WELCOME TO OUR SPECIAL EDIT:

Arrival

The

We delight in the beauty of the butterfly but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty.

- Maya Angelou

Hello,

I turned 37 this year. It wasn’t too long ago when I realized that I’m not immortal, that grey hair is not just a phase, and that chronic sickness means it will never go away.

That sent me into a spiral, trying to reconcile rotten relationships and fetch forgotten dreams. And it was the chase, the sense of falling behind, that made the ticking of time even more terrifying.

May we walk with time and stop chasing after things. Although time may feel fleeting, may we know that we’ve arrived at where we are now.

May we be where our feet are.

Sarah

We think the butterfly is beautiful when it spreads its wings. That maybe so. But the maker of the butterfly always knew, before its wings were formed, when it was crystallized in a cocoon, or even when it crawled in dirt - that it is beautiful.

Part 1

Nature Inspired

Here’s what nature brought for us.

Inspired by the sultry woodlands and the mysteries in it.

Our formation happens relentlessly. In our everyday lives, when we’re excited and when we’re bored. When we make good decisions and when we make bad ones. When we say hello and when we wave goodbye. Formation is reality.

And in reality is an undeniable kind of beauty.

It’s the little ones who come as they are. They arrive everyday in the present, purely and openly, moulding into formation.

Part 2

Tiny Keepers

Here are the tiny tutus for our littlest minis.

They’re called Tiny Keepers because they’re keepsakes for our minis (and yes, for us, too).

And it’s meaningful stories that form our little ones.

…So the bird kept flying, thinking to itself that it will land once it reaches there. It flew over a big oak tree, berry bushes, and flocks of birds cuddling close.

And it kept going.

Part 3

Timeless Favourites

Yesterday, today, and tomorrow, too.

Always precious for our treasured little ones.

Finally the bird landed, not recognizing where it was. A place that could only be described as — there. Maybe we feel bad for the bird, maybe we think it should’ve landed where there were trees and berries and friends. Maybe we think the bird missed out.

The bird though, simply landed. Its nails dug into the ground and its feet curved around the soil. Steadfast. Feeling every groove and bump beneath.

This is arrival.

May we be where our feet are.