To buy a house or to find a home? Whilst many of us concern over the ill prospects of investing in property, I find myself deep amid a different conversation. To me, home can't be bought with money in the bank. Rather, with the time in our hands and the love in our hearts.
Growing up is harder than imagined. But not necessarily for the reasons they tell you. Let's talk about the most confronting lesson of so-called "adulthood": changing in the eyes of the people who don't wish to see it.
If you've been following my Instagram, you'll know that I was recently struck by the inter-seasonal flu. I use the term 'struck' quite intentionally: it really was that devastating for me. The good news is, it's set me on a newly-inspired path towards health and wellness for Spring.
To reflect on 6 months in Melbourne seemed too predictable [so a 7-month recap it is]. Okay, so I actually lost track of time -- but it was for good reason. I was busy learning these lessons.
As a full-time freelancing digital media marketing manager + lifestyle blogger, it's safe to say that I've managed to avoid the 9-to-5. That is, until now. In the last two weeks, I've experimented with the most notorious "hustle" of all: introducing my pros and cons of the 9-to-5 grind.
2 months ago, I moved to Melbourne. And 2 months ago, I experienced my first feeling of home. Since then, I've experienced the good and the bad of finding home in a new city. Here's the reality of things; some would say, an expansion on the Instagram highlights.
Because there's no reason we should be living a lesser life. Remove the term "idealistic" from your vocabulary and doors will open. Here's 5 ways to live the life you've imagined NOW.
Last Thursday at 10.30am, I completed my first year at university. While it carried with it a sense of relief, The End docked with much less triumph than I imagined it would. It felt indefinite, unsure if this was the destination, if we’d even boarded the right ship. For weeks now, people have been filtering out of the halls. I’ve fought with final days, with wind, rain and Descartes theories condensed on an A4 piece of paper. And despite how it couldn’t have come sooner, the end of first year has given rise to an oddly unattached emotion. I imagine retiring will…
I have this dream. Up against Dr King’s, I’ll admit, it’s a pretty petty one. It’d make sense as an opening speech; the sort that can’t be heard because people are still bustling about, waiting for the person they came to see. The likelihood is they can’t even physically see me: I’m not allowed to stand above the last step, and this is no doubt giving the crowd an excuse to turn a blind eye. Blind eyes do see again though. When Dr. King walks out, he announces how happy he is to be joined by everyone on a day…