Thoughtful Tuesdays: Fractured Change

By Eithne Cullen

Welcome to the October Thoughtful Tuesday page. Summer is definitely at an end; I am getting up to darker mornings and feeling the drop in temperature creep in. I’m also aware of routines coming back… school up and running after an exciting back to school rush, routines back to normal after the long break. Life is purring along in its groove. However, not everything runs smoothly and we often have to think on our feet or respond quickly to the changes we see around us. So, our theme ‘Fractured’ can be seen as apt in this time of change.

The first piece I’m sharing is a short story which centres around the way the writer/narrator had a lapse of memory (or two) fracturing the reality of his world.

Rude Awakenings

Coming back home from a night out, I stumbled up to the front door, pulled out my key and tried it in the lock. It didn’t work, so I gave a gentle knock. When nobody answered, I sailed around to the back of the house and let myself in by the patio doors. I removed my shoes. Then I made my way over to the sofa and got myself comfortable, dozing off to sleep. Shortly afterwards, I was rudely awoken by a strange woman shaking my arm.

“Who the hell are you?” she cried out, aghast.

If I wasn’t so drunk I might have leaped up. “I used to live here,” I argued back.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said, “not any more.”

Defencelessly, I replied, “Fair point, could you see me on my way then?”

She said, “With pleasure. I don’t take kindly to being awoken by strange men in the night!”

“I’m no stranger,” I pleaded. “I lived here for many years.”

“You’re off your rocker,” she retorted. “I moved here two months ago! If you don’t leave now, I’m calling the police!”

I saw sense, gathered my belongings and she ushered me out of the door. As she was assisting me to my feet it all suddenly came rushing back to me.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I said, “we moved out of here a while ago.”

The woman replied, “That’s good to know your memory is coming back. How convenient.”

“I must be on my way,” I said, as I barged past her and tried to get back out the door. “I’ll see myself off.”

“Too right you will,” she said, “breaking up my sleep, and giving me a great scare to boot!”

I mumbled a barely audible apology. I could feel her eyes on me as I walked back up her drive, stumbling home. When I finally got back, I slumped straight into bed.

The next morning, surfacing with an awful hangover, I went downstairs. As I approached the front door, I could see my socks on the shoe rack covered in dust, grass, sticks and stones.

Mum was in the kitchen and she saw me walk in. “What happened to you last night?” she said in a delicate voice.

I whispered back, “Never mind that, what happened to my socks?”

“I’ve no idea,” she replied.

“That makes two of us then,” I said. “Dad, any ideas?”

Dad shrugged his shoulders. “I know nothing.’”

Several hours later, there was a knock on the door and my dad went off to see who it was. Standing on the porch was the woman from the previous night, holding my shoes in the air.

“Nick,” Dad said, “I know what happened to your socks…”

© Nicholas Vaughan, 2026

 

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This next piece is a work in fragments. The poet has given us a list of unrelated ideas and images, which share little bits of wisdom and insight.

Poetry & Quotes

 

1.
May be you are not that popular Nile,
But, you are that unknown flowing river,
Quenching the thirst of some!

2.
She was that flower,
Which bloomed all year round!
She kept the privilege to herself,
And never gave it to the seasons
to control her bloom.

3.
Row row row,
But never row to rove,
Rather row to roar in your realm
For which you merrily began to row!

4.
All that they said was,
She Can’t She Can’t She Can’t
And, all that she did was,
Eclipsed the Can’ts and Showed
The CANS!

5.
Peace is the house of joy,
And we shall be the home for both!

6.
Distract the distraction for,
a distraction can distract your whole winning traction.

7.
A Tiny drop of water gains the power of a chisel to etch a rock just with ‘CONSISTENCY’

8.
Real peace is when you stop living in the heads of ‘O T H E R S’

9.
She belonged to the breeze that can never be leashed,
So she could forever unleash

10.
If you can keep your
Mind EMPTY,
Stare at the SKY,
And, indulge in NOTHINGNESS,
Then you are already in PARADISE!

© Akshitha Ramalingam, 2026

Connect with Akshitha on Instagram: @akshitharamalingam_ or via their website: www.akshitharamalingam.com

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In this stream of consciousness, the author reveals a great deal about her personality. Her approach to using the kitchen tells of her need to be in her space, her comfort fractured by the arrival of another.

A Unique Fury

The other day I was attempting to make shakshuka. I order it quite a bit when I’m out for brunch or lunch and, since the main components are just eggs and tomatoes, I thought it should be doable. I got all my ingredients, found my online recipe and made a start.

For a while, all was going well: no shell in my eggs, no lumps in my tomatoes. But then, tragedy struck. A phenomenon that can rock even the most confident of home chefs and set novices like me quaking in my boots. That’s right: somebody else came into the kitchen.

Now, this was not necessarily a surprising turn of events. I’m currently living in an apartment building where there’s one large shared kitchen on every floor, with about ten people sharing it. However, I only regularly see about four other faces in the kitchen, as I think a lot of the young people rely on takeaways and pre-packaged food or perhaps cook at very rogue hours. But I’m aware this kitchen is not mine alone and accept that fact completely.

