These conversations about how far back we all go are beginning to make me feel a bit long in the tooth. So knock it off, will yas!

Hehehe. Seriously, I think Rachel's comment was, as the Brits say, spot on. We're all so blessed, and in so many ways.... A few of us have been fast friends for ages, the rest of us can rejoice that we're in the process of cultivating new friendships...all thanks to Summerside. No doubt in my mind, either, that bringing us together has long been part of God's larger plan.

So a heartfelt thanks to you, Sandie Bricker, for sharing the good news about this fantastic company. I've never felt more at home while at work. (Hey, wait, my office is in my basement; I've always been at home while I worked!) Oh, I'm sure y'all know what I mean. <g>

I've said it before, but it definitely bears repeating: I'm honored to be a member of the Summerside family!

All my best,

Loree

Anyway, that's all of the forced introspection I can handle right now.  I'll dig deeper later, but for now I'm satisfied with my realization.  As I have strolled Magazine Street the past couple nights, I've finally felt comfortable in a city that has felt strangely foreign to me.  I know this area of the city is isolated and bubble-istic, but it's great.  Wednesday night at Bulldog, collecting three new pint glasses with my Newcastle over a game of Scrabble and sweet potato fries.  Sobering up next door and Reginelli's over yet another game of Scrabble and a four-cheese pizza, tall glasses of ice water.  Walking a few blocks down to grab an iced chai tea and smoke a soothing clove.  Stumbling upon a screen-printing store in this afternoon's rain shower and getting custom-made shirts.  Passing the time waiting in line by reading the quirky collectable books and lunchboxes. 

These things are what detract from the unfortunate monotony of the other days.  One of my favorite quotations from Paulo Coelho's The Alchemist is, "...for her, every day was the same, and when each day is the same as the next, it's because people fail to recognize the good things that happen in their lives every day that the sun rises."  I'm ashamed to say that I haven't been fulfilling the message of that book.  I need to start recognizing the good things that happen every day.  Today: getting a vintage Star Wars Storm Trooper shirt for my little cousin who just turned four yesterday.

Four and a half more days until I begin my journey northward.

(I can't wait to see you all and share a glass of wine, or a perfect gin and tonic, or a great beer.)

New Syllabus Starts This Sunday 27^th July 2008

IDC is proud to announce the new syllabus for the sisters class on Sundays of which the first seminar will be this Sunday 27^th July 2008 2pm – 4pm.

Please see below for full details of the programme.

Seeking Knowledge: Its manners & ways

Sunday 27^th July 2008 2pm - 4pm

@ IDC [EMTEP entrance – 2 Shipley Avenue for sisters & IDC Shop entrance 136 West Rd for Brothers]

Sessions will be 45 mins part 1– 15 mins coffee break – 45 mins part 2 – socialising as long as needed @ the end

Topics to be covered:

Seeking Knowledge: Its manners and ways
o The benefits of seeking knowledge
o The history of seeking knowledge
o Important manners when seeking knowledge
o How the great scholars and imaams used to seek knowledge
o Sources of knowledge: An introduction to important books for students of knowledge & how to build your own Islamic library

Format
Sisters upstairs at emtep, with projector, mic and speakers. Teacher downstairs with webcam, mic and speakers. One way video (teacher only) and two way audio, as well as presentation tools like powerpoint, shared electronic whiteboard etc. Teacher should also provide slides/notes in printed form. Brothers would be able to attend upstairs but active participation in the class should be especially for the sisters. Podcast of the lesson will be available on website inshaa Allah.

