“Make time for yourself.”
“It’s not about having time. It’s about making time.”
“Have a break. Have a Kit Kat.”

Life is just damn hectic. It’s go-go go from the moment I wake up and doesn’t end until I’m passed out in bed. I’m like a lab rat running on a wheel, only I’m not having fun and I can’t get off. Every so often I need a time-out, sit on the bench, press the pause button on life and give myself some self-love.

Everyone has different ideas when it comes to self-love. Some people go away on retreats. Some people do treks to reconnect with nature (*shudder*). Some people simply need a night without the kids.

My choice of self-love comes in the form of discounts, coupons and bargains. So when a business card for fifty percent off hair colouring and cut was thrust into my palm, I decided I was well overdue for some me-time.

I leaned back on the comfy chair and closed my eyes. The warm water washed over my poorly maintained hair and the caressing hands of Salon Lady massaged my scalp. It felt divine.


I ignored the voice. The smell of sweetly scented shampoo wafted towards my nose as it was slathered on my hair.

“Mummy! I’m bored.”

I couldn’t remember the last time I got a head massage. It felt great. I almost fell asleep. Almost.

“Mum! Are you even listening to me?”

I opened my eyes and peered over to my six-year-old fickle pickle.

“Darling, I told you that I would be here for a few hours,” I told Mandy. “You insisted on coming with me.”

Mandy gave me The Look. A perfect combination of apathy and boredom expected from an adolescent.

“Why don’t you get some crayons and paper from the massive bag you made me carry and create something,” I said as I closed my eyes. I desperately tried to emulate feelings of being pampered and relaxed. You know, the ones you’re supposed to have while getting hair treatment at an expensive boutique salon.

Salon Lady left to get the heating towel.

“Mummy, you should see how much of your hair is in the sink!” Mandy exclaimed, peeking into the basin.

“What?” I asked. There wasn’t any point pretending to relax anymore.

“So so much hair. Mummy, that colour doesn’t suit you,” Mandy remarked as if she was a hair colouring expert.

“It’s my natural hair colour,” I replied dryly.

Salon Lady placed the towel on my conditioned hair and asked me to chill out. How on earth was I meant to ‘chill out’ with a Debbie Downer in my ear?

After what seemed like an age of listening to Mandy whine and getting a crook neck from being forgotten by Salon Lady, I shuffled over to the chair to have my hair cut. I saw Mandy spinning in circles on a salon stool.

“Mandy! Stop that!” I yelled out. “Jeez Louise.”

I continued chatting to Salon Lady about the real estate market. From the corner of my eye, I could see Mandy draped over two seats and doing horizontal leg presses.

“Mandy! Seriously!” I yelled again. At the rate I was jerking about, I’d become a trendsetter in sporting lopsided haircuts.

As Salon Lady prepared to blow dry my hair, Mandy jumped up and down in front of me.

“Mum, I need to go,” Mandy muttered. “Like now.”

The salon didn’t have a toilet.

Self-love total bill = 50% discount + 10% whining surcharge + 10% negative commentary tax + 100% quick exit fee

Not much of a win, right?

Copyright © 2019, KN J Tales and Snippets. All rights reserved.



Humans are social creatures. It’s important for us to feel a sense of belonging. This fundamental need drives us to seek company; to form meaningful relationships with others; to engage in conversation. Essentially, we seek to make a human connection. A disconnect can lead to social isolation, loneliness and depression.

I struggled with my sense of identity and belonging throughout childhood and early adulthood. I was an extremely introverted child and shied away from people. I wasn’t able to effectively communicate and therefore, I found it difficult to make friends.

As a grown-ass adult, conversation still doesn’t come easily for me. Unfortunately, I’m also awkward as f#@k. Random sh!t just comes out of my pie hole. On the outside, I might look aloof and confident but on the inside, I’m a jumbled mess of insecurities that could rival that of a fifteen-year-old teenager. My six-year-old daughter has more pizzazz and social skills than I do. It’s really embarrassing. Luckily my friends accept me for who I am, flaws and all.

Recently, I met a mother of a child in the same swimming class as my daughter.

“Hello,” I said to the woman sitting next to me.

She gave me a welcoming smile and asked, “Which one is your child?”

“Oh Mandy,” I replied, pointing at the rambunctious girl doing cannonballs into the pool and getting told off. I rolled my eyes. She had a few minutes until class started and still managed to get into trouble.

“You’ve got a lively one there,” she laughed.

I giggled. “You don’t know the half of it!” Mandy’s a Little Miss Independent.

Lisa, the woman, was a talker. This suited me just fine as it prevented me from any outbreaks of verbal diarrhoea.

“Breanna does choir, ballet and swimming on Saturdays. She does Japanese, tennis and piano during the school week.”

