#66

When I was 12 years old, I broke my wrist riding a scooter down a hill. Granted that it could have been partly my fault given I had been sitting on the foot ledge rather than riding it properly, but you just couldn’t have convinced a younger me that this wouldn’t have ended in disaster at the time. Nevertheless, one fleeting 15 second ride led to a 6 hour wait in hospital and whole lot of not swimming in the middle of summer thanks to one very unfashionable cast.

When I was 13 years old, Dad let me drive the family run-around car back into the garage after we had finished washing it. It was one of those things that sounded like a good idea at the time, but later left you thinking why on earth did we do that. Because there were two things that went terribly wrong in the space of a few seconds. The first was that I forgot where the brake was; the second was that my soap-covered feet had little grip. Slipping on the accelerator was bad, crashing at a decent speed into the foundation wall of our two story house was worse, but forgetting where the brake was and plowing straight back into the wall a second time was downright priceless (in the most expensive way). This stunt also landed me in the emergency ward with a nasty gash to my forehead, and the requirement of a tetanus injection.

When I was 14 years old, I let my friend teach me how to ride her motorbike. I’d never ridden one before, nor did I really know how they worked – so naturally, this also seemed like a good idea. I actually hadn’t been doing too badly, the worst only happened when we decided to stop. You see, there’s a throttle on the handlebar and if you relax your wrist in the form of twisting down (don’t ask me how), you can find yourself tangled in a barb-wire fence pretty quickly with half a metal barb sticking out of your ankle, and a rather large third degree burn curtesy of the exhaust. Back to the hospital, and eight weekly burn dressings later – I never touched another motorbike.

When I was 15 years old, I let a boy push me down a grass hill in a shopping trolley. Was I sober? Yes. Was I smart? Not that day. Hitting a rock halfway down caused the trolley to capsize to the left crushing my elbow under both the trolley and myself. The stomach-turning crunch of my poor bones landed me a return trip to hospital, this time for a surgery and nine months of rehab. I still can’t look at shopping trolleys without cringing.

The point of these three stories is to show you that things with wheels and me, well we’ve never really gotten along. I purposely have never taken on a skateboard for obviously reasons, and have more than a few misfortunes to tell when it comes to my cars. The reality is, there would be less havoc in my life if the wheel had never been invented. But the greater good prevails, and as it turns out, they’re pretty useful in anyone else’s opinion.

But despite having sworn off wheels for the most part, there has always been one more set of wheels I’ve always wanted to try…

At #66 on the bucket list was to ride an adventure ATV, and call me crazy, but despite my unfortunate history with all things round – I’ve always been mentally prepared for the injury I would surely entailed completing this bucket list item.

When planning our trip to Moreton Island last year in November, I stumbled across an advertisement for riding beach ATV’s through the islands notorious sand dunes. Better to stack it on a balmy sand island rather than out in a balinese jungle, I thought. So I convinced my Mr. in no time (who is most definitely pro-theinventionofwheels, and master of all of them!) and we booked it in.

In an unlikely turn of events, I can confirm I managed to ride one without injury or a hospital admission… maybe wheels have taken pity on me and my battle scars after all. In fact, in comparison to the three tourists riding in front of my Mr. and I, who undoubtedly were more of a liability than even me, I think I did quite well. And I most certainly enjoyed every second of racing through the sandy figure-eights built low into the sand dunes, and over the tops of the berms.

Moreton Island is such a beautiful part of the Australian coastline, and to see it from behind the handle-bars of an ATV was such a great experience. Zooming along the shoreline on the beach at sunset is something I will remember as being one of the most beautiful sights I’ve seen. Even with the most wonderful of descriptive words, I couldn’t out-do seeing this place in person. It’s just simply something you’ll need to add to your own bucket list.

There is video proof of my successful ATV adventure in my latest holiday vlog, so if you wanted to check it out in live motion, you can click here.

