Dear future hubster

Dear future hubster, in a recent discussion about values, I came to the conclusion that freedom of choice is something I value dearly, and something I would (and do) sacrifice other things for. Now this might not be a surprise to anybody who's ever heard my signature "Don't tell me what to do" catchphrase, but in times like this, my preference for freedom of choice goes deeper.  Just looking at the past week or two, it's easy to see what a privileged position it is to prefer having a choice. To be allowed to choose whom I love without having to fear that it puts them or me in danger. To be allowed to live where I choose, without having to fear that I will be evicted from my very homeland, which, in turn, will be razed to the ground and sowed with salt. To be able to walk the streets without having to fear being attacked because of how I look. To be able to make decisions about my own body without having to go underground for the services said decisions then requir...

 Dear future hubster, among the many things that we lost in the fire of the past 14+ months, my social skills certainly require an entry.  Flirting, in particular, has taken a crippling blow. Probably because that was a very underdeveloped skill to begin with. A conversation could send me on an overthinking spree for hours if not days. And now, after over a year of talking to the dishwasher and seeing interpersonal interactions only on screen, the situation is dire. I'm currently wondering whether my dentist was flirting with me. Probably not. But... he was being funny. Morning coffee? Lack thereof? Also, never noticed he has such blue eyes. The only part of his face I can see. Also, nice arms. He used them to take out my crooked wisdom tooth. Now I have to plan what to wear the next time(s) I see him. He's giving me the crown I deserve, after all.  Moral of this confusing story is, dear future hubster, that in the interest of all involved, please indicate your flirting i...

Dear future hubster, if you think that my emancipated, educated, independent modern woman self is not going to perform some face-washing-in-first-snow ritual, you are wrong. Superstitions might be a laughing matter, but they are also traditions in some way, and frankly, nothing wrong with getting/staying fresh and pretty in case a certain future hubster decides to show up one day. On the other hand, if you think that I won't go out and build a snowperson before I even clean the stairs, you're wrong again. Adulting might be unavoidable sometimes, growing boring is not. 

 Dear future hubster, this is a friendly reminder that things are not going to magically get better overnight.  Those who were hungry yesterday will probably be hungry tomorrow. Those who were beaten last week will probably be at the risk of being beaten next week. The girls who didn't get to go to school, were forced to marry young, have children their bodies and minds weren't ready to have are not going to feel any better tomorrow, next week, next month. Governments will not suddenly give back rights they've taken away this year. Hatred is not going to turn to love. For love, grace, salvation don't just appear. Neither do solutions. They take a lot of work. Maybe a little more so in difficult (unprecedented, extraordinary, trying, challenging) times, but making the world a little less of a crappy place has never been an easy task.  The only thing that can (somewhat) change overnight is how much of that hard work we're willing to do. You know, good old Gandalf said...

Dear future hubster,  when we (the world) first watched Love Actually, that grand finale scene at the school Christmas play seemed very cute on many levels. Looking at it today, it was also a bit of a prophecy. Remember when the girl points at everybody's favourite little drummer boy saying "all I want for Christmas is you", and he practically melts and we all go awwww? But then she keeps pointing at pretty much everybody in the room saying "and you and you and you", and he's well, a little grumpy, understandably. Now imagine them playing a show 2020-style, to an empty auditorium, with their audience watching online. All they want for Christmas is us. All of us. Or, try if you can, with a wild somersault of your imagination, picture being a person in 2020 who hasn't seen, for most of the year, most of their favourite people other than on screens, from the shoulder up. I for one admit without hesitation, that yes I want you, dear future hubster, for the C...