Saturday 3 March 2018

Home by Sea

Photo Credit: 'meko'

In light of my last post, I felt that a brief thought on the future was needed.

For a long time, I dreamt of a home that was mine. As a little girl, when people would ask me what I wanted from life, I would always say to them that I'd like my own home, a nice house where my family could visit and I could make them tea and cake. That innocent, little girl's dream evolved overtime but would eventually extinguish itself with the onset of young adulthood, as the reality of being unable to buy my own house was all too real.

But since I met my husband, and especially as we started our family, we would both strive together for a home that was ours. Oddly enough, for a long time I had always imagined that home being in London but given the way this town has changed over the years -- which you can read about here -- my heart is pulling me outward. Our decision to leave London behind has been spurred on by personal and unfortunate circumstances but mostly by choice and of dreams born anew.

We will be leaving behind some wonderful friends and family in London, and moving far away from them has been a very difficult and emotional hurdle to conquer in coming to our decision. Needless to say, it was a decision not made lightly. But as I have always said, this was never goodbye; rather, it is more of a see you soon. With a generation lost, it's entirely up to us now.

Looking forward, in the greater scheme of things, we are all young and healthy with the opportunity to look ahead in life and have a chance to better our predecessors' example. Us Storms are a family of five and I doubt that London would have contained us for long. England is a beautiful country and we plan to do our very best to see our new little part of it with fresh eyes. To enjoy life. We'll be doing so and wishing that loved ones were still here on this journey with us, remembering that they'll always be with us in some small way and knowing how proud and at peace they would have been in seeing where we end up gives me rest. The future looks bright on the horizon. I have my Mr. Storm in one hand and see our children walk forth in front and this promise couldn't have been more worthwhile.

If there was one last gift that my late parents gave me; it was the chance to just let go and dream.

Wednesday 28 February 2018

My London Love Story


I have loved London, if for the only reason that it was my home since birth, it was the place where I grew up, where I played, where I formed...

During the course of the last few years or so, our family has suffered a considerable amount of emotional hardship; I lost my dad in the summer of 2016 and just five short months later, we lost my mum during the winter. Needless to say, we pulled forth into the New Year with heavy hearts, full of grief and mourning. And I cannot explain to you in words what that inner turmoil felt like, what it still feels like -- the pain that comes with watching your loved ones having fought almost valiantly (for years), only to witness them slowly succumb to the devastating hands of that cancerous grip, is metamorphic. It changes you, moulds you into something else.

We have good days and some bad days. Almost two years late, I'd like to say we err on the side of good but it's the bad days, those small transient moments, that completely catch you off your guard and hit you right out of the blue. Sometimes, the grief can be relentless and almost impossible to bare but we bare it, nonetheless. And as we must. We wear grief's scarring wound and familiarise our minds with the burden that it takes on the body. I suspect that we will always carry this pain somewhere deep inside of us - where it will reside sometimes quiet in the hush of its dormant state, and at other times awaken from slumber to return to its active and temporary overflow - until the day that we, ourselves, contribute to someone else's change.

Mum and Dad were always a constant fixture in my life, they became a constant in my Mr. Storm's life and then, as another generation is born, in our children's lives... And then suddenly, they were both gone. They left behind an aching cavity in the pit of the stomach in a world that allows no respite, no rest, no time to breathe or reflect upon what it is that you have lost. Because it is not just they who have departed; with their absence, gone is the rooted anchor that once held me so entirely to London; a place that has been another kind of constant in life. London has been my familiar, my birthplace, my playpen, my educational circuit. This is the city where I met my husband, it's where our children were born and spent their formative years blooming and where we have family and friends still residing. London has always been my home. And despite its misgivings, I think I'll always hold those fond memories close to my heart.

But London is no longer the place to be, not for us, not anymore. It has changed so much since I was a child. Growing up in East London was an experience in itself. We lived in the London Borough of Hackney along a quiet residential street of terraced houses that is now lined with rows of trees that blossom so beautifully in the spring, ready to embrace the summer. We knew many of the families on our street as well as the neighbouring ones -- and my mum and dad, being the bubbly and charming people that they were, knew practically everybody by face and many by name and everybody knew them -- and we were certainly not the most sociable of units. Yet, there it was, a functional community of people who, in the right kind of measure, were truly useful and cordial to one another without being imposing or interfering. Growing up, my sisters and I knew all of the shop keepers and stall owners up to a miles walking distance into the nearest market district of Well Street. We were friends with doctors, Chatterjee and Adireddi, at our local GP, our newsagents, Sid and Jan, the postman (when postmen were reliable and consistent and your mum would always offer him a cup of tea in the winter), the milkman (when there was business for one), the friendly family who ran the Post Office and pharmacies that serviced the Kingsmead and Homerton High Road area. People used to know one another, we showed common courtesy.

