The Ugly Little Voice

Hello, it’s mee again

The ugly little voice which reminds me of my not-enoughness is becoming a little louder, a little more insidious and a little more brazen.

It used to come quietly in the dead of night, whispering of my failings and threatening to expose me to the world. Hateful little words meant to pierce my soul and make me bleed out the reserves of self esteem and confidence. It used to wait until the thoughts were jumbled up and tangled with one another, a mess of color and texture and things to poke its head up and snarl at me.

But now? Now every mundane task is threaded with the slow hiss of I-don’t-know-how-to-be-betterness and I-am-not-good-enoughness. It makes me think and rethink every action, knowing that the result will, at best, be sub-par.

My not-enoughness makes me unlikable and unloveable. It makes me unbeautiful and unintelligent. It makes me the opposite of the person I want to be.

The ugly little voice is with me even now. Telling me that the task I have completed is wrong and trouble will follow. It tells me that people would rather deal with someone competent. It tells me that my partner can’t love a broken thing and that he will find someone whole if only I just let him go. It tells me that my child looks at me with pity because she had already mastered the things I am still failing. It says I messed up and only losers need a second chance to get things right. It says I am a failure, and I will never been anything more.

I know the voice isn’t real. But I believe the things it says. I know that, logically, I I have knowledge, and education and emotional intelligence. I know that I cannot possibly be as ugly as the person is who I see in my mind’s eye. But how to shut this demon up…



A Broken Heart Still Loves

Hello, its me again

A broken heart doesn’t forget how to love. It may love differently, but it can love just as hard as one which has not yet been broken.

Having your heart broken changes you. It changes how you think, it changes WHAT you think. A broken heart causes pain as much physical as it does emotional, and you think that there is no coming back from it. You ache both with hurt and sheer exhaustion. Your mind reels at the betrayal of someone you held so very dear. The rug on which your life stands has been ripped out from under your feet and you don’t think that you will ever, ever find firm footing again.

You’re wrong. You will stop free-falling through space and time and slowly come back down to land. The pounding you feel in your heart and limbs will subside. You’ll look into a mirror and see that you are still you, even though you are different. Different, but yet still beautiful. The broken pieces will slowly draw closer to one another and you will find breath again.

But you will have changed. You will not always recognise your thoughts and actions as your own. Your new thoughts may sometimes contradict what you once knew to be fact about yourself. You will be hesitant, your movements sometimes laboured. Everything you do and think tempered by a haze of distrust and fear. The pain will resurface when you least expect, a sharp jab in the ribs or the feeling of your stomach dropping to your toes.

It…is…okay. Give time time. Give yourself time. Let love seep back into your weary soul.

Because I promise you, it will come. You will remember how to love because you haven’t really forgotten how. Loving will be as natural as breathing when you let it back in. Your love will be fiercer than you remember. You will love even harder than you knew you could. You will know that heartbreak is an actual possibility, but if you love safely you won’t find abandonment in the actual joy. Because joy it is.

A broken heart still loves.



Hello, it’s me again

This feels like the bottom. The bottom of everything. The bottom, but not the end.

Life has changed in the past year. I have given up some things in exchange for others. Bad things in exchange for good ones. But good things come at a cost too, just like everything in life does.

I suppose it is the yin and yang of life. Up and down. Left and right. Black and white. Day and night. Bottom and top. Without one, the other cannot exist.

But I am struggling to see where to from here. I know there have to be ways of getting back up, and working my way back to the top. I just need to know where the first step is. Putting one foot in front of the other, walking in a straight line…for me this means going nowhere I have not yet been before. No new step which makes today different from yesterday. What I need is to find the first step UP, but I cannot see it. I cannot sense it. I cannot hear anything call out to me.

I am tired, but not as tired as I was a year ago. My stresses are completely different, but as meaningful as the ones which came before. I quiet the voice which asks if there will ever be less to worry about. There has to be.

More than the hope I cannot find right now, the positivity which eludes me for the moment…more that the quiet knot in my chest and the loneliness of the witching hours…more than the emptiness…more than the struggle, my mind still says that this cannot be it for me. There is more. But where?

