Fabulista Reflects: On Laundry

When I was a toddler, I loved to sit with my mum when she did her laundry with a European washer. It’s the front-loading kind with a glass door. I sat for that hour, mesmerized by the spinning fabrics.

When I was nine I was asked to draw my favourite part of the house. I drew the bath cum laundry room.

It was the idea that something stained and used could come out new and clean again – laundry or skin notwithstanding. Smelling wonderfully of phosphate-laden freshness was a plus of course.

Sadly, with life, laundry-logic does not seem to apply. Things like trust, faith and friendship once lost, are almost never found. It’s the human condition presumably. Composed of emotions, memories and sensations, it’s a complex fabric being. Conditions almost never return to its original states once altered.