“Oh Mandy does piano,” I threw in. It had been a while since I contributed to the conversation and I didn’t want to look disinterested.

“Yes, piano is so good for the brain. Breanna has done it for a few years now. She’s excelling at the moment. Did you know that music makes children smarter? I’ve listened to classical music since Breanna was in my tummy.”

Lisa rambled on and on. I don’t think she had paused since we started talking. How did she do that? She must have huge lung capacity.

I gave a noncommittal grunt as I watched Mandy attempt breast stroke. I was so proud that she was giving it a go.

“And of course, I had to speak to her teacher about the girl not inviting Breanna to her party. It’s just not acceptable in this day and age.”

I realised I had zoned out. I tried refocusing on what Lisa was saying.

Does she realise she’s monopolising the conversation? Is she a nervous chatterer? Is it possible that someone is more socially inept than me?

Our girls hopped out of the pool and rushed over to get dried. Lisa was still talking. I heard ‘coffee’, ‘next time’ and ‘see you’. My brain connected some imaginary dots.

“Yeah, I’d love to,” I replied, absent-mindedly stuffing Mandy’s things into her swim bag.

Lisa shot me a wary expression and left.

“Mum, why did you say you’d love to when she said ‘see you’?” Mandy asked me with a look of confusion.

“Lisa asked me to go for a coffee next time she sees me,” I said, a little uncertain.

“No she didn’t.” Mandy scrunched her brow. “She said she needed a coffee next time, and she said see you.”

“Oh.” That explained the weird look then.

Yes, I’m socially awkward. Yes, I say random things. Silver linings people. I’m pretty awesome at listening… most of the time.

Copyright © 2019, KN J Tales and Snippets. All rights reserved.



With the easing of lockdown restrictions, I took the opportunity to catch up with a friend and meet the newest addition to her family. Unfortunately for me, I had to travel over the West Gate Bridge to get to the meet-up destination.

For those unfamiliar with Melbourne, the West Gate Bridge is the fifth-longest bridge in Australia at 2.6 kilometres, has ten lanes (5 inbound, 5 outbound) and sits 58 metres over a large river.

As I have an intense fear of heights, possibly a phobia, driving over this bridge had me shitting bricks. Instinctively, my hands were gripping the steering well for dear life. I felt nauseous and dizzy, my stomach was roiling and I was trembling in fear the whole trip across.

Rationally, I know the likelihood of unintentionally driving off a bridge is zilch. It’s even more absurd to think that a truck could bash into my car and push it over the steel safety barriers. Yet, it didn’t stop my anxiety from escalating and delusional fears from surfacing.

The drive had me thinking that perhaps I had let this phobia get a hold of me. It was a stupid bridge, albeit 58 metres above water, but it was nothing compared to some of the things I’ve pushed through before.

Some years ago, my husband and I travelled to Queenstown in New Zealand for our honeymoon, wanting to experience extreme sport and outdoor activities. Being an adrenaline junkie with little fears, Queenstown suited my husband perfectly. For me, who preferred sedate and sedentary activities, this was the jumpstart to being more active.

We did jet boating at high-speeds through rocky gorges. We went skiing on the beautiful white snow of Coronet Peak. We cruised on Milford Sound and were amazed by the majestic mountains and gorgeous natural surrounds. We zoomed down 1.6 kilometres of Skyline Luge tracks. I even sat on the bottom of a gondola that hovered 450 metres above ground… with my eyes closed the whole time. The buffet at the top was worth it!

But it wasn’t until we did the bungy jumping and swings that my fear of heights swallowed me whole. My legs were shaking before I even set foot on Kawarau Bridge. I remember it vividly; the chokehold of fear, looking down at the waters below. I remember the man telling me to dive and just feel the moment. I also remember wanting to back out but my ego not letting me.

So I jump. Yeah, you read correctly. I didn’t dive. I cannonballed off the ledge. Can you guess what happened? It was a bungy jumping fail of spectacular proportions. As the cord recoiled, I ended up pinging up and down like a pogo stick for what seemed like forever. I felt sorry for the dudes given the task to reign me in. I kept missing the stick that one of the guys held out for me to grab and more than once, he overbalanced trying in vain to end our collective misery.

There were many MANY people on the sidelines that video recorded my epic bungy jumping fail. It probably went viral – look up ‘crazy Asian girl does epic bungy fail’ or something like that. My husband was so amused that he insisted we pay the exorbitant fees for the video and photos. In fact, he purchased the most expensive package so we would have digital evidence for our grandkids and their grandkids to have for laughs.

So really, what’s one small bridge when I’ve conquered that, right? Next time I drive over the West Gate Bridge, I need to remind myself that I’ve faced worse and survived. I even have video evidence if I ever need a reminder.

Copyright © 2020, KN J Tales and Snippets. All rights reserved.