Dear Lemony Snicket, let me borrow your “curious case.” “How are you doing it?” The woman, I bet, was the mother of the client cuddling her spaniel on the exam table. She was one among the few who out of somewhere pops the question again and again. I payed forward doing the physical exam and history but her nosy nature seethed until I was done focusing the slide on the stage. “Did you marry someone from here? “I am a single mother” I answered straightforwardly without missing that quivering inside. Que horror! I am not a widow. My answer cannot simply be bought by close-minded people. For when I start with my first word, you would start assassinating me with all the fault I myself created. So I need to converse with you with a tub of coffee. I am a single mother, by choice. Singly doing two jobs as vet and mother. I just do them. It is not as easy as saying it. Morning breaks. I wake up to my baby to change her diaper into an economic nappy. I feed her at pr...
My thoughts of the devilish and cherubic borne me a diarist. The usual norm: we all started on pencils and paper or the wall or the table with our sticks and loops overlapped and out of borders and lines. These doodles turned to syllables from printing vowels and consonants complicating to words, phrases and sentences. I soon graduated the writing drills of cursive being able to write more than to voice out to express myself. Find the me in this virtual world.