I remember walking down the long corridor of our home, as a child, to collect the post from the little wooden letter box stuck to the front door. We lived with my grandparents and so quite often the envelopes would bear their names - my Grandpa’s mostly. The routine in the house was relatively predictable at this time of the morning: Grandma would be sitting up in bed, having some breakfast that had been prepared for her by Grandpa, and he himself would be enjoying cornflakes followed by marmalade on toast - the very same choice faithfully made every day for many decades - at the dining room table. He wore his distinguished pyjamas, dressing gown and slippers; she sat in a handmade floral nighty with a shawl around her shoulders. The image is printed indelibly on my memory, not because it was remarkable but because it was every day.
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The age-old quest for good health and vitality presses on. It has enlisted many over the years, but today is more visible and alluring than ever before thanks in no small part to mainstream and social media where the exchange of image-rich information is overwhelming. This ‘wellbeing’ quest has become an industry - marketed, consumed, and ever-renewed - and has ironically created unhealthy patterns of addiction that feed on discontent and guilt in the process. But isn’t it reasonable, amongst all the craze, to simply want to be well, to be fit, to be energetic? Doesn’t it make sense to adjust our habits in the light of research, to eat better, to exercise our bodies, and to prolong our lifespan?
When I imagined contributing my own little piece to the ever-popular discourse on births - and I wasn’t sure I would - I didn’t think I would need courage. It’s all too easy for women whose births didn’t quite go ‘to plan’, or who in fact endured something quite traumatic, to feel disempowered to speak about it. Writing a birth story almost seems like an anticlimax, or at best a cathartic exercise that won’t actually inspire anyone else! And so I decided to write up my humble experience for a number of reasons - to describe with words of truth and love a birth that is far from perfect; to encourage all those women who have felt disappointed or upset by their births to still feel capable; and to not - on principle - remain silent because the story isn’t conventionally worthy of admiration.
As we move closer together on this contracting globe, as we encounter difference more and more, and open our eyes, ears, taste buds and hearts to other cultures, I feel that the way we care about others truly deserves some attention. Acts of targeted violence unfold before our eyes in a disturbingly rhythmic, predictable pattern; and the reaction is similar. Shock, outrage, sadness and despair are voiced alike by the media and our friends. And then? Mostly, everybody forgets. It is almost becoming a habit. For a few days - a few weeks at most - all our attention is turned to the latest horror and we break into a ritualistic - albeit sincere - outcry of solidarity. But is this model of engaging with the state of our world actually very helpful?
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