Sorry-ology

I remember having a conversation with 2 young friends about nostalgia years ago. We wondered what we felt nostalgic about.  All of us felt attached to our birthplaces to a certain extent, but interestingly it was somewhere else that we missed.  I think, one would miss a place, or a period of time, in which he grows into himself or starts to understand himself, and this place or time is not necessarily associated with one's childhood. Honestly, for instance, I have always had an ambiguous feeling about myself during the years as a child and a teenager, and hardly can I say that it would be the time of my life to which I want to return.  During the conversation, I told my friends that I really missed York where I did my final degree, spent 4 years living alone, tried to figure out how human relationship works, and met my husband. There, with the assistance of my family far away in Taiwan, I lived a life free from many obligations and responsibility. The mem...

Thyme has had a constant presence in the garden and around the house since it was first planted a year ago. Its contribution to everyday life is not necessarily substantial but certainly non-negligible. I have used it in cooking and for tea. And this time, I wonder if they could make any good deodoriser. I wouldn't say thyme smells good or sweet, but it has a particular scent that could wake up a dull brain. After this year's blossoms, a bounteous harvest of intertwined thyme twigs was well dried in the sun for a couple of days and then rolled into balls. Every balls were loosely secured by iron wires and embellished with recycled ribbons of sundry colours. These herbal balls embodied a unique message of earthiness, straight from seeds and directly from the garden. It encompassed a year's time from its birth to death, a year's time in the house, and a year of wait. A true evidence of my own existence and labor. I allotted them to some neglected corners...