Growing Into the Morning

 28 May 2026

I woke up this morning and noticed it was almost 6 a.m. I think it might be because the weather is getting colder. Still, it doesn’t feel quite normal anymore, since during the summer I had been waking up around 5:00 or 5:30.

I remembered that I used to be a night owl for a long time. I liked doing many things before going to sleep—homework, reading, drawing, listening to music, or watching TV. That habit of staying up late started in my late teens.

The first time I tried to wake up early, my body didn’t agree with me at all. I often got headaches, and eventually I gave up. But after some time, I would try again. I experimented with different approaches—taking small steps to wake up a little earlier each time, or setting multiple alarms starting much earlier than needed.

Eventually, I began waking up closer and closer to the time I wanted. The headaches became less frequent.

I also found that one essential thing was not being too hard on myself when I didn’t wake up on time. I would simply relax and tell myself it was okay, and that I could try again the next day. This kind of self-care made a big difference.

In one parenting talk I attended, the speaker said, “Spend time as you would spend money—because time is life” That idea really stayed with me. I think the strength from that message also helped me move toward my goal of waking up early.

Today, I didn’t wake up at my usual time. But I felt calm about it. I reminded myself that the weather is getting colder, and my body may need time to adjust. Still, I haven’t given up on the idea of waking up early. I continue to try my best to live each moment of the day.

And for that, I am glad. 💖

Holding the Leash Lightly

16 May 2026

While walking the dogs today, I realised how much our walking style has changed since they were puppies.

In the beginning, we were worried they might run away, so we kept the leash very short, often wrapping it tightly around our hands to make sure they couldn’t escape. But it was frustrating—they pulled constantly, and we kept trying to restrain them. Walking time often became a rather miserable experience for both the humans and the dogs.

Recently, though, I started walking them with a looser leash. They still pull sometimes, but the feeling is very different—much calmer, and more like a normal, enjoyable walk. They’ve also begun responding to their names, so when the pulling becomes too strong, I call them, and most of the time, they stop.

It made me think about how similar this learning process is to parenting.

There seems to be an invisible leash between parents and children. When we hold it too tightly, they tend to pull away more, making the journey unpleasant for both sides. But when we loosen our grip, the walk becomes gentler and more enjoyable.

At the same time, the leash still needs to be there. It creates a boundary—something that guides, but doesn’t confine.

There’s a saying: if you try to hold a handful of sand too tightly, it slips through your fingers. But if you hold it gently, it stays.

Perhaps the same is true for both walking dogs and raising children.

Living Water

20 May 2026

I heard the expression “Living Water” today. It describes an inner strength that brings hope, even when someone is physically struggling.

It is such a beautiful way of offering hope to others.

One of my dear teachers is currently going through chemotherapy and has just had surgery as part of her cancer treatment. When I think of her, this expression feels especially meaningful. She has always shared her smiles and knowledge with others so generously, and in many ways, she has already been a source of “Living Water” to those around her, including me.

I believe this strength lives within each of us. When we are able to find it, it not only supports us but also connects us to one another. Even now, as I think of her, I can feel that quiet connection. In this way, we are never truly alone—together, we are stronger.

I hope that this “Living Water” flows gently through her now, renewing her strength and carrying her through each step of recovery. May it bring her comfort in difficult moments, and quietly remind her that she is surrounded by care and strength.

What Slows Us Down

15 May 2026

No one likes driving behind a slow car. But I don’t mind driving behind a car that is keeping within the speed limit.

In fact, I’ve found that it sometimes helps me stay within the limit too—especially when passing through a school zone at 40 km/h. It’s surprisingly hard to maintain that speed, and most people, including myself, tend to go a little faster without realising it.

So what I’ve learned is that it can be better to simply follow a car that is driving at the correct speed—it helps keep me in check as well.

This happened today. On my way to school, I was following a car that was driving within the normal speed limit. I had the option to change lanes and overtake, but I chose not to.

As we entered the school zone, I knew I needed to slow down. Usually, it feels a bit early, and not everyone sticks strictly to the 40 km/h limit. But the cars in front of me slowed down naturally, and so did the ones in the other lane. I had no choice but to slow down as well.

A few seconds later, I realised why everyone was being so careful—there was a speed camera car parked on the right-hand side of the road.