Aims
• To give the sisters an opportunity to study from a student of knowledge in a class especially for them
• To attract more sisters to come to the lessons
• To provide a foundation for sisters who want to pursue further study, either at home or abroad
• To provide a structured form of learning, where sisters are actually progressing as students of knowledge
• To teach the right balance of subjects, including general topics and issues particular to women
• To encourage further study at home, including memorisation and teaching family
• To encourage sisters to participate in da’wah events

Further topics to be covered in following weeks:

Sunday 3^rd August 2008

Aqeedah 1: The fundamentals of tawheed
o An introduction to tawheed
o Divisions of tawheed and their proofs
o A study of the early scholars’ position on the division of tawheed
o The benefits of understanding and implementing tawheed
o Shirk and its forms

Sunday 10^th August 2008

Aqeedah 2: Allah’s Perfect Names and Attributes
o An introduction to Allah’s Perfect Names and Attributes
o Selected rules from ‘Al-Qawaa’id’Al-Muthlaa’’ by Shaykh Uthaymeen and their application in understanding Allah’s Names and Attributes. For example:
o All of Allah’s Names are the peak of perfection. How does this ‘golden rule’ save us from misguidance. Why is Allah not called ‘The Plotter’?
o How do Allah’s Attributes relate to His Names. Does every Name have an Attribute and is the opposite true?
o Does Allah have only 99 names and why not?
o A brief discussion of those people who have been misguided in this topic and a general understanding of why this happens

Sunday 17^th August 2008

The science of hadith: An introduction to the science of hadith
o What is the science of hadith and why do we need it?
o The history of the science of hadith
o An explanation of the levels of authenticity of a hadith and how they are derived
o Some important terms in the science of hadith

It has been said that the eyes are the windows to the soul.  Today's Shutter Sisters post is about just that and challenges us to find pictures where the eyes tell the story.  This shot does that for me.

Megan (on the right) has been away visiting my parents in Massachusetts for almost two weeks as part of the "turning 7" tradition in our house.  We won't see her for another week and a half, and Emily is taking it hard, much harder than Meg took it when Emily turned 7 and was gone for weeks with Grandma and Grandpa.

The girls' devotion to each other is complete and their love for each other clearly expressed in their closed eyes.

Credits:
Paper: Black Market
Stem : Freestylin'
Stitching : Hand Stitched
Everything else from : Sweet Tropic
All by Danielle Young Designs
at www.oscraps.com

Credits
Paper - I'm Krafty by FeiFei's Stuff
Flower - Peaches & Regalias by TaylorMade Designs
WordArt - TaylorMade Designs
all at www.oscraps.com

Credits
Paper : Jubilee paper pack
Tags: Hang Em Teeny Tags {grunge}
Flowers: Bradworks
all by Jennilyn Designs
Template : Scattered Layered Template by TaylorMade Designs
Word Art : by TaylorMade Designs
all sold at
www.oscraps.com

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• David Duchovny and Téa Leaoni "Split Up" For Their Kids

two of my three new t-shirts courtesy of jenny

visiting with my sisters

building our new house

having dinner with old friends

nugget pees on her potty before bathtime!

Ahhh...my dear, sweet, naive readers, I envy how sheltered your life must have been! To many of you, I'm sure this looks like nothing more than a sweet family photo of my sister Rebekah and I in matching dresses and bad haircuts. But there are a chosen few, (the regular readers of this blog who share my last name and struggles managing bi-racial hair), who see this photo for what it really is; a brief moment of peace in a never-ending domestic conflict to gain complete control of the Jackson family and rule the world forevermore.

Growing up in a house of three boys, three girls, two cats and one bathroom you learn one thing very quickly; family isn't love, it's war. In order to survive, each Jackson developed their own unique culture and employed battle strategies to fiercely protect it. The most infamous example was the bloody Battle for Control. The law of Jackson Kidland was that which ever child touched the landing of the basement stairs where the family TV was located was deemed "in control" of the after school cartoon programming. So every weekday afternoon of our Catholic school years, we fought for our right to watch "Ducktales" instead of "Voltron"; bolting off the bus like the driver shot a gun, hauling ass to that basement landing, as every kid on the bus cheered like the crowd at The Coliseum.

The Jackson Child Warriors were brave and glorious. We punched each other in the stomachs for stealing clothes, and hid Klondike bars from one another in the second freezer downstairs. We publicly slandered each other, scratching vicious phrases like, "Bekah is a Pooey-Turd" into bedroom doors. We misled each other with elaborate stories, driving my little brother Luke insane, insisting my sister and I were secretly Thundercats who visited Thundera regularly, "They won't let us take you, Lukey!" But finally, in the interest of peace and against Peter Pan's wise advice, we laid down our weapons and grew the hell up.

