Homecoming 1

I left Facebook because Leila was right; I turned 40 and I couldn't deal with the fact that I was but didn't look it. I couldn't deal with the confusion, the explanations, the queries on what face cream I use (boot-leg La Mer bought from a dubious website lol). But I stopped Facebooking primarily because I was hating on people using the word curating and I was, mmm curating.

Selecting only the parts of your life that are 'acceptable' or 'more aesthetically pleasing' is as good as lying about it. It's not like I'm hiding monstrous or despicable things inside the metaphorical closet- 90% of the time, what you see is actually how things really are. But it's all the small tweaks, the filters, the angles which contribute to an illusion- a lie; like if you look closely at the 2nd photo, the water goblets are actually dirty. I only took them out from the cupboard for the shot; with three kids, it was more prudent to use disposable plastic cups. And the photo of our Christmas tree was not the whole tree because this year my mother decided to put it in an awkward place near the dining-room arch. I felt that a photo of it in its entirety wouldn't 'look nice.'

And the noche buena, while satisfying- wasn't Instagram-worthy. The food didn't all fit on the lazy Susan and I couldn't be bothered taking an over-head shot because where would I perch myself on to take it?

But for all our worthless, pointless, social-media driven aspirations, Christmas still prevails- when the kids opened their presents, the expectation and the surprise was all at once new and familiar (yes, we were all like that once) and even when you realise that you forgot to take a shot or two, it doesn't really matter.