Once upon a time, there was a lone space traveller. He spent his life travelling from galaxy to galaxy, and was always in search of something. Sometimes it was a particular planet. Other times it was a glimpse of a certain star. He was constantly on the move, but not always in the way he had planned.
You see, the lone traveller had a strange habit. When he set off in search of a place, he often ended up taking an entirely different route to the one he intended. He didn’t mean to. Things just happened to him. Once, while…
A friend of mine once told me he “could never marry a woman who thought the wedding dress was important.” It was an interesting statement to make, given that the friend in question had asked me out on more than one occasion and knew that I had a longstanding love of dresses. It served to prove what I had always known: that we were not remotely compatible and never had been. If and when the day came, he wanted his bride to wear a business suit. We would not have worked on any kind of level.
Aside from misjudging his…
I often tell people that Tom and I met in Florida. We didn’t, but we might as well have done. Florida was where we had our first meaningful conversations, where I got to know him, and where I discovered that my first impression of him could not have been more inaccurate. It was a trip I almost didn’t go on, and had I not, I am fairly certain we would not be together now.
Tom and I had actually met three times before, but for various reasons, I had paid him precisely zero attention. If, on any of those occasions…
Most of us have one, don’t we?
The one that got away,
The one we will wonder about
Until our dying day…
We don’t wish we were still with them,
Or want another go,
The problem is uncertainty-
The fact we just don’t know…
We do not know what might have been,
How far me might have got,
If the ending was inevitable,
Maybe, maybe not…
If we’d said this or done that,
Might the outcome have been swayed?
Could they have been persuaded?
Might they actually have stayed?
We tie our minds in sailor’s knots Thus fashioning our own…
It was a tale as old as the town itself. No one knew how the story of the monster in the well first came about. All they knew was that the well in the woods behind Southcote Farm was said to be home to an immortal being with a rather unusual way of feeding. Instead of food, the monster supposedly fed on the unsavoury opinions of those who visited the well. Of course, most people didn’t believe it, but that didn’t stop parents from using the story as a way of teaching their little ones to watch their words.
My Grandma always said happiness was like a bobcat: stunningly beautiful but notoriously elusive. She spent the last ten years of her life sitting on this very deck, hoping to get just one glimpse of the animal that supposedly roams these forests all year round. Sometimes she’d sit here into the small hours, dithering with a blanket wrapped around her, breath coiling upwards in spirals, but to no avail. Not only did she never see a bobcat, there was no sign that one had ever been in the vicinity. We checked the woods beyond our property many times, scouring the…
Don’t be fooled by the crying,
It’s just Emotion Wall,
It happens when I drink white wine
And means nothing at all,
It’s just a stage I go through,
A phase and nothing more,
You’d know that if you’d ever
Seen me get wine-drunk before,
First my speech gets louder,
The giggles follow fast,
Then comes the verbal diarrhoea,
But that cheer cannot last,
Soon my mood begins to dip,
Anxieties rear their head,
Soon merriment and laughter
Are replaced by tears instead,
For long-lost loves and friendships, Mistakes made long ago, For old slights and rejections, Or for reasons…
Time to wash the day away,
To let the water unknot both
My shoulders and my mind,
Kneading away the hours
Of accumulated tension,
Soothing the angry red grooves
Where my bra has been,
And other marks I cannot see.
Time to wash the day away,
Exhale as the stresses and strains
Of work go down the plughole
With the stubble and the suds,
Chased away by coconut bubbles
Or night-blooming jasmine,
A splash of the exotic
To banish November’s chill.
Time to wash the day away, To slow down the tempo With soft, lilting vocals And acoustic guitars, Far…
Teaching is a strange profession. A craft that needs to be honed over time, it’s part art, part science, and none of us are ever the finished article. Being a teacher means constantly learning-about pedagogy, psychology, behaviour management and a whole host of other things. It never stops, so with that in mind, here are eight of the biggest lessons I’ve learned since starting my teaching career.
1) You cannot do everything.
It is not physically possible to do all the things on your to do list. Not without foregoing food, sleep and personal hygiene. Some things simply will not…
Lauren Phillips is a language teacher and writer with a deep love of words in all their forms. She uses writing to help her process her own tangled thoughts.