The Afterword

Category: Daily Prompt

  • Antarctica: Our Greatest Expedition

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    Peter
    in

    Our favourite holiday wasn’t a holiday at all. It was an expedition.In February this year, after sixteen years of planning, we spent two unforgettable weeks in Antarctica. The distinction matters: a holiday is predictable, comfortable, designed for relaxation.An expedition is something else entirely — about discovery, challenge, and growth. It stretches you, surprises you, and…

  • Back to Basics

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    Peter
    in

    Camping brings life back to basics.It’s not just sleeping in a tent or cooking outside. It’s learning to live simply, move flexibly, and enjoy whatever comes. Camping teaches you to enjoy the unexpected.Like when we pulled into a caravan park at Mon Repos in Queensland without a plan, only to find ourselves next to a…

  • The Slow Productivity of the Morning

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    by

    Peter
    in ,

    There is a kind of productivity that moves fast —urgent, noisy, tangled in a web of demands.And then there is another kind:the slow, deep work of becoming.I find it most clearly in the morning. The house is still.The animals are fed.The world has not yet begun to press its needs against me.In those early hours,…

  • Catch This

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    Peter
    in

    Catch this:language was never meant to be a locked box. 🔒📦It was a river 🌊 — a storm ⚡ — a thousand hands throwing shapes in the air. 🖐️✨ What if it still is? Before the pen ✒️,before the printing press 🖨️,before the blinking cursor ➡️⌨️,there was breath. 🌬️There was dance. 💃🏽🕺🏽There was a scratch…

  • What I Can’t Stop Writing About

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    Peter
    in

    So here we are: blogging about my blog. A reflection on the reflections. I know—it’s a bit meta. But I think there’s something fitting about pausing to ask, What am I really talking about, underneath all this talking? Because the truth is, I like to write. And in all these stories and afterthoughts, there are…

  • Who will you be? How will you live?

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    by

    Peter
    in

    What do you want to be when you grow up? It’s a question I’ve heard all my life — first directed at me, then at the next generation. It usually expects a job title, something neat and impressive. But what if the better question is: Who will you be? How will you live? That question…

  • Not Too Late

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    Peter
    in

    Sometimes, people confuse caution with fear. They mistake deliberation for delay, and they brand those who think deeply as those who move too slowly. I’ve heard the criticisms before—some thrown at public figures, others thrown at me. But I have learned to wear patience not as a weakness, but as armour. For when the time…

  • The Weight of Staying Silent

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    Peter
    in

    I’ve built much of my life on being reliable. Loyal. Dutiful. Self-sacrificing. These are strengths I’ve cultivated with care—virtues I’ve leaned on to be the kind of person others can count on. I take my responsibilities seriously. I honour commitments. I do what’s asked of me. And I like the respect that comes with that.…

  • On What Makes Me Nervous

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    Peter
    in

    It’s not fear that shaped me, not really, not in the way some people mean it. I was never afraid of change, not even as a kid, though I didn’t chase it either. I’ve stayed where things mattered. By the time I’m done, I’ll have worked in four places over forty years, and that sounds…

  • Unwinding

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    Peter
    in

    I’m not sure I do this very well.Even the question—how do you unwind?—makes me pause. It doesn’t trigger a confident answer, but a kind of internal audit. I don’t have a ritual for it, not really. Not in the conventional sense. Unwinding, for me, is functional. It isn’t about indulgence; it’s about rhythm. I’ve learned…

  • Closer Than You Knew

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    Peter
    in

    People have always told stories—about gods who died,about love that survives death,about light returning after darkness. Before theology,before churches,there were questionsand songsand open hands. We reached outbecause something in usknew there was more. Some saythese old storieswere just wrong turns—ways of avoiding God. But I thinkthey were honest guesses,not perfect,but not pointless. They came from…

  • Two Deaths, One Cross

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    Peter
    in ,

    There are two ways to tell the story—two levels on which death can be thought. One is sweat and struggle,politics and betrayal,the kind of death you can reconstructwith names and timelines,a corrupt priesthood guarding its place,a Roman governor playing at peacewhile fearing a riot.Crowds sway like reeds in a storm.This is the deaththat history books…

  • Feels Like Belonging

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    by

    Peter
    in ,

    The parking lot was packedand I don’t even know whybut I just pulled inon a Wednesday night in Lent.The room is quiet.A few candles,three readings from Isaiah,the faint scent of old wood and ash. A woman two rows ahead is crying—not loudly,just the kind of cryingthat keeps goingbecause no one stops it. The minister says,you…

  • A Kind of Home

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    Peter
    in

    Sometimes the people we need most are the ones we’ve never met before. There’s something oddly tender about the first conversation you have with a stranger—especially when it happens in a room full of strangers, where no one yet knows how the story will go. That first confession, “I’ve never done this before,” offered by…

  • What I Didn’t Plan

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    Peter
    in

    I’ve always been a learner—curious, studious, and passionate by temperament. At times, it has felt more like an obsession than a strength. The rhythm of learning, the unravelling of new ideas, the delight in fresh perspectives—it energises me. But looking back, I realise that one particular decision set in motion a pattern that has shaped…

  • Still, I Stay

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    by

    Peter
    in

    —from the voice of a Syrian in exile I have never stopped dreaming of the olive trees.Even now,in this camp of sand and plastic walls,I see them when I close my eyes—the way their shadows fell across my grandfather’s fieldbefore everything cracked and scattered. Home is a scent that never fades.It lives in cardamom coffee,in…

  • Legacy

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    by

    Peter
    in

    It started with a quiet hello,a question, May I walk you home?From that step forward,you walked together—steady, respectful, kind. You built a life without fanfare,through distance and duty,through saving, working, studying late,through raising a familyon love, not luxury. Your home was never just walls—it was presence.A place where needs were met,where laughter grew around the…

  • The Hospitality of the Compost Tip

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    by

    Peter
    in

    Jerome flew inwith a rice cooker in his suitcase.Because true welcomeis a bit ridiculous—overflowing, steaming,offering more than anyone expects. The table beginsat the compost pile.Where spoiled fruit,forgotten herbs,and bruised generositybegin again. Hospitality isn’t tidy.It’s sticky, loud,full of smellsyou didn’t choose. But somewhere betweenthe rot and the rice,the mess and the meal,the ground is turning over.…

  • Bucket Lists and Buffett Lists

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    Peter
    in ,

    There’s something intoxicating about a bucket list. The name itself is cheeky and rebellious—do these things before you kick the bucket. It suggests urgency, vibrancy, life-before-death. Bucket lists seduce us with a sense of possibility: Swim in Icelandic hot springs. Walk the Great Wall. Eat something unpronounceable in a night market at midnight. The irony,…

  • The Happiness I Didn’t Buy

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    by

    Peter
    in

    Let me start with what I am not. I am not a consumer, at least not in the way the world often defines it. I buy what I need—groceries, dog food, replacement socks. But I’ve never found myself wandering through a shopping centre just to “see what’s new.” I don’t crave the latest model of…