“Heidi Sand-Hart’s “Home Keeps Moving” authenticates the TCK experience. Her personal stories demonstrate the tangible reality of the TCK theories we have been reading and hearing about for years.” – Tina L Quick, author of The Global Nomad's Guide to University Transition
Friday, 12 March 2021
Tuesday, 14 November 2017
Sunday, 9 July 2017
Her forward for my book:
Painting: "The Dreamer" by Alain J. PicardH
Monday, 22 August 2016
Wednesday, 20 April 2016
For quite some time now, I have had a strongly negative reaction to returning "home" at rhe end of a day. I always jokeingly call it my prison but there is quite some truth to that. I am locked behind its bars from morning to late afternoon without anything to do, anything to live for. I feel helplessly trapped with no vision or drive. They call it "writers block"...well, I have been suffering from that for close to 19 months now. Ever since I finished my first book, I have been turned off writing like never before. The thing I keep coming back to is that I am completely and absolutely UNINSPIRED in my every day life so how can I hope to breath life to a new work? If one isn't happy and content with their surroundings, then how can art blossom?
That is the bottom line. I am not happy. I have dreams and goals for my life but don't seem any nearer to attaining them. Every year is but mere reminder of the fact that I am no closer in reaching them.
My heart aches for the unloved, the neglected, the unwanted yet here I sit in my comfortable Western "castle" wasting day after day. I need to go. I need to do something.
I used to resent this restlessness that came as a result of my upbringing but now I have come to love and cherish it. For it is the marker that tells me when I am not fulfilling the goals I should and it continues to awake me from the Western slumber that doesn't even suit me. It does not let me rest. It does not let me lie.
Wednesday, 7 January 2015
More from me soon, I promise...
Wednesday, 20 November 2013
I first fell in love with Tooting whilst sitting in Sarashwathy Bavans, enjoying a masala dosa that transported me back to my childhood.I grew up in South India for five years, surrounded by Tamilians – both Sri Lankan and Indian. The memories conjured up over that dosa made me feel at home and homesick at the same time. Back then my husband and I lived in “white, safe” Southfields and only ventured down Garratt Lane when I needed an “India fix”. More than once we breathed a sigh of relief at leaving the madness of the Broadway which we viewed as quite chaotic at the time.
Merely two years later we were excited Tooting homeowners, primarily due to how much more bang we got for our buck in Toots!
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