I discovered the beauty of henna, my hair is the texture and gloss of what I had always dreamt of. I am a small measure of my 24-year-old self, unimaginable that my children in a few years be that. Commuting from our city to suburbia, I am a little tipsy on the spicy pinot noir from Sicily— full flavoured with touches of blueberries, said our strangely accented sommelier at The Bridge Room. I am a mixture of joy and sadness thus far, celebrating our marriage while my friend sleeps the endless sleep on a cold slate at some crematorium in deep dark western Sydney. His widow and two children, quietly weeping in the vast mansion that he’d built. I wish I knew the answer. I wish I just knew.