Taking a step up(cycling)

It’s been a while, I admit. But let’s not dwell. 

I’ve been forever browsing decor ideas on Pinterest, waiting for inspiration to strike. It came, in the form of a ladder

So I sent DH to the local junk shop, where he found a wooden ladder. We had measured how long we’d want it at home, so he purchased the ladder, carried it to the car and took a saw to it (don’t worry – we didn’t want it to function as a ladder…)

Once DH got it home, he sanded the ladder and sponged it down with some soap. We then took a trip to Wickes and bought three brackets. We were paranoid about how much the ladder could support, so we opted for heavy duty brackets.

Half an hour later…

Image

Image

Although I didn’t actually create any of this (I’m more of a thinker, than a do-er) – DH said himself it was pretty easy to do.

Overall cost…

Ladder – junk shop £15
Brackets – Wickes £2.49 x3

Writings on the wall.

I stealthily sat up, raised the blind a little and huddled against the cold window that misted over with the warmth of my breathing, gazing out at the dark platform towards those rectangles of domestic lamplight that promised warmth, company, a supper of sausages hissing in a pan on the stove for the station master, his children tucked up in bed asleep in the brick house with the painted shutters… all the paraphernalia of the everyday world from which I, with my stunning marriage, had exiled myself.

The Bloody Chamber – Angela Carter.

The way in which literature is written determines its audience. In our post postmodern era, we embrace various styles of writing and are not dictated by dictionary spelt words and correct grammar. We are able to write colloquially, with fluency, without the judgment once posed by the Pre-Raphaelites.

Thanks to the Modernist Movement and technological advancements, we can now be expressive authors of not only books, but online blogs, forums, articles, and have the freedom to Tweet our musings to the world. This blog has become an exploration of my thoughts in which I chose to divulge publicly. It has enabled me to utilise my dreams and discover my writing style.

No speak English.

‘…And then to break her heart forever, the baby boy who has begun to talk, starts to sing the Pepsi commercial he heard on T.V.

No speak English, she says to the child who is singing in the language that sounds like tin. No speak English, no speak English, and bubbles into tears. No, no, no as if she can’t believe her ears.’

– The House on Mango Street, Sandra Cisneros.

Whilst we all try to embrace our own culture and heritage, it becomes lost in the society we live in. On the surface I appear to be Chinese, but the foundation of my ideals and norms are clearly Westernised. To recall a conversation I once had with my aunt:

Aunt: ‘You’re such a banana’

Me: ‘Excuse me?’

Aunt: ‘Yellow on the outside, but white on the inside.’

When I now reflect on my identity, I like how I am the product of two cultures. Throughout my childhood I was always trying to escape racism, denying my ethnicity and insisting on speaking English at home. In hindsight I wish I had embraced my differences, then maybe DS would have the opportunity to understand his Chinese heritage. My inability to converse in my mother tongue is an embarrassment to me. I want so much for DS to be able to speak two languages as eloquently as I once was.

Despite not being as Chinese as I would like to be, I am thankful for the small part of me that does remember my cultural differences. We do not choose where we are born or our ethnic origin; I feel lucky to be born in a country that provides so many opportunities and aspirations, whilst still clutching tightly onto the remains of a culture that originates in a part of a world less fortunate.

Chork (chopstick/fork) - If I was a piece of cutlery..