Nonetheless, I do believe that, in arrangements such as this, there’s something of an unwritten rule when it comes to shared kitchen etiquette. If I hear any movement coming from the kitchen, I wait. I do not enter. Because I endeavour to do unto others as I wish to be done unto myself and I would never, ever, wish the heartbreak of kitchen-time being interrupted by another person, I stay clear. To me, the area becomes like an occupied toilet stall: currently engaged with someone else and therefore I must wait my turn. Sure, if I’m really hungry I’ll pop in to wash an apple but, since we all have mini-fridges in our rooms, there’s no prolonged threat to hunger from staying out of the kitchen. As a result, I’ll never start cooking a full meal while someone else is there.^[1] It just seems like good manners to me, because kitchen-time is me-time. Or you-time, or whoever-is-in-the-kitchen-time. But why am I, and I know there are others too, so precious about those minutes in the kitchen? What makes it so special?

Well, I think there could be a couple of reasons here. The first being that kitchen-time is actually not special at all. In fact, it’s perfectly mundane. But, in order to make my daily routines manageable, I need chunks of peace and quiet  – where it’s just me and the meal I’m making. To me, cooking naturally aligns with solitude.

Personally, I know I don’t always make the most attractive-looking meals, partly because I eat a lot of tofu and soya, neither of which are naturally primed for beauty and, also, because I’m always so hungry by the time the food is ready, I just dump it on the plate. But tbh, that’s my business! And, logically, I do know that no-one actually cares about what my food looks like.

Because of needing to manage all the elements’ different timings and preparations, I find cooking to be quite a stressful process. Sometimes the rice has boiled before the vegetables are cooked, or the microwave pings just as you’re preparing your seasoning. Then, when another person enters the mix, you’re juggling polite conversation alongside all the other tasks.

I know my anti-kitchen-sharing logic isn’t foolproof, as there are indeed two working stoves and I can just pop in my AirPods to signal I’m not interested in conversation. But the case remains that I find it quite disconcerting to cook around others and so try not to dump the same fate onto my peers. Yet sometimes, fate charges at you head-first, when you’re already halfway through your shakshuka prep and someone else walks in the kitchen and, you don’t have your AirPods with you!

What to do? Panic is a pretty reliable go-to. In this case, chit-chat as well as attempting a new dish, felt like a level of multi-tasking for which I was nowhere near qualified. Suddenly, the tomatoes were getting crispy – I didn’t even know they could do that. The invader was telling me about their day while kindly asking me about mine, but all I could think was that the picture I was planning to take of my perfect shakshuka was now going to look more like a melted lasagne! If only they’d respected those holy unwritten rules…

By the end of it, I did manage to get the dish on a plate, presentation unsurprisingly abysmal – and wearily stumbled into my room to eat it in peace. Overall, though I probably have experienced things a bit more traumatic than this particular evening, it still isn’t something I’d wish to repeat.

Herein lies the lesson: kitchen time is your time – protect it, fiercely. Unless you’re a person who somehow likes cooking with others, in which case I don’t get you, but do your thing, I guess. Otherwise, respect the rules, for shakshuka’s sake.

© Lucy Singer, 2026

^[1] Hypocritically enough, I now admit that this statement has slightly changed with the exception of one person, who I am now quite familiar with and therefore can accept cooking in conjunction with them. It’s not ideal, but we seem to always want to eat dinner at the same time, so I let it slide. Still, my general vendetta remains!

Connect with Lucy on Instagram: @lucywrites4 or via Substack: lucyisnotasinger

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Finally, ‘fractured’ can also apply to broken objects, possessions and things we keep around us. Like everything, these can be in need of a little TLC.

We live in a throwaway society. Sometimes, it’s easier to look for a replacement rather than find a way to get things working again. I always think of my father-in-law, Tom, when I think of quick fixes for broken items. He was a great man for using a cork, an elastic band or a piece of string to make a running repair or two and would be really impressed with the way repair cafes have begun to pop up and ingenious people share their skills. Like-minded thinkers might even enjoy this poem of mine.

Repair Café

Waste not want not –
fix a broken coffee pot.

Clothes have got a little tear?
Take time for a neat repair

Bike is causing you some pain?
Let an expert mend the chain.

Having trouble with your kettle?
A little adjustment gets in fine fettle.

Too good for the charity shop?
Why not use it for a swap?

Save you spending top dollar…
smarten up the cuffs and collar.

All repairs are done for free,
so don’t expect a guarantee.

All advice is cheap as chips,
handy hints and fixing tips.

Waste not want not –
Repair café has the lot.

© Eithne Cullen, 2025 

Connect with me on Instagram: @eithnecullen57 or LinkedIn: eithne-cullen -86466947

Hope you can keep yourself in one piece, till next time!

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Issue 30, featuring Gillian McAllister is out now. You will find it in libraries and other outlets. Alternatively, all current and previous editions can be found on our magazines page here. 

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