And as for my war with wheels? Well, I’d like to believe that perhaps we finally made peace in paradise.

#66 – Ride an Adventure ATV: Check!

d x

 

 

 

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#64

I think when I look back, I’ve always been a water baby. Between being strongly influenced by red-headed Ariel the Little Mermaid, and being driven by a school-girl crush to reach the level 3 swimming group so I could swim with the cutest boy in third-grade – I always preferred water to land (and not just because LM was swimming in it).

Any given family holiday, you’d find my parents borderline-dragging me from the water’s edge. Wrinkled skin? Not a worry in the world. All the better to hang onto the pool floor with!

Although roughly twenty-something years later my Mr. would argue that my now chosen swimming technique leaves much to be desired, I just put it down to being a different type of swimmer, a floater if you will. A much more leisurely way of enjoying the ocean, because lets face it, I never actually made it to the level 3 swimming group, and the Butterfly Stroke was never meant for me.

All of this aside, almost 6 months ago, I found a way to overcome my shortfalls for my love of the ocean. Its black and orange, and zips through the water like an ocean lamborghini – yes, sir. I did in fact, buy a jetski!

To buy a jetski, has been a goal of mine for quite sometime. I’m not exactly sure what appealed more to me, the thrill of soaring over the water, or just the adventure that comes with it. Maybe a bit of both? All I know, is that life got a little more fun with this new addition!

There is now a new toy to fit into the ever-shrinking garage alongside my Ryobi Builders Collection (that’s what I call it anyway, theres a dropsaw now too boot. This girl is no longer a damsel in distress!). And we have made use of it most weeks since getting it. Whether down along the river, or out in the ocean (I’m getting the hang of the ramp-like waves), we’ve started to explore around home from a different perspective.

Learning to ride a jetski is a little odd at first. For someone who hasn’t really had a whole lot to do with motorbikes or anything throttle-related (and perhaps without being of good cause), riding a jetski for the most part, was a learning curve. But it doesn’t have wheels, so judging by my history we’re safe.

Although speeding along the water at 80km sure used to feel like a death-defying dangerous feat until I got used to it, I’m learning I like being on the water much more than ever before. There’s just something about the wind grazing your face and the ocean salt spray that makes it feel liberating.

Recently, we have bought a donut tube – literally shaped and coloured like a donut with sprinkles. With a double hit of the control panel’s middle button, a little oomph with the help of ‘sports mode’, we can have you scooting round a lake as the donut hole at speed on the back of the ocean lamborghini. It makes for one hell of a day, and a whole lot of laughter, I honestly don’t know why I never invested in buying one sooner.

My Mr. and I are certainly ready for 2019, and many more Jetski adventures to come.
And if you wanted to check out one of the adventures from 2018, click here!

#64: Buy a Jetski – Check!

d x

 

#33

I’ve always had a odd fascination with crime. Not in ever committing it, just that people do and that despite all the psychologists in the world, we just really will never know truely why it happens. Call it my innate desire for justice, or just too many crime scene shows watched as a child (C.S.I was my bread and butter), I was just always intrigued with anything to do with the subject. Perhaps that’s why I’ve dabbled with the idea of becoming a lawyer, I’m not sure.

When I was in grade eight, we went to St Helena Island on the school excursion. St Helena Island is located in the Moreton Bay Region, four kilometres from the mouth of the Brisbane River and home to colonial Queensland’s foremost maximum security prisons for men in the 19th century. We had spent most of the day there touring the old ruins of the prison, imagining what it would have been like to be a prisoner there all that time ago.

I was enthralled. I always had been when it came to history, and when paired with a notorious past of crime – I was hook, line and sinker. I remember standing fearful to the soles of my feet as they talked about the Cat-of-nine-tails, struggling to believe how much times have changed.

On the way back to the bus, my school teacher at the time had made mention of another well known prison in Melbourne. And when she explained it was the prison Ned Kelly had been held captive at before his hanging – you bet it made it’s own special place on the bucket list.

