I had a dog named Rue—
clever, unique, endlessly loyal.
At first, I thought her cold,
but after months of watching every move,
my life began to orbit her steady heart.

Years later, at twenty-nine, I moved to Melbourne
with my friend Evie—
sweet, fun, and unshakably loyal.

At first, I thought we would never be friends,
but after months of watching every move,
my days spun gently around her laughter.

Months later, at thirty, an invitation arrived,
and at the wedding, I met Tim—
kind, true, and quietly loyal.
At first, I thought him rude,
but after months of watching every move,
my heart began to circle him like a star.

Years later, at thirty-three, in a dim-lit bar
I stopped to charge my phone.
There was Conor—
compassionate, intelligent, and kind.
At first, I thought he was unavailable,
but soon, without knowing when it began,
my life began to revolve around the man
I would call my husband.

Once upon a time I had a dog named Rue
Rue, is unique, clever, and loyal
I once suspected her to be cold
After months, of studying her every move
soon, my life began to rotate around my dog, Rue.

Years later, when I was twenty nine- I moved to Melbourne with my friend Evie
Evie, is fun, sweet, and loyal
I once suspected her to be immature
After months, of studying her every move
soon, my life began to rotate around my friend, Evie.

Months later, when I was thirty I was invited to a wedding where I met Tim
Tim, is kind, true and loyal
I once suspected him to be rude
After months, of studying his every move
soon, my life began to rotate around my boyfriend, Tim.

Years later, when I was thirty-three I walked into the bar to charge my phone
Conor, is kind, compassionate and intelligent
I once suspected him to be cold
And soon, my life began to rotate around my husband, Conor.

The sky is a canvas of calm blue
The grass, a field of deep, lush green
The beach lies wide in sands of white
The moon hangs quiet, veiled in grey sheen
I sit alone and wonder why
The world wears colours bold and true
And all of it — the sea, the stars, the sky, the land —
Was painted so I could find you.

Loving you is cherry pie—
Sweet, forbidden, stacked too high in sugar.
I take one bite, then crave some more,
Though I’ve sworn to close that door.

June 19th, two-thousand-thirteen,
The sky too blue, the sun too clean.
A law book borrowed, fineliners bright,
A notebook stained with late-night fight.
I sat on grass that didn’t care
If I became what they prepared.

Angelica spun in sunlight's grace,
Red hair loud in an open space.
Ollie watched with narrowed eyes—
Joy offended him, I realised.
But I was watching someone else.
Someone quieter than myself.

Tom.

Half-lost in thought, half drawing lines,
Margin boxes, broken signs.
He never spoke just to be heard,
He studied silence like a word.
I sat beside him, notebook out,
A calm between our seeds of doubt.

He asked me once,
“Do people ever become who they dream of being?”
And I replied without looking up,
“That’s what becoming is.”

He smiled—small, almost sad.
Like hope remembered what it never had.

Back then they wanted rings and vows,
Ceremony, silence, and compliant brows.
But I was mapping flights and futures,
Filling scholarship forms under fluorescent sutures.
I was leaving.
I had to.
To become more than someone’s daughter in a dress
I never chose.

Tom stayed.
I heard pieces, stories.
His voice buried beneath late nights and old glories.
And then, years later,
Scrolling through strangers and almosts,
There he was—older, maybe lost.

I typed:

Hi. How are you?
I don’t know if you remember… first year uni.

Click.
Send.

And somewhere, quietly,
The past exhaled.

Becoming is a coming-of-age novel that follows two lovers who meet as students at a prestigious university, filled with ambition and hope for the future. She dreams beyond the cultural and familial expectations pressing down on her—expectations that demand marriage and stability over growth and independence. Instead, she chooses a path of education and purpose, eventually moving to Harvard to pursue a dual degree in public health and medicine, determined to challenge the political structures that govern healthcare. She later becomes health minister.

Meanwhile, he remains behind, drifting from the person he once aspired to be. As she builds her future, he struggles with sobriety and the collapse of his own ambitions. Years later, curiosity and nostalgia lead her to find his Instagram profile. With a tentative "Hi, how are you? I don’t know if you remember…" she reaches out, reopening a chapter that never fully closed.

Spanning continents, ideologies, and inner transformations, Becoming is a story about identity, resilience, and the sometimes painful, sometimes beautiful path to becoming who we are meant to be.

Let me know what you think!

On the twenty-fourth of May,
In the year ninety-five,
My father rushed into his little house—
No. 2, on a street that barely breathed.
Half brick, half wood,
It bulged slightly on the side,
A stubborn house that refused to collapse,
Like him.

He had studied far away,
With Professor Harding—
A man of levels and formulas,
Of tables and truth.
My father would say,
“What a remarkable book!”
And wave his hands through the candle smoke,
As if stirring the periodic table to life.