Month: March 2026

A Threshold Moment

The mother of a Tamil girl whom I tutored invited me to a coming of age ceremony on short notice. I was off work, so I accepted the invitation. When I asked about its significance, she explained that when a girl gets her first period, they have a special ceremony to acknowledge her new state. While in the past this marked a girl as being of marriageable age, it is now seen more as a rite of passage on the journey to becoming a woman.

Out of respect for the family’s privacy, I won’t be sharing their names or images.

I arrived earlier than most guests, with no preconceived expectations. The house had been decorated with garlands and there were fruit offerings in front of the door. Once inside, I sat on a sofa and watched the adults hurrying to and fro, getting things ready for the priest and the guests who were yet to arrive. The girl was nowhere to be seen.

When her sister came out to greet me, I passed on my present, which I had presumed, correctly, should be jewellery. When the girl first appeared, she was wearing a lovely embroidered dress. She then sat on a stool and was blessed by various family members using coconut milk and a herb on her head. I too was invited to come forward and place some on her head. Several other rituals were performed before she disappeared to be washed. She later emerged wearing a half sari, symbolising the bridge between childhood and adulthood.

At this point, she had haldi kumkum applied to her forehead and other sacred pastes of turmeric placed onto both her arms and cheeks. Once more, close family and elders were invited to apply the balm and offer their blessings.

When the priest arrived, he performed a long ceremony, reciting Vedic prayers for well over an hour and a half. During this time, various members of the family were called upon to sit beside the girl, using incense, fire, leaves and flowers to purify her and shower her with blessings. While I sat transfixed, others in the room continued to talk, take photos and move about. This was something I found quite unusual. I was brought up to make a clear distinction between the sacred and the everyday. I wouldn’t dream of talking in church while the clergy performed their duty, yet here it was quite accepted that people talked and laughed while the ceremony continued not more than two metres away.

One of the guests streamed the event live to Indonesia, where the girl’s aunt lives. The family had visited her during the Christmas holidays once their application for asylum had been granted and they were assured of re entry into Australia. They now have Australian citizenship, which must feel like winning the lottery after years of living on a bridging visa.

When the ceremony was over, everyone shared a feast of vegetarian curries and special sweets. The food was delicious, albeit quite hot. I chatted to the only other older woman there, who also holds a special place in the heart of this family. She is a Christian Sri Lankan who has worked tirelessly with Tamil refugees in Canberra, helping them connect with organisations that support their settlement and sense of belonging. She was pleased to hear that I too would be attending the Palm Sunday Rally for Refugees.

I have played a small part in helping this family feel welcome, supporting two of their children with English and other school related learning. What I have gained in return is something far richer. I was welcomed into their family and given a glimpse into a culture very different from my own. And yet, I was also struck by what connects us.

For my First Holy Communion, I wore a white dress reminiscent of a wedding dress, not so different from the half sari. On Ash Wednesday, a cross of ash was placed on my forehead, while this young girl had white, orange and red markings carefully applied to hers. The meanings are different, shaped by different beliefs and traditions, and yet the gestures feel familiar.


I know they serve different purposes, grounded in their own histories. Yet I am struck by how instinctively we mark these moments in the body. With cloth, with colour, with touch, with ritual.

Across cultures, we seem to reach for the same things when something matters. We pause. We gather. We mark the moment. We acknowledge what matters.

An Invitation

The news from around the world has been nothing short of depressing. Despite my efforts to stay in my circle of control, my mind has wandered to dark places where I feel ineffectual and untethered. Unlike other conflicts, this one is affecting us all, even if only psychologically or via our wallets. At least for now.

I was out with my granddaughter the other day, making our way down a trendy café lined street in Canberra, when I noticed a message written in chalk on the footpath. It was somewhat faded, but I could still make out the words.

What mini
adventure
could you
go on today?

Having stopped to read it, my first reaction was to laugh. Not because it was laughable, but because it challenged me to look at the day differently. I decided to take up the invitation and embarked on a mini adventure.

Haig Park was only a few minutes away. It was an obvious place to start. I pushed the pram along the path and noticed an adventure playground for kids. My little possum is too young for such adventures, so we kept going. Next, I saw a dog agility course. Who knew? Unfortunately, I don’t think my dog would be very interested, but it is good to know it is there. To my right, I saw a building I have often walked past. What was its purpose, I wondered? It turned out to be a community centre with a lovely garden, BBQ area and seating for a large group of people. I took some photos and continued the quest.

On my way back, I came across what looked like a street library. It wasn’t. The small, bright yellow wooden structure was in fact ‘The Teeny Weeny Mini Museum of Art.’ At first glance, I didn’t see anything special in the display case, only some pine cones and bits of paper. Then I saw a stack of yellow cards and had to find out what was printed on them. I opened the cabinet and, to my delight, found a card that on one side had this quote:

‘Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss you’ll land among the stars.’
Less (sic) Brown

A lovely sentiment, but it was the other side that stopped me in my tracks. It was another invitation to many mindful mini adventures for each day of March. While Mindful March is almost over, I intend to keep the card and do each of these ‘Actions for happiness’ in April. My favourite one is: ‘Discover the joy in the simple things of life.’

And so I have come full circle. I was attentive to the call and followed the invitation to go on a mini adventure. As a reward, I have been offered 31 additional opportunities for joy. I share them here so you may be enticed to go on your own mini adventure. You never know where it may lead.

Small Enchantments

This month I have been thinking a lot about my locus of control. Like the rest of the world, I have spent far too much time in the circle of concern, worrying about the war in Iran and what another conflict might mean for the world. The reality is that, as distressed as I feel by these events, I have no control over what will happen next. Spending time in that sphere leaves me anxious and full of despair. Yet ignoring it completely does not feel right either.

For the sake of my own sanity, I have been walking more mindfully and finding joy in small things. Watching my dog leap through the tall grass without a care in the world. Smiling and waving at neighbours. Remembering to send messages to friends. I have been revelling in the birds I notice along the way and the quirky things people do to bring a little joy to others.

On a recent visit to Sydney, I took my dog down memory lane in Annandale. Thirty years ago, I used to walk another poodle along those same streets. The street I loved may have had a few more renovated houses, but essentially it was still the same.

Then I came across a concrete pillar box that someone had decided to paint, for no reason other than to provide a little magic for young children and for those of us who are still young at heart. I am quite sure they did not seek permission and probably would not have been given it, but they did it anyway.

It may have taken them an afternoon to paint the top like a toadstool, then add a tiny window and surrounds so that the pillar box looked like a fairy house, complete with a little garden at the front. In the midst of all the crazy things that humans do to each other, here was a small offering to the neighbourhood. An invitation for children to use their imagination and be enchanted by the world.

I took a photo so I would remember that moment. A reminder that even though adulthood can sometimes leave us disenchanted, a little magic still exists if we choose to notice it. And that brought me back to my locus of control. I could have walked past thinking about all the misery in the world. Or I could stop and admire someone’s small gift to their neighbourhood. That choice, it seems to me, is available to us all.