Almost ten years later, I finally got to visit the notorious Melbourne Gaol, #33 on the list.

My Mr. had booked a surprise getaway to Melbourne for my birthday last year. We had stayed in a cosy little AirBnB in the heart of the CBD, and spent the week walking through the many back lanes of the busy city exploring. We had become so exceptionally good at riding the Tram be the end of the third day, we could have almost been mistaken as locals.

Nevertheless, in the home town of the Melbourne Gaol, we decided to visit.

After grabbing a coffee from a cafe on a nearby corner (with honey instead of vanilla, because apparently syrup in coffee in Melbourne is a crime all of its own…), we walked along Russell Street to the jail entrance. If there is one thing I really love about Melbourne, it’s the integration on old historic buildings amongst the new. And there on Russell Street, we found one of the oldest buildings in the city.

The Old Melbourne Gaol opened it’s first cell block in 1845, lasting 79 years until it’s closure in 1924. Famous for being the location of the hanging of Ned Kelly, the jail remains open to the public today to explore the prison, and it’s eyry past. You can climb the stairs of the prison and explore the cells. There is a multitude of information plastered to the walls, and plenty of real life memorabilia to take in. And when you reach the end of the prison block, you can even stand where Ned Kelly was finally hung and bear witness to the rope that claimed his life.

If you have a bit of time, it’s worth doing the full tour, which not to give too much away, includes being processed as prisoner and locked in a prison cell – just a little something to put you out of your comfort zone. The tour includes the city watch tower and magistrates court, before delivering you through to the prison block itself. There are plenty of tourist photo opportunities along the way (and you better believe I made use of every one of them). I thoroughly enjoyed every moment learning about the past, and the lives of some of the most notorious criminals. The tour through the Old Melbourne Gaol cost $28 per adult, and is worth every cent. I couldn’t recommend it enough.

If you’re interested, you can check out our Melbourne trip (inclusive of the old gaol!) here.

Otherwise, if you’re in Melbourne – go see for yourself, this is definitely a must do!
You can find more information about the Old Melbourne Gaol at https://www.oldmelbournegaol.com.au

#33 – Explore the prison where Ned Kelly was help captive in Melbourne: Check!

d x

 

2019: Healthy and Happy

Hello to 2019. Each of these new year’s seems to come quicker than the last. I could have sworn the last time I checked the calendar it was only March. And yet here we are, January 2019. So I guess all I can deduce from this, is that we must be having fun.

On another note, now that the chapters of 2018 are closed there are three things alarmingly clear that I am not good at sticking to: exercise regimes, diets… and blogging. I regret the first two (and so does my wardrobe), and I am sorry for the third (although, I’m also entirely sure no one was holding their breath!). But you just can’t tie this gal down.

Between the eight holidays we took last year – yes eight, and the new purchases (the first, a small golden fur ball and the second, well, we’ll get to that…). I just have managed to neglect my poor MacBook, which has done well not to die in my adventurous absence. I guess after all my goal of 2018 was to be present in each moment, and really embrace the little things – so you could say that was a success, because I feel the hiatus from my tiny blogging world speaks volumes about how life took over last year in the best possible way. I truely loved 2018.

When payroll had insisted I use up all 392 annual leave hours delicately stored for a rainy day, I must admit I was a little upset at the thought. For a girl who doesn’t really need more time off than the few days grouped together every couple of weeks, what on earth was I going to do with 392 hours?

I was busy trying to save money, not spend it willy-nilly on 392 days of holidays. Sure don’t get me wrong, I’m not completely crazy, holidays are always welcomed – I really wasn’t trying to complain. But my Mr. only gets a few weeks off a year between his job and university (studying to be an engineer, if I’ve never mentioned it before), and I’d just bought a puppy. Holidays just weren’t in the plan, and especially not seven more of them to squeeze in the remaining seven months from May.