We have lived in relative peace for the last 15 years. But like the volatile Middle East or The Balkans, the Jackson children must work to maintain this precious calm. We each have a strict set of preconditions that must be respected before we agree to any social family activity. I hate to break with my man Obama here, but there is absolutely no way my brothers, sisters and I would have made it out alive if we hadn't established some ground rules. I shared a room with Bekah from the first day I can remember until I left for college. Being two years apart and knowing each other way too well, we are a living, breathing example of preconditions at their best. Allow me to illustrate with a typical scenario...

10pm, Saturday night. Bekah and I are relaxing in our family home upstate after a day of summer celebration at the Warwick Valley Winery.

Bekah: Are you worried we'll die if we don't get ice cream? (This message is sent via text. We are in our old bedrooms across the hall from each other.)

Sarah: (shouting) WELL GO GET IT THEN!!

Bekah: (shouting) COME IN HERE!!

Sarah: (shouting) YEAH RIGHT, YOU COME IN HERE!

It's important to start the negotiations very hostile, right at the top. Bekah finally barges in. I win this round.

Bekah: Oh hi, Sarah. (Bekah uses her favorite little sister irritation technique, pinching me right between my shoulder blade and neck.)

Sarah: Get off me! Come on, can't you just run to Shop-rite and get it?! I'll give you money...

Bekah: You must be out of your mind if you think I'm going there by myself.

Sarah: Ughhh, I just took my eyes out and I don't even have a bra on...I'll go with you, but you have to run in.

Bekah: Pffff, no way. You're going in, I don't want to see anybody.

Sarah: Hello?! What about me?

Bekah: Whatever...

Sarah: Ughhh, let's just forget it...

Bekah: No! There's no chocolate in the house!

Sarah: Let's call Chrissy and ask her what we should do...

Bekah: That's a waste of time, Sarah. You know what she'll say! We could have been there and back already!

Bekah wins this round...Chrissy is our oldest sister and she is The Boss. Think of her as the James Baker of the Jackson Children Conflict. She must periodically remind us what really matters most to all of us, and ice cream is always at the top of the list.

Sarah: Errr, fine! BUT we have to go right f---ing now, no changing into outfits and I'm still not putting a bra on...

Bekah: Agreed.

Sarah: And tomorrow morning, you HAVE to go to the cafe and buy me graham cracker coffee before my feet hit the freaking ground! (I'm so obsessed with this coffee that it's weird, and I've only ever found it in my hometown.)

Bekah: Don't you want to just get brunch tomorrow?

Sarah: NO! I cannot leave this room without coffee tomorrow. Do we have a deal?

Bekah: Fine.

Sarah: Let's do this! Ok, come here pick me up... (I pay Bekah back for her neck zapper with my favorite big sister irritation technique; locking my arms around her neck, insisting she pick me up like a baby.)

Bekah: Come onnnnnn!

Tense, exhausting negotiations like this occur every time we come together. But the violent grafitti condemning my sister to Pooey-Turdness is still barely visible under my father's recent paint job. The dark days of the War at Home are not that far behind us. We fight now to maintain the peace.

Preconditional Pax in Terra.

:: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: ::

I have been out of circulation in the blogosphere due to preparations for the Encampment and recovery from it.  My plan was to make sure that the Encampment was at least as successful as it has been in the past with Thom's direction and to make sure that we remembered our departed friends in a fitting way.  I think we succeeded.

I have much to blog on regarding the Encampment.  I will get it posted as I am able.

First of all, I have an oath that the Knights asked me to write for the squires and pages.  Actually the idea was Thom's and he had planned to write it himself.  As a former scout master he wanted to model our oath on the Boy Scout Oath.   Well, he never got an opportunity to write it so I did.

But before I get to that, I want to say a little about what I taught the boys over the weekend.  I spoke about virtue and how the Latin root vir means both virtue and man.  In other words, virtue is manliness.  Men are supposed to be strong.

I also told them that virtue is a habit, a good habit.  Bad habits are easy to form.  They are usually pleasurable and we repeat them frequently without any effort until they become second nature.  Virtue is also second nature, but the formation of the habit of virtue is difficult, because its consistent repetition is difficult. Virtue most often goes against our ease and requires us not to seek our immediate pleasure but a goal difficult to obtain.

