15 Marbles

Our happy place – now filled with everyday chaos, hustle, laughter, and noise… once upon a time occupied by giggles, unicorns, and superheroes ! Gathering little marbles from ordinary days and keeping them for our memory jar. ❤️

recent posts

about

  • Why 15 Marbles,though?

    I have been asked this question often – almost every time I share the link to my blog.

    Some have wondered if it has something to do with how unhinged I can be – you know, the number of marbles I may have lost – while others have wondered if it has something to do with a secret hobby I may have.

    Sorry to disappoint both sides, but it literally came from a place of permanence.

    Or maybe, my desire for permanence.

    At one point, I even called myself – and my blog – The Gypsy Mumma because that’s how frequently we moved : first as a child with my parents and later with my husband.

    For work. 🙄 Nothing overly exciting, in case you were curious.

    I had moved my blog URL nearly as many times as I had moved myself from place to place. So when life finally felt a little more settled, I wanted the blog to have a permanent home too.

    And 15 Marbles became it.

    I moved all my old posts there, much like I had carried little souvenirs collected along the way from one home to another.

    Whether anything in life is ever truly permanent remains to be seen.

    But the name stayed.

    And over time, the more I read my posts – both old and new – the more I realise that the name has taken on its own meaning.

    This blog has become a holding space for my thoughts, recipes, stories and memories.

    Sort of like a memory jar.

    I keep bringing little marbles back to it – no matter how big or small, special or mundane.

    Precious to me regardless.

    I share my thoughts here mostly unfiltered. It’s probably the one place where I let that mental filter drop almost completely.

    I do that to keep my voice true, and in the hope that when you – and eventually my girls – read these posts, you’ll recognise my voice in them.

    Maybe you’ll relate.

    Maybe you’ll feel heard too.

    Or maybe you’ll simply know me a little better.

    So there you go.

    Now you know why 15 Marbles.

    Well… sort of. 😉

    What would you name your blog, journal or memoir if you had to choose today?

  • Memory keeper

    I am the self-appointed memory keeper for my family, my sister, and my own life.

    I take photos, insist on them taking photos, despite them all objecting – because photos are memories. I plan trips and I tell them the ‘remember when’ stories.

    When you lose a parent earlier in life, you rely on your surviving parent for remembering, sharing and reminding you of your life when it was complete – you know when everything was right, despite the everyday mayhem.

    My dad was that surviving parent.

    He regaled us with stories of ‘when your mummy and I were younger’; ‘when you were little’; ‘when we went to this place’; ‘your mummy used to tell me…’

    He was the one I called when I couldn’t remember a silly little detail, or when I couldn’t recall what a treat was called. You know that odd moment when your mind suddenly remembers the taste of a rare treat you tried on a vacation, but you don’t remember anything else about it? My dad was sure to know.

    That being said, he couldn’t remember if I had had chickenpox, and we both got sad about the fact that mummy would definitely know.

    But barring a few odd occasions, his memory was fantastic. And I am proud of the fact that I inherited it.

    I remember the smallest of details, which is great on most days.

    I often get memory flashes where I can clearly see our old homes – yes, there were a few because my father had a transferable job. I can see our old homes, where things were kept, people talking, interacting – almost like watching a movie.

    I have toyed with the idea of writing it all down, so I don’t forget, but also because I want to know that it was real and not a fragment of my imagination.

    I wish there was a way to preserve the voices too.

    It breaks my heart that I don’t have any voice notes from either of my parents.

    Anyhow, about the idea of writing my memory flashes as and when I can – I am still mulling over it. I don’t know yet if I will share it publicly.

    Or maybe I will.

    Because I want the world to know and remember my parents.

    I started writing this without planning, so there is no real reason for this post but to just empty my mind and to put my thoughts into words.

    Because some how, that makes them real.

  • Conversations with the teens

    “Oh my God! I would happily trade the teenage years for the newborn phase,” I say in frustration some days.

    On other days, I walk around with a goofy smile on my face and a spring in my steps, because the said teens texted or called to share something about their day.

    If you are looking for advice on raising them and doing everything right, I probably don’t have much to say – except wish you well and wave you off 😃

    If you are going through the roller coaster of raising teens, growing with them and surviving this phase together , you are in the right place.

    With my girls, sometimes I breathe wrong and that’s the end of us being friends.

    We walk away frustrated and I wonder, What did I do now? Maybe you’d prefer it if I didn’t breathe? Or look in your direction? I mutter.

    Then, on other days, we hang out together, plan outings and meals, tease their dad and we are back to being besties again.

    🤎🥨

    One buys me fancy lotions and sweet treats , sends me reels, photos and links to cool places we will like to eat.

    🎤

    The other overloads my brain with K-pop idol facts and I can never remember which one is which . She also makes me listen to TWICE songs every morning, which I absolutely mix up.

    One comes to my bedroom to chat with me at 10 PM where my brain is ready to switch off and my body is ready to crash.

    She stands in the doorway and shares the tea, sits on the edge of the bed, while spilling more thoughts.

    My tired brain loves it .

    Because she is sharing.

    The other tells me how a classmate asked her to explain the meaning of a hard word or the stories from her day – usually when we are in the car.

    I won’t lie. I secretly look forward to these moments.

    I have often ignored phone calls or messages when they are talking to me or when we are listening to music together.

    Because literally everything else in the world can wait.

    I say secretly because I am cool like that. If they ever read this, they will roll their eyes at me for:

    1. admitting that I look forward to our chats; and
    2. calling myself cool. 😃

    Sometimes in those moments, I accidentally discover a secret crush or an insecurity.

    Sometimes I find a little window of opportunity to share my worries – or sneak in a life lesson.

    Yes, I get eye-rolls for the life lessons.

    Just like I rolled my eyes at my dad, even at the age of 44.

    But mostly, it’s about keeping the lines open.

    So that, amongst the eye-rolls, the slammed doors, the K-pop facts I will never remember and the moments when apparently even my breathing is offensive, they still know they can come and sit on the edge of my bed at 10pm and tell me the tea.

  • Three Months and a Week

    It’s been three months and a week since my total hysterectomy.

    In this time, I have realised that six weeks’ medical clearance doesn’t mean that you are fully healed.

    Healing, as I am learning, is not linear.

    Some days are great and pain-free. I find myself moving more easily, I have more energy, and I am less bloated.

    On other days, I wake up tired from yesterday and tomorrow’s tired combined and want to go back to bed even before I have properly woken up.

    After months of continuous bleeding, I am still traumatised and find myself dreading trips to the toilet.

    What if it starts again?

    Even when I know that, physically, it’s not possible.

    The fear and the trauma are real.

    Three months post-operation, I was hoping to be walking and easing back into workouts.

    Yeah, I know. I was delusional. 😂

    I am nowhere near it.

    Instead of getting stronger, I was set back by a painful viral infection . Apparently trauma, stress, surgery – any of those can trigger it.

    When my doctor mentioned all those things, she paused. We looked at each other and laughed.

    Because I have had my fair share of all three over the last three years! Lol!

    Anyway, now that little bump is out of the way, I can focus on healing again.

    So, yeah… healing.

    Three months post-operation, I have learned that it’s okay to take it slow. It’s okay to rest.

    One of the biggest lessons for me has been to stop before it gets worse.

    Old me would probably push through the pain.

    New me stops and rests before it gets worse.

    Doing less today might mean I can do more tomorrow.

    I’m still learning – relearning my own body and its limits.

    That is solid maturity.

    Don’t you think? 😃