When people become indifferent, social cohesion is lost. And so, London seems more unfamiliar to me than ever. I was going to say more about this London that everyone loves to love but the truth of it is this; most will not have known the London that I have known or been party to some of the experiences that I have had and there would be little use trying to explain to you that I miss what my London was and cannot find the will to care enough for what it has become. What I really want is some peace and quiet, security in safety, an old school kind of functional community where our children have the very real opportunity to grow into healthy, happy citizens of the world. And, quite frankly, I want so much more in life for our children than what London has to offer.

Not all love stories end well, or the way we want them too, but they can pave the way to greater things. Farewell, London. You were, indeed, an experience.

Sunday 18 February 2018

Kinetic Sand: The Sand You Can't Put Down


We are obsessed with our Kinetic Sand by Spin Master. The kids will play, tinkle and mould with this stuff for hours if I let them have their way. And probably -- for me -- the best feature of this magic sand is that there is no mess; something us mums will easily be sold on, no doubt. Ordinary sand goes just about everywhere, and I do mean everywhere! Fact of the matter is, I would never willingly bring play sand into the house for this very reason; it's a nightmare to get rid of completely. But not Kinetic Sand, which proclaims itself to be "98% sand and 2% magic". I'll take a box or two of that, thank you.

'Kinetic Sand sticks to itself and not to kids, so it can be easily cleaned up and stored. It oozes, moves and melts right before your eyes. It flows through fingers just like real sand and leaves them completely dry, but when pressed together, it sticks to itself and keeps its shape.'

But seriously, this sand is so therapeutic, especially for my son who is very sensory when it comes to these sorts of things. You can view some of their products on their Instagram page. D just loves the stuff. Auntie A couldn't have chosen a better gift than this little sprinkling of magic.


Feeling the sand glide smoothly through your fingers is incredibly relaxing, even for us adults. Kinetic Sand truly is the sand that you can't put down. It moulds and shapes perfectly, providing endless amounts of creative fun building sandcastles, making forts, or simply just letting it fall through your fingers (on repeat).


D loves it and so do his sisters, who are 8 and 9 years old. It turned out to be a really fun joint activity. Each of the kids got a share and made up their own games on their respective LJUDA place mats from IKEA.


I mentioned that it has been very useful for my son's sensory issues and depending on the type of sensory requirements your child might have, I'd highly recommend Kinetic Sand for its tactile nature. You can choose from all sorts of colours and creative sets. We have the 'Shimmering Sapphire' version, which is a 454g box of brilliant blue (subtly sparkly) sand from Amazon.co.uk that will last for ages. It's also currently available to buy at ASDA, Toys "R" Us, Argos and SMYTHS.


Monday 11 December 2017

Remembering Mum

Maureen May Kondell
16 September 1946 - 11 December 2016

Today, it has been a year but it all still feels just like yesterday. 2016 was a hard year for us and this year has felt like much of the same.Time has been at a standstill in many ways.

It's difficult to write posts like these, mainly because the memories serve up the sorrow afresh and time is never on your side. But we are only human and complete suckers for punishment. I just want to take this time to reminisce about this beautiful woman that was my mother. My mum, she was a soft creature with the gentlest nature. She was generous and forgiving. She was genuinely good to everyone but she was the sweetest on her grandchildren. I'm honoured to have had both her and my dad know his grandchildren and to see them live on in our own children. Such a beautiful reminder of how in the face of loss we find life flourishing. We love you, mum.

Monday 10 July 2017

Remembering Dad

Vibert George Kondell
26 November 1938 - 10 July 2016

It has been one whole year since my father passed away last July 10th. And not a day goes by where I haven't thought about him or missed him deeply. And we talk about him often. Sharing stories and living briefly in a memory seems, to me, to be be a good form of pain therapy.

Many friends who have lost loved ones, dear ones, precious ones... Have all said to me in recent times, that you never really get over it, you simple learn to live with the pain of loss. To manage and mediate it in between living and remembering. I can't say that they are wrong. Because there is everything that is right about that statement. It rings home in all the ways that I wish it didn't because it is just another confirmation of the fact that all we have left now are bittersweet memories and poignant stories, shifting recollections and heartwarming saddened smiles.