Racing the room with a spatula in one hand, in an effort to remember what is the
thing to do or take, often pinches the life out of you sometimes. Facts, figures,
measurements, ingredients get tangled with one another and at times lost in between
catching "Soleha",draining and spinning my laundry and piping buttercream. And typically at the end of this domestic race, the sole participant crosses the finish line with eyes both closed, feet still running, hand still wiping, till she collapses onto the safety mattress, scooping her son to the side before she could actually find a decent space for herself to rest her head. And when that finally happens, she only hopes to be blanketed with beautiful dreams, even if it's only for a few minutes, before she wakes up again to a yet another day of Triathlon.
Can't write much folks, got a race to finish and a dream to catch.
Thank you so much Raihana, Nadia, and Azila.