Day 14 – First Friend

Tell us about your first friend.

My first friend that I can recall was a boy called Caine? Or was it Kaine? His mum was really good friends with my mum and I think I was about 4 or 5 at the time. We lived around the corner from each other, and Caine’s mum would look after me after school until mum finished work. 

We were best friends and were always doing everything together. If I wanted to go to the park, I wanted Caine to come as well. If we were going to the movies, I was always asking if Caine could come with us. Or, I was always asking if Caine could come over and play, or if I could go over to his place to play.

I remember the day I found out that they had moved away. I remember how hurt and upset I was that nobody told me they were moving away, until the day they actually left. I remember mum and I going over there and I remember giving Caine and his mum the biggest hug. 

I never saw them again 😦

A couple of months passed and I remember mum getting a postcard from Debbie. They were somewhere in the Northern Territory (in Australia, for all you international readers), and then shortly after that, another postcard (or maybe it was a letter with some photos?) from a place called Katherine Gorge. It looked simply beautiful. 

I always wondered what happened to them. When Facebook was introduced to the world, I tried to find out whether or not they were on FB, but couldn’t find them. Even if I did find them, what would I say, exactly? ‘oh hi, remember me, we were besties about 25 years ago…’. 

No. I will not be one of those people. If anything, I’d Facebook stalk them and just check out their photos and leave it at that.


Daily Prompt: Love To Love You

What do you love most about yourself? What do you love most about your favorite person? Are the two connected?

I don’t do these kind of questions. I’m not the type of person to sit here and talk about how awesome I am.

I can’t. I just… I can’t. I have far too many issues.

If I had to pick just one thing about myself that I love, then I’d have to say that I love the fact that I have become an elite person in my industry. I work my arse off for what I do, and the passion for what I do flows through my veins. In my specific fieldthere is only a team of about 10 of us, and I would have to say, without being arrogant, I would be the most passionate and dedicated out of our team. I may not be the one in charge, and I may not be the most senior person on the team, but I would be the most passionate about what I do.

My favourite person, my partner, is the same as I am. He is what he does. Although he has a different field to what I do, his passion and dedication is immeasurable. He lives, eats, breathes it, and wants more out of it – just like I do. And I want him to want more, and I want him to achieve more. However, unfortunately it’s not so much an industry that recognises talent, as it is an industry based on politics and arse-kissing.

Being that we both work in the same industry for the same organisation, of course there is a natural connection between the two – not just between what we do, but also between the two of us. It’s what led us to meet in the first place.

And the rest, they say, is history.


NB: Sidenote, if I was able to have a different one, I’d pick my sense of humour, as that’s something that uniquely identifies me, but it has no connection to my favourite person, because he usually doesn’t share my humour, or even understand my references.


Daily Prompt – Connect The Dots

Scour the news for an entirely uninteresting story. Consider how it connects to your life. Write about that.

The name of the article, says it all really.

Get rid of the baby, and the assembly-inducing tantrums are something that I am able to identify with quite easily. My partner in Crime, let’s refer to him as The Hulk, and I have certainly got more than our fair share of apartment furnishings from Ikea. It’s like gay mecca. And it’s all flatpacked. When we decided to move into our own place together, a lot of what we initially had came from whatever I had in storage at the time. And even then, a lot of that stuff were items that were either given to me from friends that were upgrading / replacing things (like the 2 Ikea couches I scored, plus a small fridge), or things that were simply left in my last share-house from previous housemates – like boxes of mismatched crockery and kitchen utensils, oh, and a dryer. But when we moved in together, rather than start our life together with an apartment full of mismatched items and old hand-me-downs, we wanted to start fresh. Start with new stuff.

Stuff that was ours.

First place was Ikea. And boy, have we gone to town in that place over the years. :-S

The real struggle that we had was trying to get flatpacks home to our previous apartment with Hulk’s previous sedan. With the backseat that didn’t fold down – just the centre arm-rest. This made our flat-pack shopping adventures quite a struggle sometimes trying to play Ikea Tetris in order to get everything to fit in the car.

Then the fun would be getting home, and having to carry everything up 2.5 flights of stairs. Oh the joy.

Sometimes, when it came to assembling our lovely new purchases, it was put off for a day (or four!) simply because it became too much of a chore to have to assemble anything after the exhausting process of trying to get it out of the car and up the stairs into the apartment.

Sometimes, we didn’t really have a choice and items needed to be assembled as soon as we got home (like the time we both put our feet on the coffee table and the shelf snapped in half… and then the leg broke!). Time to get a new one! Now, even though I may have assembled one before, I still feel the need to actually read the instructions for ANY Ikea project. Unless you’re from Africa, in which case, you can all read Swedish, apparently.  <– for some reason I can’t create a link!?!

Hulk, on the other hand, sometimes like to draw upon his alpha-male (read: stubborn, arrogant, stupid) traits and just attempt to put things together, and then has a hissy-fit when it suddenly doesn’t work. I’m not saying that this happens frequently, but it has happened. He’s not necessarily one for reading instructions for almost, anything. That’s my job. That also means I get to take a small piece of joy in taking him down a few pegs when I point out that he is in fact wrong and he can’t work out why something hasn’t worked properly.


We now have an understanding that if he is ever assembling a Swedish flat-pack, I know to stay away to avoid the usual passive-aggressive moment, which leads to the stubborn “YOU’RE NOT DOING IT RIGHT!!!” “YES I AM!!” argument. 

And let’s just say, I’m always right. 😉 I read the instructions.

knock wood no cops have ever been called… although we don’t get to screaming point.