A Long Pause, A Little Spark

The last time I wrote was on the 30th of August, as the holiday season drew to a close. Back to school, back to teaching, back to the whirlwind of planning lessons, preparing the smartboard, and navigating the wild, unpredictable energy of the classroom. Some days feel like taming a mini-storm — one minute calm, the next full of questions, chatter, and laughter. Yet, there’s always a certain magic in that chaos.

Now, half-term has arrived, bringing a much-needed pause from the everyday rush. Deepavali came at the start of it, and I managed a little marathon of making murukku, coconut candy, and peanut cookies. Mornings were spent sharing treats with neighbors, and though the afternoons were quiet with no visitors, the evenings were brightened by the cheerful giggles of little ones from around the neighborhood.

Still, I can’t help but feel a pang of longing for the Deepavalis back home in Malaysia — the streets glowing with lights, the scent of spices and sweets drifting from every home, and the joyful noise of family gathered under one roof. Celebrating here in London feels different — quieter, gentler — but perhaps that’s what makes each small moment feel even more precious.

Between it all, far-off calls with aunties, sisters, and my elderly dad — his voice crackling like sparklers — brought quiet contentment. The laughter, the stories, the warmth that travelled across the miles reminded me that festivals aren’t just about the place — they’re about connection.

Somehow, the intensity of those joyful days has been swallowed by the everyday rush, and the physical distances between family members have quietly stolen some of the warmth I had hoped to carry forward.

Still, in my own way, I try to keep the joy alive. I look for moments to spread love, however small — through a smile, a kind word, a little extra patience in the classroom chaos when school reopens. Perhaps that’s the point: even when the celebrations fade and the distance is real, joy can be carried in the way we connect with others, in the warmth we choose to share.

Writing again feels like opening a window after a long pause. Life moves fast, the classroom waits with its whirlwind of little voices, but for now, I’m content to sit in this stillness — remembering, smiling, and letting the brightness linger.

Here’s to carrying a piece of home wherever we are, and to finding light, even in the ordinary days.

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