Growing up, my sister and I could never understand why spring-cleaning was called so. As far as we could see, clearing out closets was an exercise our mother undertook with utter disregard to seasons. Every weekend, rain or shine, sweat or chill, entire rooms were overhauled and their contents interrogated on their usefulness, most of them ending sentenced to the recycle bin or a journey forward. Nothing was above reproach, nothing worth saving, except: Wedding …[Read more]

The year: 2011 The moment: Having finished another glass of apple juice and used the last piece of tissue in the box, my son walked into the kitchen and requested our helper, “Aunty, can you please clean up this tissue box so I can recycle and save the Earth?”. I almost fell off my chair but had to pretend that it’s totally normal for a 2 1/2-year-old to want to recycle, lest I put him …[Read more]