But squeeze them in we did. Somehow, with a little compromise, a village of puppy-sitters and a whole lot of strategical budgeting from a small duel account, my Mr. and I found ourselves kicking back in seven beautiful destinations. There was Melbourne, South Fraser Island, North Fraser Island (two separate trips, because there really was just too much to see), Coochin Creek, Mount Mee, Somerset Lake, and Moreton Island (easily the most picturesque holiday of 2018). Paired with my trip to the Philippines, it turned out to be a pretty massive year.

And with the many beautiful sunsets I got to enjoy, and the crystal clear oceans that floated in, I began to think fondly of payroll and their sponsorship in my adventures. Because 2018 produced the most spectacular photographs, and my most favourite memories yet. And I couldn’t be more thankful someone forced me to make them, and sent me on my way in the form of a Holiday Agreement Contract (romantic or what?).

And as for the bucket list? Well I’ve been busy working away at that too. I believe the last time I put words to wordpress, was back in May. So I have a bit to catch you up on. It may take me a couple of blogs to do so, so you’ll have to bear with me as we dive back into 2018 to rescue the important bits.

But in the meantime, as we stand here knocking at the doorstep of 2019 wondering what’s behind lock and key – I’m hopeful that there are plenty more adventures in store. This year, I have goals to live a little more healthily and happily. And maybe, just maybe, 2019, diets and blogging won’t be such a lost cause! Wish me luck!

d x

 

A new set of tiny paws.

Four weeks ago, we added another tiny-pawed member to the family. Her name is Millie, and she’s Igloo’s new best friend…and our littlest golden love.

Living the busy lives we do, my Mr. and I thought it would be nice to have a friend for Igloo. Someone he could love just as much as we love him, and a furry companion between the early morning cuddles, and afternoon walks.

We searched for a long time for little Millie, requesting to be added to a very long waiting list with a breeder about an hour’s drive away from us. She hadn’t filled us with much confidence at the time stating that there were a lot of people wanting golden’s from her, and we would be added to the very bottom of the list. Nevertheless, she promised to notify us of the next litter and let us know they were planning this for November 2017.

November had come and gone, and we hadn’t heard anything. Then December, and soon after January had passed too. We started to lose hope a little, not able to find any other golden retriever puppies close-by, nor with breeding dogs as dark golden to match Igloo’s infamous coat-colour.

That was until one rainy afternoon sitting at my Mr.’s parent’s house. I had been curled up on one end of the living room couch, waiting for my Mr. and his Mum to come home after being out to pick up some furniture. As I scrolled through Instagram, my phone vibrated and a small drop-down notification boasted an email from an unfamiliar address.

Clicking on the email, I opened the message and read the first line, “We have just returned from the vet after Spice having a caesarean where she delivered 3 boys and 3 girls…“. I sat bolt upright to read the rest of the email realising this was it! This was the email we had been waiting for! Puppies!

I hesitated for a moment to ponder whether I should ring my Mr. and ask him whether we should send through a deposit, but then laughed to myself for thinking he would ever say no to that request, and sent through the money and an email without permission.

I couldn’t focus my attention on anything else while I repeatedly refreshed my Inbox, waiting for confirmation of a puppy. It was the longest 15 minutes of my life, before finally an email came through to congratulate me on the newest baby girl to join my world. I was ecstatic.

When I heard my Mr. driving back up the drive-way, I couldn’t help but run out to meet him halfway. With a stupid grin on my face, I put my hands up in the air and shouted, “We’re having a baby!”

It took him a couple of moments to realise I didn’t mean the human kind, and the fearful look on his face melted into a knowing smile. He was just as excited as me as I filled him in on the details.

On the 6th of April, we brought our newest family member home to the little white house. Igloo fell in love instantaneously, just as we had. She had melted our hearts, and it was one of my most favourite afternoons to date, spent sitting out in the backyard with my little family now of four.