I felt grateful for the car in front of me. In a small way, it helped me avoid a speeding ticket.

Sometimes, what slows us down is not there to block us, but to guide us—gently leading us toward a better path. 🍀

The Ones You Don’t See

14 May 2026

It rained yesterday, so I wasn’t able to walk the dogs in the morning. Around dinner time, at about 7pm, I took them out for a quick walk when the rain finally stopped.

The weather has been getting colder, and daylight fades earlier now, so by then it was already quite dark. As I expected, there was hardly anyone on the street. Still, I decided to walk a little further than usual before heading home.

At the end of the street, I saw a girl running towards me. I stopped to let her pass, knowing the dogs might try to chase her since she was running. Almost at the same moment she went by, another runner came from a different direction and passed us as well.

I was surprised—to see two runners on the street at that time of night.

On the way home, I found myself thinking: there are people quietly sticking to their routines and goals. I may not see them during my usual hours, but they are still out there, committed in their own way—just like I am.

The Gentle Art of Saying No

12 May 2026

Today, I found myself thinking about the “Doctrine of the Mean” from Confucius. It came to mind because I realised how much it applies to communication at work.

There are times when we want to say no, but we don’t. Instead, we end up spending extra time in unexpected conversations, answering questions we hadn’t planned for. It’s not wrong to say no in these situations, but often, I hesitate because I don’t want the other person to feel bad.

Today at work, I faced exactly this kind of situation. I tried to approach it in a “Doctrine of the Mean” way—finding a balance. I gently declined, but also offered an alternative suggestion, hoping to keep the interaction respectful and considerate.

It felt like a small moment, but also a reminder: sometimes, the middle path is not about avoiding a decision, but about choosing how to express it.

A Recipe of Quiet Happiness

11 May 2026

I recently finished an anime called Deaimon. It tells the story of a Japanese sweets shop, where the son returns home after trying to pursue a life as a musician. While he was away, his parents adopted a young girl who is loved deeply by the family and is expected to become the shop’s heir.

Yet, beneath that warmth, the girl carries a quiet sadness. Her father left her there, and she still waits, hoping he will come back to take her home. As the son settles back into the shop, he gradually begins to fill the space of a “father figure,” though the girl herself may not fully realise it.

There are only 12 episodes, but each one offers something special—about traditional Japanese sweets, and about the people connected through them. There is nothing overly dramatic or adventurous, just the simple, gentle flow of everyday life, touched with a hint of light romance.

When I looked it up today, I realised the full title is Deaimon: Recipe for Happiness. It feels like the perfect name.

Watching it is like opening a box of chocolates. Each episode is a piece—slightly different in flavour, sometimes even a little bitter, like dark chocolate—but what lingers in the end is always a quiet sense of sweetness.

In Our Hands

7 May 2026

Yesterday was a long day.

Beyond my daytime job, I picked up my child from traineeship, ran errands, cooked dinner, and washed the dishes. And then there was the extra task I had taken on—fixing the kitchen sink by applying a new sealant.

It was meant to be a weekend job, but I realised the pipe below the tap was leaking. It would never fully dry for the sealant to set properly. Still, I had already left it for a few days, and water had begun to collect underneath the sink. So after dinner, I decided to fix it.

My younger son stayed with me and helped. His company made the task lighter—it was such a sweet moment to share.

By the time everything was done, I lay down, completely exhausted. And then a simple thought came to me: throughout those twelve-plus hours, I had used my hands constantly. Without them, how could I have done any of it?

They are such an important part of us, yet so easily taken for granted.

We use our hands to work, to fix, to cook, to care. Through them, we create convenience for one another. Through them, we build the world we live in.

We’ve just passed Labour Day, and perhaps this is part of its meaning—to appreciate each other’s work, and to respect every role, every effort, and every pair of hands that helps shape our lives.

After the Rain

2 May, 2026

Finally, the sun showed its face after a week of steady, dripping rain.

I made the most of it, trying to wash as many clothes as possible and hang them outside to dry. One batch after another—usually, by the time I finished the second load, the first was already dry.

In that short span of time, I noticed something unexpected. The vine by the fence had already climbed to the top of the clothes hanger I had left there.

I was surprised by its strength. We had cut it back before to stop it from coming this way, and it seemed to have nowhere left to go. Yet today, it found a path—and so quickly.

