Twenty-one year old me became quite officially engaged on the 10th day of the ninth month 2017 by the poolside of a majestic villa in a quiet beach town, beautifully embedded amongst the many others adorning the Southeast of Asia.
She accepted to become Mrs H. beyond reasonable doubt. She climbed a volcano the next day.
Twenty-one year old me became two decades and two on the 10th day of this month.
She will miss this.
She will miss twenty-one year old me for the love of a few things that she was. She was brave, unrelenting, wanting, talented and dare I say it – fearless. She was up, up, and away. Nothing could crash her. She had been through it all. The rollercoaster of emotions and the ferris wheel of life that followed.
& now she is here – at the end of the beginning of an eventful journey – engaged to be married. Beyond reasonable doubt.
It is not to say twenty-two year old me has left these qualities behind. Twenty-two year old me is the strongest person I know because of her. She still has work to do. She is having to learn to trust God with everything she has in this moment – she is learning to trust God in this way; beyond reasonable doubt.
She, too, is striving for infinity and beyond.
& so there is more to come.
But otobetwentyone; it is to be wonderfully and incredibly shaped.
As I write this I am seated in a hand made wooden chair adorned with cushions the colour of the sun, orange trees and fire. My chair finds itself settled inside a coffee shop commissioned by an Australian male with South East Asian sensibilities. I am just off the corner of my temporary home in Bali; an Island I have been on, now 24 days and counting. This well formed piece of the earth’s crust, has been bestowed the worthy title of ‘Island of the gods’ . Outside, there is a neighbourhood sidewalk paved with galleries. Galleries showcasing an array of wooden carvings and artistic exhibits.
And I’ve found myself submerged into it all like an incredibly vivid dream.
I was due an upload of a video log of my experiences in Morocco like last week but, let’s just say I’ll get it done soon as I get it done. Read more
So at the moment, the photo above is me.
I just thought it’d be useful to point that out. If one digs a little deeper into the title of this, you will come to realise I’m sort of marking something out here.
And that is:
So let’s face it.
At twenty-one I’m becoming a bit of a stripper.
I’m stripping down and shedding. I’m shedding that destructive little girl who didn’t really know her left from right.
And it’s starting off like this: Read more
Lately, I have come to discover a little truth about my current self. That truth is:
I’m still overboard.
And by that, I mean I am still working through the mess left behind from my recent conundrums in life. In my current state of being, I have acknowledged that I am not perfection – yes. But it is that sort of acknowledgement that strengthens me, motivates me and pushes my twenty-one year old self to get better and be better.
Abba/ἀββα is a Greek word.
Translated it means,
But I’d like to think it more intimate. Because there exists, enough words in the Greek vocabulary for ‘father’.
Abba, ἀββα seems so infantile. It calls out to trust. Unshaken in its own vulnerability. Whether inhaling or exhaling, whether I runneth over, whether I have nothing left it is, but one, of the very few words I find myself breathing out without labour for air in my lungs. And lately, in the secret world of my own ponderings on which I have become fixated and accustomed, I find myself in a place where I am vacating the past in order to live in the present. So, in all honesty, ἀββα is my only solace.
Upon watching my best friend turn twenty-two this month it’s become undeniably rooted within my inner workings that the state of being woman is dug deep within layers and layers of onion peeling. Read more
Recently I came across this word:
I wondered what it meant so I searched it up amongst my other google conquests amid my usual state of boredom at work.
I work with people – in the literal sense.
I’ve been doing a lot of letting go of late.
Letting go of my hair, letting go of my feelings, my society position at university next year, my hairy legs that don’t seem to be getting on with the changing seasons, my incessant need to be right and mostly my obsession over having the last say in everything. Because recently at twenty-one, I have come to the edge of the start of something new.