Sheela Writes

23,040 Minutes

23,040 minutes. Or, if you prefer, 384 hours. That’s precisely how long I’ve been staying at Camden Holly Springs. The place I’ve called home since 22nd August. Seems so odd to say that. As is doing things by myself. Normal, everyday things such as taking out the trash. Pumping gas into the car, going to the car wash too. Cooking for one (I still keep cooking far too much but I’ll get the portions right eventually, I know it). Getting acquainted with a washer and dryer that aren’t Samsung red boom boxes. Realising that I can decorate things however I please (hence the red couch, moo moo cube, tray tables, bedroom furniture, and night lamps). Yes, in case it wasn’t already apparent, I’m going with black, red and white with touches of grey/chrome 🙂 I shan’t lie, it’s going to take a while to get accustomed to these (shall we call them) adjustments but I know they’re part of the process in this journey towards my new norm. And I look forward to...

The Fab 40s Are All Laced-Up

by Sheela Goh

Racy, lacy, dicey. Hey, that even rhymed. As a few of you already know, a new chapter in my life has begun. Some time ago, I ended my 16 year relationship with Pierluigi. There was no infidelity. No, nothing of the sort. I walked away after almost two decades together because I had lost myself. I had spent so much time being mother, wife, colleague that Sheela had completely disappeared. I had no purpose. I felt absorbed. Missing. Lacking. Gone. I H A D B E C O M E I N V I S I B L E Lest anyone casts that first stone, let me preface it by saying that I have absolutely no regrets in taking on those three roles. I love Eve more than life itself, and I wanted to be the sort of parent who was always there. Always present in as many ways as possible. Her needs came before mine, and they always will. Being a wife to Pierluigi was an all-consuming affair, and I was alright...

The Fab 40s In Their Cutoffs

by Sheela Goh

Oh yes, we absolutely can. Wear shorts, that is. I begin my post with a sense of utter outrage. In the process of conducting due diligence and research to write this, I came across multitudes of so-called style experts dishing out the most ridiculous of counsel to women on whether cutoffs (or the entire spectrum of shorts, for that matter) were age-appropriate. If it weren’t for the fact that I’d just taken my Bystolic (and that I’m physically drained from a very exhausting weekend of work + play, with the last vestiges of jet lag thrown in for good measure), I suspect I’d have suffered a fit right then and there. Or, at the very least, hurled verbal abuses at said culprits vis-à-vis the sanctity of my home office which would, in truth, serve no higher purpose save to leave me with the cringey task of wiping smatterings of spit from my laptop screen. O U T R A G E D , I T E L L Y O U First of...