I moved the hanger away and gently guided what was left of the vine back onto the fence.

All the best, mate. I admire you.

An Ordinary Step

 2 May, 2026

I woke up this morning and moved through my usual routine. Everything went smoothly—slightly delayed, but still, I managed to take the dog out for a walk before 7am.

The streets were quiet. No one around. As I walked along the same path we take almost every day, I realised how much of life is made up of repetition. There is something comforting in that familiarity. It can even make time feel like it stretches endlessly, as if these days could go on forever.

But then another thought followed.

When something is repeated often enough, it begins to change in meaning. What feels comfortable can quietly become something we take for granted. And over time, we might find ourselves asking questions like: Why did I gain so much weight? or Why didn’t I achieve what others have?

Perhaps it’s because we forget that reaching any destination requires living through each day, one step at a time. Like climbing stairs—there is no shortcut, only the steady rhythm of moving forward.

Today is just an ordinary day.
But it is also one step closer to where I want to be. Whether it turns out well or not depends on what I choose to do with each step.

Finding Light in the Rain

1 May, 2026

It has been raining for most of the past week—not heavily, but unpredictably. The kind of rain that comes and goes, making it hard to plan around.

I think many people would have their complaints about this kind of weather, and I did too at first.

Until I started noticing the rainbows.

They’ve been appearing more often than usual, perhaps because the rain pauses just long enough for the sun to break through. That brief meeting of rain and light creates something unexpectedly beautiful.

It made me pause.

I was reminded that everything has two sides, and this was a simple but clear example. What felt inconvenient at first began to feel different—softer, even welcome.

I’ve come to appreciate this kind of weather more than before. There’s something comforting about driving through the rain while knowing the sunshine isn’t far away.

Sometimes, it’s just a matter of noticing where the light is.

A Small Life, A Quiet Reminder

25 April 2026

Early this morning, as I came downstairs, I noticed something lying next to the fridge—a cockroach, still alive, though half of its body was gone. There were stains around it, and it was clear someone had accidentally stepped on it the night before.

What struck me wasn’t the scene itself, but the fact that it was still alive.

Later, as I began sweeping the floor, I knew I needed to remove it. I picked it up carefully, about to throw it into the rubbish bin, but hesitated. It was still alive. Something about that made me pause. It didn’t feel right to end its life that way—abrupt, discarded, unnoticed.

Instead, I wrapped it gently in tissue and placed it on the windowsill. It was quiet there, undisturbed by people or our dogs. A small, still space where it could go through the last part of its life in peace.

It was a simple act, almost insignificant, yet it stayed with me.

Today is ANZAC Day. The morning rain fell steadily, and the house felt slower than usual. My son was still tired from his school camp earlier in the week, and I woke with a slight headache. We didn’t make it to the dawn service this year.

And yet, in an unexpected way, that small encounter felt like a quiet reminder.

There was something in that fragile, broken creature—still holding on—that echoed a kind of resilience. Not heroic in a grand sense, but persistent, enduring. It made me think of the spirit we remember today: the strength to carry on, even in the most difficult conditions, and the dignity that can exist even in suffering.

Sometimes, reflection doesn’t come from ceremonies or planned moments. Sometimes, it finds us quietly, in the most ordinary corners of our day.

Two Small Truths

26 April 2026

A quiet reflection on small shifts that change how we live.

Over the past week, I feel like I’ve crossed a quiet milestone—something subtle, but meaningful.

Two small truths found their way into my life.

The first came during my daily dog walks. For more than two and a half years, I’ve been trying to walk them without being pulled along. I had almost accepted that this was just how it would be. But recently, something shifted. A small adjustment, a different awareness—and suddenly, the walks felt calmer. It wasn’t about control anymore, but about understanding and consistency.

The second came through my back pain, which has been lingering since the beginning of the year. Seeing a chiropractor once a week helped, but the relief never quite lasted. So I asked a simple question: what can I do at home?

The answer was simple—yoga.

The next day, I started with just ten minutes. And slowly, I began to feel better. Not completely fixed, but more supported, more aware of my own body.

What surprised me most was this: I had done this before. I already knew this. I had just stopped.

I’m beginning to understand that being active isn’t just about doing more. It’s about doing the right things, with intention. Sometimes, growth isn’t about discovering something new, but about returning to what we once knew—and choosing to begin again.