads off to boot camp aka high school. I dread the …


Pet Prêt-à-Porter, Anyone?

I’ve been living under a rock, apparently, because last I heard of the matter, Paris Hilton was (the only one) splurging on her pet pooches. 300sq feet of space modeled after her own pad. Double story. Chandelier. $325,000. Small change for the crazy heiress. It was a big rock. A quick rummage through the web pulled choices running the gamut from The Colonial ($6,100 and fully equipped with climate control facilities, no less) to The Hacienda ($30,000 featuring running water, lights and air-conditioning). And we’re only talking about houses. Let’s take a quick look around at some of the most ridiculously exorbitant (and useless) things available for pets. Read on and join me in jaw-gaping disbelief. Makers of the $725 Mink Fur Dog Coat, Harman and Rose drew more than just a few eyebrows when they launched the splurge item last year. Perhaps now they’ve come to realise that dogs do come with fur because I was no longer able to locate the Mink version on their website but instead found this much more practical …


Day 02

Fret not, this is will not be a whiny continuation of yesterday’s post. Yes, I’m still under house arrest and, yes, still in quite a frightful load of pain but neverending pity parties aren’t much fun. Not for the host. Not for the guest, right? We attempted to shower today, and it was an acrobatic experience involving crutches, foldable step and bar counter stool. Another necessary prop was the trusty Cling-wrap. I finally saw what the surgeon had done and understood the pain levels. There were three deep incisions instead of the two I’d expected. There was quite a bit of bruising and bleeding; the gauze pads were crusty with dried blood. But everything looks as though it’s as it should be, so I’m relieved :) here’s to surviving another day tomorrow without going out of my mind with boredom.   This is, afterall, a day-by-day chronicle of my situation so the photo had to be shared.

Day 01

So begins my first day of house arrest. Day 01/90 to be precise. What was supposed to be an easy knee surgery to repair a torn meniscus evolved into something far more elaborate. Cutting and reconstructing of ligaments. Drilling of holes. Oy. For the next three months, there shall be none of this.And none of this. None of this either.Or this.Definitely none of that. Or any of this. Sigh.Just this.And this for now.House arrest sucks.   Whiny Sheela signing off

Saving Mr Goh

Nine years ago, I received news that my Dad had suffered a cardiac arrest and needed a bypass. Or was it a stem implant. I don’t know. The details are fuzzy. My hands were shaking and I was at a complete loss. To fully appreciate the situation, you have to understand that this information was relayed via text and I was living in another country. I was also in a media van, chaperoning a client to the local telly station for an early morning business talkshow interview. Icing on the cake? The text ended with these words, “Just letting you know, don’t worry.” It was 6.35 in the morning. In retrospect, I now see that my mum was attempting to downplay the situation so I wouldn’t freak out but the way she broke the news to me? I went into hyperventilate mode instantly. I almost had a heart attack then and there. Pun fully intended. That night, we took the evening flight back home to see my Dad. After thoroughly smothering him with hugs and …