Millie and Igloo are mostly inseparable, except for when Millie squeezes through the pool gate fence to adventure down the side of the house and Igloo proves too big now to fit. She has developed a deep fascination with the velcro strap of the BBQ cover, and also seems to be a huge fan of eating concrete pieces. Millie is definitely going to be the boss when she’s older that for sure, but for now she settles for being Igloo’s shadow, copying everything he does.

She’s bold and an explorer at heart, nothing seems to scare her. And unlike Igloo, she sure knows how to bark. After having gotten used to Igloo and his quiet nature, it’s definitely a whole new world to have Millie join the ranks. We’re a louder bunch now, consisting of a small bark and a whole lot of “No Millie!”. In fact, the “No Millie!” might just be our new most used phrase in general.

But I’ve come to realise that Millie was always going to look additionally naughty in comparison to Igloo, and for now that’s okay. She’ll learn, and one day she’ll be just as well-behaved as Igloo. She’s only 11 weeks old and has already mastered ‘Sit’, ‘Stay’, ‘Lie Down’ and ‘Come’. We’ve almost got the hang of ‘Shake’, but we’re in no rush.

It’s been a handful, but I wouldn’t have wished for it to be any other way. The early morning wake-up notifications in the form of a hungry whine, have just meant for more time to spend snuggling with my golden babies (after their breakfast banana’s that is!).

I love watching them grow together, and I can’t imagine my life without them. I look forward to coming home each day to see them, and the slobbery licks to the face that come as part of the packaged deal. They are my home.

Welcome to the family, Millie. I love you from your wet nose, to your tiny paws.

If you wanted the picture evidence, you can follow their golden-tailed adventures at @iglooandmilliethegoldens. I promise it will be your daily dose of happiness! All you need in life is love, and a golden (or two!).

d x

#5 and #52: Philippines 2018 (Helping Children Smile Medical Mission)

First of all – I have to make an apology for taking such a long time to write this blog! There’s been a whole lot of work, and a new tiny-pawed furry addition to the family since finally landing back in Australia last month, so my hands have been kept somewhat hostage…but more on that in my next blog!

Second of all – Philippines!

I’ve been really struggling to find the right word to describe my trip to the Philippines. In reply to most people, I use the word amazing with a gushing enthusiasm and a widen-eyed conviction of the word. But even then, I know this is still an understatement. Because it was just so much more than that.

For those that have been following Life, She Wrote, you will have known that this year’s addition to Bucket List #5 came with it’s own special purpose – but for those that are new to the story, you can read about it here.

Having looked forward to trip since finding out I would be apart of it back in September, I couldn’t believe it had come round so quickly. The end of February was nearing as we all met up at a hotel near the airport in preparation for the three flights ahead of us the next morning. I had met most people prior to trip, but there were a few I hadn’t and it was nice to sit down with everyone, putting faces to names over wine, cheese and Thai.

It was still dark when our early-morning alarms sounded at 4am and we eagerly threw on our team t-shirts (bright blue and not easily missed in a crowd), making our way to the airport. With thirty-something luggage bags in tow carrying various pieces of equipment and monitors, we hustled into the group check-in and busily set about labelling and weighing bags. If I thought the amount of bags we had then and there was extravagant, I had another thing coming for me when we finally did arrive in Vigan (but that’s getting ahead of myself).

The first leg of the trip was flying into Sydney, where we met up with the two surgeons and two anaesthetists, and one other member of the team. Choosing to go it alone at the Duty Free, I managed to get myself utterly lost between terminals an hour later – but I’ll blame that on the airlines changing the terminal departure and those big electronic boards displaying way too many flights to Manilla (was there really that many people departing to Manilla?). Nevertheless, we all boarded on time and I was quite happy not to be left sitting back at terminal 34 on my lonesome.

Touching down in Manilla was a relatively smooth process. We quickly caught a bus to the hotel, with our priorities set on food, sleep and a quick 7-Eleven pitstop. I don’t remember falling asleep that night, I just figured I must have switched out as soon as my head hit that pillow and woken up 6 hours later.

