Belonging to a sisterhood

Belonging to a sisterhood

When the word sisterhood gets thrown around one immediately thinks of crazy chicks dancing around a fire, throwing sparkly stuff from rusted buckets while humming songs no one has ever heard of. Magic. Rituals. Enchanted stuff. Well, let me tell you something, it is pretty much like that. Belonging to a sisterhood is just that: MAGIC.

We were six girls growing up together. (I am the youngest of the bunch.) Our parents went to varsity together and we have known each other for as long as we can remember. Sure, it was not always moonshine and roses. We fought – a lot! We screamed and yelled at each other and we – true story – had an incident where one of us hit the other with a hammer. But we loved each other dearly and most of my fondest memories involve at least one of the other five.

The power of support should never be underestimated. I truly believe I would not have known what a support system was if I did not belong to this sisterhood. We’ve seen each other through loss, kidney transplants, miscarriages, adoptions, heartbreaks, divorces and a whole lot of events that shaped us to become the women we are today. We share inside jokes and secrets. What I treasure most is that, even though we have all gone our separate ways, I know when the shit hits the fan I am a phone call away from support. We might not talk to each other every single day (ugh, it has been months!) and we might not always be part of every single life event, but we share something special no one can take away from us.

A support system, to me, means knowing that no matter what I am about to attempt (and this includes even the stupidest of things), there is always someone who’s got my back. It goes both ways. I might laugh myself wet first and say “I told you so”, but my arms are always open for hugs and my shoulder ready to be cried on.

My wish to you:

May you belong to a sisterhood where you are loved unconditionally, supported endlessly and appreciated wholeheartedly.

Many hugs,

Young, free and careless

Young, free and careless


I don’t know who to credit here.

Back in the nineties, we were (un)fortunate enough to not be able to record and have photo evidence of all the slightly stupider things we did. Those moments captured on film camera were never developed. Well, mainly because I never had enough money to have it done and could not afford to ask my mom to develop the films. Being grounded was a done deal. Years have gone by with me still owning undeveloped films travelling with me for years and years. I eventually chucked them out because (a) I kept on forgetting to have them developed and (b) I am not really that attached to high school memories anymore.


Surely you share in the sentiment? You know, those late night garage-pies in 24-hour shops after another late night in Hatfield Square? Walking barefoot because you lost your shoes, being loud and jumping around like hyperactive kids. This scene from Reality Bites is the best example I can think of.

In search of a possible profile pic for my blog (the search was unsuccessful), I found this wonderful (and relatively embarrassing) video Hubbles recorded on my 26th birthday (June 2010.) It was a rock and roll party held at The Anchor when they were still open in a somewhat secluded area on PE’s beachfront. I was dressed as a very pink version of Joan Jet, and my friends surprised me in Kiss-painted faces, shiny wigs and toiger-tights.


Saturday‎, ‎October‎ ‎9‎, ‎2010

My friend, the shiny-haired rockstar who never quite made it (I am not saying my rock and roll career took off either!), and I were performing Paino Man by Billy Joe. Our Savanah bottles were utilised as microphones, and some of the lines were skipped due to “you’re awesome, no, you’re awesome” dialogues and laughter at the guy who was still stuck in the Navy. Sadly so, my shiny-haired partner in crime passed away a couple of years ago. As the years go by, you tend to forget the smaller details. You remember the outfits vaguely and remember seeing the video the morning after. But the swinging and the sound of us singing got lost in time.


For self-explanatory reasons, I am not going to share this video with you, but believe me, I found myself in tears of sadness and happiness and embarrassment and longing when I watched it this morning. And, for the first time, I am thankful for the millennium technology that captured these moments of utter stupidity and irresponsible overindulgence. I need to add that I am also grateful this never turned into a YouTube moment, I suspect my reputation might have taken a knock.

We are now in an era where information overload is the norm. We don’t value images as much as we used to because we have so many! Maybe we should change our mindset back to the film-era where the pictures of our friends and family should be treasured instead of just randomly stored on a device you will probably never go through again. If you have a collection of those, do yourself a favour and go through them every now and again.

It is crucial to capture moments with your tribe. But remember, not everything should be taken with social sharing in mind. Capture them for the memories instead.

Yours in loving memory,



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