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Each time a heavy storm goes by, a sense of foreboding starts to wash over me. For it is then that families of snails choose to migrate across the concrete steps and over to the next lawn. I can only imagine what a treacherous journey it must be for a little snail—its pace not withstanding—the dangers of stamping heels, feral cats and eagle-eyed pigeons threatening to swoop down without warning, are very real.

But I guess the cliché ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained’ rings true for them and the risk they take is not unlike the ones we attempt. So it is with this sense of empathy in mind that I cannot help but worry, every time I see a snail-ly, or worse, a bunch of snail-lies, attempt to make their way across. So I pick it up (much to it’s displeasure) and try my utmost (assuming they were going in a straight line) to map their journey for them and place them in the “safer” place, usually anywhere away from heavy shoes and close to shrubbery. Now I don’t really know whether this helps at all, but I can’t don’t like seeing them crushed … if I can help it.

Well I’m not alone in this mission, for my friends do exactly the same. Be it due to the ickiness when trodden or preserving the sanctity of life, we all have our own reasons for saving the snails. But being bothered about saving the snails is but a part of this importance of ‘bothering’ about nature, about others, and most of all, about the critters around us.

There are so many other things we can do, like making sure glass doors aren’t overly transparent that birds fly into it or throwing plastics into the sea else turtles think it a jelly fish treat and choke, or even doing something as simple (but important) as checking under our cars for cats that may be enjoying a snooze. I always make it a point to check because I had a cat that enjoyed lying on warm engine bonnets.

It’s our responsibility, for we are humankind, and humans have to be kind, so trample not on the little ones.



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Exhausting tuesday, I bid thee farewell.

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Earth Week

Nothing beats celebrating Earth Week with these inspired goodies!

bramble branches for my bangs

butterfly portraits


I want!

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To good friends, great food and love all year round …
Happy New Year’s everyone!

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Do you see that kitten chasing so prettily her own tail?
If you could look with her eyes, you might see her surrounded with hundreds of figures performing complex dramas, with tragic and comic issues, long conversations, many characters, many ups and downs of fate.
—Ralph Waldo Emerson

To err is human, to purr feline.

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Bunny Bowl


On a completely different note, here‘s a festive toy to play with.
After all, boys and girls never grow up, its only their toys that do.


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Easter has come and gone.

And all i have to show for it are the chocolate bunnies and kinder eggs that I’ve yet to gobble down. Ask me about easter and the only image that springs to mind is that of a little girl neatly wrapping up the brightly colored tin/aluminium foils which previously accompanied her chocolate pieces.

Easter has always been a day of mixed feelings for me. Joy for the resurrection and sorrow for the pain that was lashed out the previous Friday. Eating easter eggs really reinforces that. As a child, I hung out with my cousins a lot because they stayed with me. Being an only child, they naturally became my constant companions. Like all children, we fought and argued, sometimes even biting each other. But again, like all children, we hugged, stood up for each other against the adults, and explored the wide wide world together.

Every easter, my uncle’s relatives would send huge (or I might have been smaller at that time so everything looked gig-normous) easter rabbits and eggs all the way from New Zealand. These chocolate bunnies were hollow on the inside, and there were loads of goodies to be found when we broke them apart. I remember breaking off smaller nibbles from the huge chunks, and in my memory, those creamy pieces will always taste better than Godiva’s.

So the years passed one after another, and each year, we would gobble down our huge communal rabbit, and then try to unwrap the foils of our individual eggs/bunnies as gingerly as possible. It was an old game, but we wanted to trick each other into thinking that our individual stashes weren’t eaten yet, and the glutton would steal and then open the wrapper eagerly, only to find a wad of molded tissue paper, sometimes with the words “gotcha”.

The year I turned ten, my uncle was set to return to New Zealand, and my cousins were going to leave Singapore for good. I didn’t really understand the gravity of the situation at that time, but everything soon became painfully clear the next Easter. Whilst I still received the random chocolate egg, there was always an empty space where the huge bunny stood. Still, I would diligently open each tin foil with as much precision as possible, fold it into half, and leave it in a book. I thought that this would give me a bigger stash to trick them with the following year.

I told myself the same thing every year, and spent each Easter unfoiling and folding each wrapper as nicely as I could. I remember feeling slightly lonely, but I would sink my teeth into the chocolate and enjoy the happy flavors swirling about my mouth. But after that, all I had to show for it were those wrappers, bright and colorful, but now devoid of the happy brown insides.

So in many ways, Easter was always a happy time for me. But it also taught me to be thankful of what I had previously enjoyed, taken for granted, and missed only when it ceased to be.

All in all, I now know that it isn’t the yummy chocolate, nor the brightly colored foil, that makes Easter worth celebrating.

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