Life's better with cake and a sprinkle of fairy dust
The 100th post on this blog is a sad one. That first post “About Me” should have provided some clue that I’m no little miss sunshine and as much as some things, like baking, bring people joy, those same things are often a refuge from their sadness.
This week, I find myself reacting out of my sadness, more than anything else. So I empty myself into my chores and scrub wall fans, hob, oven, with a vengence. I call the exterminator, the maintenance guy, the bank… set up appointments and consultations, left, right, centre. I vacuum every aircon unit in the house and scour every online catalogue for the best deals on new kitchen appliances. I roast nuts and bake trays of cookies in the wee hours of the night, for no one in particular. I colour little balls of fondant with every single food colour gel, paste, liquid, powder in my stash, just to compare the different hues of Red Red, Christmas Red, Bright Red, Rose and Pink Petal Rose. I clear out every item in the freezer and fridge, only to put them all back in again, in a slightly different, more efficient (to me, at least) order.
I sleep relatively little this week, despite nursing a fever most days. When my husband insists I have a nap, I lay with my eyes open, thinking of what to do next to occupy my sadness. Even right now, I’m doing exactly that.
People who don’t understand me think I’m being aloof, or “acting up”, or that I should snap out of it. I feel like telling them, what’s there to snap out of? If you injure a limb, you keep it still till it’s healed. If your heart’s broken, you don’t smack it around and command it to “snap out of it”, right? You keep it out of further harm’s way, in a safe place, until it gets better.
Some people react to pain by yelling at others or whining, but I’ve often found this to work poorly for me. It doesn’t make the pain go away one bit. I might have a good bawl in solitude at the start, but that’s just noise and a lot of hyperventilation. If I do react or lose it at anyone, I usually regret it almost immediately after.
Those who get it give me space. And time. And eventually, when I do come around, they give me a slap on the back or a warm cuddle and the I-knew-you’d-come-around smirk. Those who don’t, well, won’t anyway.
I know this post has nothing to do with cake at all. Which is kind of strange, considering this is the 100th post; I should have posted something fancy and festive, like a giganormous celebration tiered cake, or some funky character macarons or even a rant about how life-changing and inspiring writing this blog has been… etc. Well, no one asked for a giganormous cake this week and I couldn’t very well post pictures of my sparkling bathroom walls. All you get is a rather awkward confession from little old me, of what I’d like to think of as my human-ness and idiosyncracies.
Maybe I should save the giganormous cake for the 200th post eh? Hopefully, I’d have “snapped out of it” by then.