After a traditional buffet breakfast we checked out and made our way back to the Manilla airport to catch our next flight to Laoag. It was a quick flight, landing beside one of the smallest airports I’ve ever seen. The little brick building, covered in pink flowering vines, could be walked end-to-end in less than five minutes.  But with a large sign welcoming Helping Children Smile to the Philippines, we felt right at home.

We collected ourselves, and our many pieces of luggage, into a large coach bus which carted us on a two hour journey to Vigan – our final stop for the trip and the location of the hospital we would be performing surgery at. We stopped midway at a small village supplier for afternoon tea where we we lucky enough to try some local food. Any food at this point was a god-send after having only had a pork bun since breakfast!

We arrived at our hotel in Vigan late that afternoon and quickly changed before heading into town to see the hospital. Having never been on a mission before, I wasn’t really sure what to expect – but the hospital appeared in relatively good condition in comparison to pictures I’d seen from previous mission trips. We toured the theatre rooms, recovery and the shed-like room that would be our ward. Everyone seemed pretty happy with it’s prospects and so we went to check on the luggage. Well in addition to the bags we had brought over, there was at least a dozen more to fill three ward rooms full. How we could have ever needed this much, I’ll never quite know – but it was our way to ensuring we never had to place any cost upon the hospital by only using our own equipment and supplies.

It was still light out when we ventured back to the hotel, so we snuck in a quick swim in the pool and laughed hysterically at those game enough to take on the waterslide that ended at least a metre above the water. There were plenty bruises and red marks all round to tell the tale of that endevour.

 

The next six days were a bit of a blur. But after setting up our recovery room on Monday, we were straight to work with two surgeries that afternoon. Back home, recovery spans across almost a whole floor catering for well over twenty patients. In Vigan, the recovery room was no more than 4 metres by 4 metres, perhaps smaller. It had two small beds either side of the room, with a cupboard in the corner and a cabinet full of drugs at the tail-end. We commandeered two small tables and set them up between each bed, tetras-packing them with our equipment. And we made-do. Theatre was much the same, simplistic, but functional – and from all accounts, better than expected.

It was such a rush to see it all play out, and then to be a part of it. Carrying the children in their hands, the anaesthetic nurse would rush out of the OT into our small recovery placing the child onto one of the beds. In a swift rush, the pulse oximeter and oxygen mask would be connected and we would intently monitor their small airways until they woke.

Waking up from the anaesthetic in the Philippines was a little rougher than at home, and so as soon as our little ones opened their eyes, we would whisk them off the trolleys and into our arms to rock and soothe. Their were plenty of wrigglers and plenty of tears, but that all got a little better as soon as mum arrived to hold there hands. After a quick dose of pain relief and a drink of water, we let them return to the ward.

Upstairs in the ward, it became a noisy collection of people after the third day. Families consisting of parents, siblings, uncles and aunties would squeeze into the same bed offering support to the children, becoming the ultimate nursing team. We would leave instructions for the parents in regards to pain relief; how much and how often, each night and return each morning to do a quick round and see how they had progressed.

The children were beautiful. And again, this too feels to be a rather large understatement. I fell in love with them the moment I met them. Their tiny faces that lit up the moment you gave them a smile, or handed them something as little as a toy car, had my heart bursting at it’s seams. These children were just so grateful for the things that many children here take for granted, and I couldn’t help but be in awe of their strength despite their circumstances.

Before each surgery we would adorn them with a little material cape made by volunteers here in Australia, and help them believe in superheroes. We would place little coins called ‘lucky money’ in their hands when they went to sleep, and would make sure they woke up with the lucky money still there. It was these little things that made surgery feel a little less frightening, and helped them feel a little more brave.

 

The differences to the their lips and palates were remarkable, and being a part of a process that changed each of their lives in the most unbelievable way has undoubtedly changed my perspective on my own world immensely.

