I have a confession to make. My memory is failing. In fact, I am quite convinced that it has never been a loyal friend- the number of times I have politely knocked at its door, requesting momentary entry (not an unreasonable request you would think!) and had a most ungracious non-response is astounding.

No, more a fair-weather friend it is; capricious, moody and unreliable. But it doesn't end there. It chooses to recall the insipidly mundane above all else. Like the exact tone of chalk white of the windowsill in the kitchen of our unit in Lincoln St, Belfield. Or the name of the very first girl who bullied me in year 1, just months after our arrival in Australia (her name is pronounced Bik-gnok-ta, a Vietnamese name I think- not quite sure of its correct spelling).

What good these memories will serve is beyond me.

But ask me to remember what Piaget said about the stages of child development, or what my husband bought me for our 2nd wedding anniversary, and I am as blank as an unmarked canvass.

Sadly, I know to where this road will lead. I was rather hoping it wouldn't arrive so prematurely, but alas, it is sat smuggly on my mind's horizon.

I have what appears to be the beginnings of Alzheimer’s disease, the most common cause of dementia. Or dementia. Or both. It is a self-diagnosis of course, but, reluctantly, I have more confidence in the accuracy of my diagnosis than in my memory.

Ah, maybe its for the greater good. After all, forgetfulness is a mercy, as my dad often reminds me. Without it, insanity would surely ensue, he consoles.

Or, as someone else said, maybe its a sign of genius.

Or not.

Whatever the case may be, do forgive me when I don't return your calls. Or when I don't acknowledge your life's biggest events. Take comfort in the fact that I probably don't remember my own...

Hello.

Well, having dappled in the world of blog in the past, I thought it a timely endeavour to recommence, but with a renewed diligence this time. Not quite sure why...

Now, a thousand apologies in advance for the 'basic', drab appearance of this blog - as an IT novice you should hold little hope for anything more aesthetically pleasing arriving any time soon. Perhaps the content will make up for this. Perhaps not.

For those who don't know me, I am Rafa. Most often defined by my role as mother to half a dozen deliciously rambunctious children. Followed by 'daughter of Wafa, superwoman'. And/or 'wife of that Sean guy- the revert mashAllah'. Prior to this, I was me. Now I'm trying to rediscover who/what that is, when the above labels are set aside, albeit temporarily.

Will try to share openly here. Daily perhaps. But no promises... I am only good at keeping those I make to my children.