Just as with anything else, our success in matters of virtue depends on our motivation.  If we are motivated to become a good athlete, we will put ourselves through all kinds of inconvenience, as St. Paul says: Athletes exercise self-control in all things; they do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable one (1 Corinthians 9:25).  How often are we willing to torture ourselves for ephemeral goals, when for eternal life we are willing to do so little?

True manliness is something that has to be cultivated.  It takes practice.  Much more effort is required to be virtuous than to ride a skateboard, play a video game, or excel in baseball.

Men and boys need to be challenged.  They need to see the adventure of ordinary life.  Real manliness means to be responsible for one's actions.

I pointed out to the boys that virtue was second nature to Marc Girard, so that when he had no time to think, his first instinct was to save his sister and go back into the water for his father.  He was going to come up with his father or not come up at all.  He died a hero, because he lived a life of virtue.

So conclude my talk with the boys, I told them to do four simple things, consistently, as a matter of virtue: 1) make a morning offering everyday; 2) examine your conscience and make an act of contrition every evening; 3) treat your mothers with respect; 4) treat your sisters and other girls with respect.  I told them that if they did these four things, they would acquire virtue.  I also told them that these four things were not a synthesis of the spiritual life, but that I knew these things are particularly what they need to do as boys who are becoming men, and that if they did do them, then other important matters would fall into place.

On Saturday night after they recited the oath, I asked them to tell me the four things I had asked them to do. Then I said that the oath was the fifth thing, a kind of sacramental by which they could supernaturalize their motives and seek the grace of God.

So here is the oath:

The following is to be recited by both pages and squires:

By my honor I will strive to the utmost
To live according the ideals of Marian Chivalry;
To serve Christ and His Most Holy Mother,
And to defend the faith and the Church;
To seek the fellowship of good men,
And to hearken to their words;
To be humble and courteous,
And to serve the weak and the needy.

The following should be added by squires only:

To be chaste in thought, word and deed;
To see to it that no lady or damsel be brought to reproach through my fault;
To draw my sword only in the interests of truth and righteousness.
And then with courage and without retreat.

Pages are the boys from ages 6-12 and squires are the boys from 13-17.

I know that the oath is long.  It is a synthesis of our Marian spirituality and an medieval knights oath.  I am interested in your comments.  I suppose it could be synthesized further, but not too much further.  This oath cannot be as generic as the Boy Scout oath, since our organization is not as generic as the Boy Scouts.

In any case, the oath as it stands does embody the spirit that should belong to the Pages and Squires.

We have to turn boys into men--real men.

my sister and i went to the all time low concert at the lincoln theater. she met all four of the bands, she crowd surfed, and i got to hold the camera..... but i got some great pictures and video!

it's kinda hard to hear, but that first some is shameless and the second is poppin' champagne.

Girlfriends: I cannot tell you how grateful I am to have you in my life. It has been a truly rough and tumble year for me so far, and the one thing that has brought me some constancy and stability in my life has been the support of my girlfriends. Among my girlfriends I have found unconditional love, advice, guidance, affirmation, nonjudgmental listening, patience, a shoulder to cry on, encouragement, and an endless supply of comfort during trying times. I love you all. So, I shout out to all of you in no particular order:

To The Doctor: I never dreamed I would have someone to love me unconditionally. Real love was always waiting for me at home, even when we were just typical sibling rivals. You have become my best friend and my confidant. You are the only one that knows how to make me laugh and cry at the same time. I can't believe how much we have grown and matured together. Thank you for always supplying me with a hot meal, a comfortable bed, and a listening ear whenever it's needed. I love you, sis. For all the complaining I do sometimes, our parents must have done something right.

La Abogada: Te quiero mucho! You listen to me without judgment and ALWAYS offer me sound advice. I feel like I can tell you anything. Thank you for encouraging me to follow my heart and not to completely lead with my head. Gracias por la vida.

To The Investigator: What can I say, but you are my homegirl that shares with me the mystery of life and the third eye. You always keep it real and look out for my best interests, and I deeply appreciate that. Tom Boys For Life!