After six days, we had performed over thirty operations. The hospital had kindly provided food each day and made every sacrifice possible to ensure our operations went smoothly. We were truly spoilt to have been able to work in Vigan, and were treated to dinner each night in the small town by different members of the Vigan Rotary Club.

On our last few days, we had enough downtime to do some exploring throughout the Provence of Vigan, a budding city on the tourist hot-spot list. From Dancing Fountain Shows to historical 17th Century walkways, monumental buildings to heritage listed sites – we were privileged to see so much in such a short time frame. And as we drunk a San Miguel (apple flavoured, for me) Beer at sunset on the beach, I think each one of us counted ourselves as lucky to have been on this trip.

After a heart wrenching clinic morning, checking up on the kids after their surgeries and waving goodbye to the children that had changed our lives perhaps even more so than we had changed theirs, we packed our bags and set off on the long journey home.

There aren’t enough words to describe the fullness of my heart, or the awe I have in the strength of these little ones and their parents. I am so proud to have been able to work alongside some of the most amazing clinicians and to have had the opportunity to utilise my own nursing career in a corner of the world that really needed it.

This trip has taught me that there is so much kindness, courage and generosity still to be shared in this world, and that it sometimes comes most from those who have far less than you.

For more information about the Helping Children Smile Organisation, or to donate to the cause for next year’s mission, click here. I cannot express how much of a difference surgery for these children makes in simple tasks such as eating and speaking, nor the happiness it brings to a part of the world who truely appreciate it.

For more details about visiting Vigan and Manilla, where to go and what to do – head over to The Travel Log!

And to have a sneak peak at the trip, the children we operated on and the places we managed to visit after-hours all in colour motion, you can head to my YouTube Channel!

This has been the most rewarding bucket list ‘check’ yet, and I really do hope to go again next year!

#5: Travel to a new place every year and #52: Volunteer in a Third World Country – double check!

d x

Fall short.

If there is one thing you should know in this lifetime, it’s that people will let you down. It’s not always that they mean to, it’s just that it’s a human flaw and i figure, it just can’t be helped.

Today, I am let down. So immensely let down. By someone who I genuinely thought would never be the cause of this feeling. I am so consumed by disappointment I can barely eat. I tried to cry, but the tears won’t fall and I’m not sure whether that just simply means that the hurt is too deep.

I wanted to believe that they were a better person. In fact, I did. I trusted in it. I trusted in them with almost everything I had. Which is more profound than I can explain coming from the girl who holds more faith in rollercoasters than human promise.

And yet, here I am. Tucked away in the midst of a summer afternoon storm, craving to be alone with my thoughts, and my confusion over how someone could have so epically fallen short of the mark.

Perhaps I said it one too many times that the happiness out loud theory excavated my own happiness in pursuit of nailing my feet back to the ground. Or perhaps I just couldn’t see through the sugar coating.

Maybe they were always destined to let me down.

And I guess this is where I try to make sense of it. Wildly typing my raw emotions into my MacBook in the hope that it will expose a reason why. Something that will make the hurt make sense, that will make me understand.

And when I finish and the reason remains un-illumintaed, I’ll stop to realise that this, this hurt – it’s part and parcel of life. And that eventually it’ll make me stronger, like a broken bone healing over.

It’s a bit of a sad reality, and I know this blog’s purpose has always been to illuminate the beauty in this world, but I am beginning to understand that there’s a strange beauty in learning the hard lessons too. People will always let you down. You don’t ever see it coming until it’s there, staring you in the face and giving you a choice. And I’ll never give you a more important piece of advice other than to stop walking towards the people who let you down, and couldn’t care less.

I’m a girl who happily gives too much. And maybe I’ll never change despite the broken edges of my heart. But I will learn to be braver in the face of being let down.

Just know that your hurt, just like mine, will fade. And what grows in it’s empty place will bring better days. I have to believe in that. So you can too.

d x