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One of my greatest loves is the colour orange. It’s a colour that I see when I’m happy, it’s the colour of dancing, it’s the colour of my beautiful niece and nephew and the colour of Ompha Lumpa’s. It’s my happy place.

More than anything in the world I love to read. I love reading classics, I love reading newspapers, the side of cereal cartons, and even just the piece of scrap paper on the train floor. When we read or write of create with words is when we’re being our most honest about the world around us. Also, when I was growing up and shy, reading a book meant that no one would talk to me – so it worked well in my favour. I have not yet read the Clockwork Orange.I also love to write and was recently published. You can find an excerpt of the short story here.

I know it’s like all the rage at the moment and everyone’s doing it – but knitting and crocheting are in my blood. My mother crocheted, her mother made mats in a weaving fashion. It’s as natural as the blood pumping in my veins for me to knit and crochet, and knot this up. And I’m not very bad at it. So there’s a fun fact. Just pointing out – I did it before it was cool.I hate hipsters.

I have a not-so-secret love of programming. Ever since my stint as a front-end dev (slash account manager, slash producer, slash content writer and editor) for Kerrianne (bless her soul) I’ve been obsessed with little side projects. It doesn’t help that I work with programmers all day and hate them for living out my dream everyday.
The day that I learned how to ride was the most freeing and painful day of my life. Like many of my riding memories, my brother was there. We were in the park right next to the first apartment that we lived in in Australia. There was a long footpath the reached the length of the block, and my brother was pushing me, on my non-training wheeled bike, along the footpath. For some reason, probably financial, my parents didn’t buy us training wheels.So there we were – me, on my bike, and my brother behind me pushing me along. Until suddenly I realised that my brother wasn’t behind me. In fact, he was running next to me, looking at me and grinning. Confusion was followed by joy, then fear, then pain. Before I knew what had happened I was lying on the ground, scraped across my legs, and my face. Of course fear the quickly pursued by anger and screaming.But ever since then, it’s been a lovely ride – and I hope I never stop flying.

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