To The One that Showed me To The Light House: Thank you for opening the door for me and introducing me to a world of freedom. You really are a beacon of light and I thank you for helping me confront my own shadows and demons with love and compassion.

To My Neighboring Colombiana: What a gift you are and what a blessing it has been to get closer! I am so lucky to have a friend like you. Thank you for helping me keep my chin up during challenging times and for being the best listener. Thank you for managing to make me crack up at how insane life can be.

To My Mystic Friend: I thank God for you, and I thank God for your father for bringing us back together again. He sure knew what he was doing. The journey is just beginning, so fasten your seat belt.

And To The Three Mamas: Thank you for continuing to hold me in your prayers, for constantly sending me light, and for teaching me strength and wisdom. Yes, we are friends for life. Thank you for modelling what it means to be truly the strongest mothers I've ever known. I deeply respect you.

Loving You Always,
Me

 If they delay telling someone do you think that its makes them accepting of what has happened?

 I asked these questions because I recently was having a discussion with some associates of mine regarding rape and the victims the people who do it. Naturally, we all have our own views and stand points regarding the topic. While some believe that when a woman is raped it is because of some silent permisson she has given her attacker to approach, others the complete opposite there is not anything in particular that a woman does to get rape. Some feel like  if a man is raped how could he let that happen they say. Most just don't understand why they will not tell in some cases.

My opinion is that neither a man nor woman asked to be raped, even if a person walks down the street butt naked no one has the right to put themselves on that person. I believe the reason that people don't tell is that they feel ashamed of the situation and they do not want to be  judge. As one of the people I spoke with stated the first thing they think when they hear about a man being raped is "HOW COULD THEY LET THAT HAPPEN". When something that traumatizing happens no one wants it to be thrown back in their face with question like why didn't you do this or why did you do that.  Sometimes the predator is somone that you may have grown to trust.  Maybe the person feels a sense of obligation to the individual becaus ethey have taken care of them in some way, or they could have low self esteem issues and think no one will believe them. In conclusion I really feel  when a situation like this occurs there is no room for judgement because sometimes you never know what you will do in someone else shoes. It is always easy to float ideas around based off of observation.

I would like for all people to respond even, if someone has been a victim and they want to share with us how they have dealt with the situation and how it has affect them as a individual. If you just have opinoins or arguements about others standpoint share your voice...

The game also paused when neighbors on their daily evening walks stopped to say, ‘hello’ and enquire what we were up to during the vacations and if we were being ‘good’. You see, unlike now, Bangalore in those days was a pensioner’s paradise, and I am positive that over 80 per cent of couples living in Indiranagar at that time belonged to that category. I know that my lane of 20 houses had grandparents much like mine, enjoying their retired life in the peace and quiet life that Bangalore offered. Did I also mention less crowded and much less polluted? And since everyone knew everyone else, we kids, simply couldn’t continue our game, ignoring the ‘hellos’. You wonder why? Because I knew Daddy was watching. It was his way of checking if we were growing up into well-mannered, polite and social girls! Please spare me the gasp, it is true. So, we had to stop our game, plaster our best smiles, mumble, ‘good evening appacha (grandfather) or ammachi (grandmother) and answer their prying and often repetitive questions. Any sign of impatience was construed as disrespect and I knew a lesson on the importance of being ‘respectful’ was going to precede dinner. I wanted to argue with Daddy about how disturbing it was to our game but always took the path of least resistance (my life’s guiding principle) and agreed to everything he had to say. The words in my head ranged from ‘gibberish’, ‘seriously Daddy’, ‘how silly’ among others. But then it was Daddy speaking and no one spoke back to him, lest he threatened to throw us out of the house (I see my siblings nodding in fierce agreement). So the words remained – in my head… until now.

The only exception to this was Fr Joseph. I looked forward to meeting Fr Joseph. He lived four houses away from mine. He was everything that my grandfather would have been, had I known him. I don’t remember what he did exactly but his stint in the Vatican made him a very popular person in our community. I also remember his wife, who we called Kochamma (little mother – more because she was short and not because of any motherly feelings). As much I loved Fr Joseph, I disliked her completely. (Note to self: Story on her another day).

Fr Joseph meant a lot to a lot of people - people turned to him for advice, asked him to pray for the sick in their family and took his help to get things done. I never met anyone who had bad things to say about him including my grandmother who had an uncanny ability to see only the negative. That was her gift. I am convinced that she viewed the world in the negative. Hopefully, the recent cataract operation fixed that.

Getting on with my story, to me, the word ‘gentleman’ meant Fr Joseph. I knew he loved me and I was perhaps his favorite little girl in the neighborhood. He never said so but I believed so. As he went on his daily evening walks, he would always stop where we played, flashed the brightest smile I ever seen and ask, “Molae (darling) how are you today?” My answer always was, “Appacha, I am fine.” I stopped my game or gave up my turn so I could chat with him as I knew that his next question would get me talking and this was one conversation that I would give up anything for. Never failing, his next question almost always was, ‘Molae, what book did you pick up from the library?”

That summer I was introduced to the girl detective - Nancy Drew, and the brother duo - Hardy Brothers. I was a voracious reader (Note to self: Get back to reading!) and would go through a book as fast as I could so I could narrate the plot to Appacha. So, standing on the non-existent sidewalk of 6^th Cross, I went about explaining how Nancy cracked the new mystery. Animated with a lot of dramatics thrown in for effect, I entertained Appacha. The scene with my friends has blurred and the surroundings have faded but the image of Fr Joseph in his half-sleeved shirt and walking stick remain lucid. As the game continued, we stood in front of Poppy aunty’s garden that was supposed to be the sidewalk, with dogs walking between us and annoying people butting into my time to ask Fr Joseph a quick question – I can still see it in my mind as if it were happening at this very moment. It is one of my fondest memories of my childhood – the meeting of 20 minutes everyday when I held court with Appacha, who never interrupted my flow of thoughts, never questioned how much of what I told him was actually the plot of the book, and never doubted my abilities for storytelling. When I was finished, he applauded and threw words like ‘brilliant’, ‘funny’, and ‘interesting’ at me in front of friends. I swelled with pride and even today a lot of my deemed arrogance comes from the fact that Fr Joseph thought I was good.

It was the day before school was to re-commence. Time to wrap up the games and get back to teachers, books and homework. Yes, such a chore did exist in those days. As always, Fr Joseph walked up to us but this time he had a surprise for me. It was a book, gift wrapped in a blue and silver wrapper with a note that said, “For my little girl – for the woman that you want to be!” I protested saying that his gift was ill-timed as I wouldn’t have the time to read it. He told me to hold on to it and read it during the next vacations. Eager and excited, I tore open the wrapper and saw the book – Little Women! My first copy of the classic by Louisa May Alcott. I put the note into the book, thanked Fr Joseph and promised him that I would tell him the story soon. “Shine, take your time. There is no rush,” he said as he continued on his walk while I got back to my friends.

Ten years of schooling but the excitement of the first day of the new academic year is unique. Meeting your school buddies after the holidays, sharing tales of what transpired in that time, mangoes that were eaten, journeys that were made – it was all talk, talk and more talk. No Facebook to display photographs, no Internet for emails to go back and forth, no mobile phones for SMSes to let you know what your friend was up to every minute. It was back to the art of storytelling – how good your vacation had been was judged by how good a story you could spin. No prize for guessing on whose vacation was considered the best!

I came back in the evening, exhausted, but thrilled about beginning of new friendships and strengthening old ones while plotting how I was to beat N Pramod and M Sudhindra this year (we were the top three students). After all, girl pride was at stake! Walking through the door, I saw my grandmother, all dressed up and hurrying to go somewhere. I stood at the door and asked her what the hoopla was all about? “Joseph Appacha died in the morning…” she continued but I heard nothing after that. I later heard how peaceful he was when his time came, how he moved on to the next world with all his wishes fulfilled, how he lay in his casket with a smile… “He was a blessed one,” quipped my grandmother. I didn’t understand the adult ways of professing grief or paying tributes.  All I knew was that summer would never be the same again.

Fr Joseph was not family but he was everything that I thought family would be. I refused to go to the funeral, and was adamant of not praying for him at his grave. I didn’t want my memory of Fr Joseph to be clouded with wails of cries, or to know that his body was wrapped in flowers with strong fragrance he didn’t like (flowers gave him a headache), or share him with people who pretended to know him. The street wore a busy look that day with folks from all over Bangalore coming to pay their respects while I stayed indoors refusing to budge from my room, pretending I was very busy studying for the next day. I can now describe the feeling that I was going through.  It is what adults call ‘denial.’ He was buried at the Methodist cemetery in Koramangala and I am still trying to find courage to go there and tell him, “I am fine, Appacha…”

Time heals they say and perhaps I did cope with the loss of not having Fr Joseph anymore. Life did go on but without another game of badminton and I never got around to reading Little Women, not for 15 years. I held on to the book.  It still finds a place in the book shelf at my parent’s house. I carry the note in my wallet as a constant reminder to take my time; a keepsake from the man whose warmth, kind gestures and affection I hold dear. To me it was not just a book, it marked the end of experiencing all that was compassionate, encouraging and nurturing. Little Women remained my favorite book that I intended to read someday.

Left Bangalore, moved to Hyderabad and now in Melbourne pursuing my vocation. Can’t really complain about the times that have gone by – love, heart breaks, friends, career, family, zest, strength, money, highs and lows – I have been through it all. Taking a break from life, I am back at the university, enjoying the surreal world of being a student – carefree, being one of the guys,(the guys claim this despite my dresses and makeup), trading love for alcohol, screaming into the night while breaking into places, claiming to be sick while nursing hangovers, parties, crushes et al.

This is where I encountered Little Women, again, unexpectedly. I didn’t show up for my class on Gender on screen and my professor assigned each of us a text for presentation. She asked us to analyze the gender dynamics that the text presented. And since I was missing, I had no choice in choosing the text. I got an email informing me that I had three weeks for thinking through how Little Women highlighted gender on screen with the interplay between the male and female characters. I don’t think of myself as ill-equipped to handle anything… but nothing prepared me for this. I thought I would approach my professor and tell her that I couldn’t do it or simply fail the exam or… the number of excuses I came up with in those few minutes was staggering and plausible. Or I could get around to finally reading my favorite book…

“Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents,' grumbled Jo, lying on the rug. ‘It's so dreadful to be poor,' sighed Meg, looking down at her old dress. `I don't think it's fair for some girls to have plenty of pretty things, and other girls nothing at all,' added little Amy, with an injured sniff. `We've got father and mother and each other,' said Beth, contentedly, from her corner. The four young faces on which the firelight shone brightened at the cheerful words, but darkened again as Jo said sadly: `We haven't got father, and shall not have him for a long time.' She didn't say `perhaps never', but each silently added it, thinking of father far away, where the fighting was.”

Words from the first chapter… I sat through the night and read all 23 chapters. I pictured myself sometimes as Margaret “Meg” March – the eldest of the four sisters on whom lies the onus of being responsible and setting the right example for her sisters to follow. Can’t say I myself have done a good job. I am afraid I still continue to fail them. I also saw myself as Josephine “Jo” March: Her passion for life, tomboyish character, unconditional love for her little sister Beth, sacrifice for the family, showing her nerve by turning down Laurie’s proposal, and when she falls in love with Friedrich, I could no longer hold my tears. It was a whirlwind of human interaction, kindness of strangers, goodness of heart, and intensely real – all that I hope for. The journey into womanhood of the March sisters, from the turbulence of youth, the turmoil and romance of adolescence, the joy of love, and the pain of loss - I thoroughly enjoyed reading the classic tale that holds true in many parts, 140 years after it was published. Time does fly then again does it really?   

Much like the Marches' I have made mistakes, fallen short, suffered. Standing at a crossroad in my life, battling loneliness and selling my soul for moments of warmth, Little Women has taken me further in this journey, forcing me to question myself - who is the person I want to be? What is my identity? What is it that I seek from myself for myself?  There are no deadlines to beat, no timelines to meet but I now know Appacha – the woman I want to be!