In my quiet quest for direction I have seen friendships fall away. I have seen family members lose patience with me.  I have been judged for decisions I have or haven’t made. And this is all okay. It is hard to maintain a facade of fresh-faced bliss when smiling sometimes becomes an actual, physical, conscious decision. First, I will find the first step up from here.



Hello. It’s mee again…

I spent weeks crushing on my 30 something year old self. The hourglass silhouette, the long, lustrous dark hair, the flat tummy. The youthfulness. The energy. And the strength of my independence.

But that is not it. That’s not what is making me feel less. Too much less. Too little. It is more than the getting older and the thickening of my waistline. It is more than the diminishment of energy or the grey in my hair. Because other than a few extra kilos, I am much the same as I have always been. But I’m not. I am less. I am too little.

It is the little I see when I look in the mirror. It is not my waistline or my hair which hold my gaze. What holds my gaze is my own eyes. The deepness of the brown is a little duller. The whites a little redder. The sparkle no longer as bright. It is how I can no longer hold my own gaze. It is that my insecurities make me a shadow. It makes the me I want to be a mirage. An illusion. And a fake. It is why I want to throw closed the mirror and why I feel like a little less. Why I feel like too little.

I want to be as strong as I say I am. I want to be as fiercely independent as I think I am. I want to be a woman of indomitable will.

I don’t want to be wrong. I want to know that I am in the right place, doing the right things with the right people. I want to be filled with different bits than the bits I give away. I want to be more. I want to be enough.

I want more than acceptance for who I am. I want to be deeply, deeply needed for the bits I do have. I want validation. But I don’t want to be the person who is too little who needs validation from a place outside myself. This makes me even less. This makes me the least.






Hello, it’s mee again

The good ones change us. They infuse us with bits of themselves and make us feel differently. Think differently. Be different from who we were before we knew them.

See, it’s important for them for us to know who they are. And the good ones share themselves with us…there is no other way for us to know them. We don’t tell them that they have influenced us as they have. Sometimes the process is so gradual, and the changes happen in such small increments that we don’t realize that they’ve happened.

The things which change us are not always words, and not always intellectual. Sometimes these things are actions…sometimes, they are emotional.

Which, of course, brings me to the point.

You are a good one. You have changed me. Not only through our many conversations, but more so because of your heart. With the way you teach me without either of us realizing that you do. With the way you love me.

I need you to know and to understand what this means to and for me. I  am different because of you. Your presence expands not only my mind but also my heart. You have changed my being. You have imprinted of yourself on my soul.


My Warrior Maiden

Hello, its me again

Warrior women are women who inspire us because of their tenacity and strength, but also because of their compassion and their fightinsg spirits.

My daughter is a warrior. She stands up for the little guy. For the black sheep. For the ones who cannot formulate words to defend themselves. She speaks out for the misunderstood. And she does so with respect and grace.

I used to tickle her (I still do, sometimes). But now I tickle her with words with rile her and force indignation from her lips. The problem is that she is on to me. It is a pleasure to watch her speak out for others in their absence, and a joy to listen to her well-formulated arguments.

If, at 21 years old, I already consider her to be a woman of indomitable spirit, I look forward to seeing what the does with the next 50 years of her live.

My girl, I want to be just like you when I grow up.


Momma’s Wish

Hello, it’s mee again,


I closed my eyes for a second,

I barely even had time to blink!

But adulthood beckoned,

And now your are a grown up, giving childhood a wink.


Do you know that you are my pride?

That every time I think of you,

I can’t imagine that you are not at my side?

This grown up thing blows my mind, and makes me a just a little blue.


But how magnificent you are,

Your heart and your soul pure.

A dazzlingly bright and beautiful star,

You are judicious and prudent, and poised in readiness, I am sure.


The time has come to give you your wings,

Time to fly and grasp hold of what you dream.

And, although sad, my heart loudly sings,

Momma prays for you, and hopes you know that she is always on your team.


I love you more than the big, blue sky,

Your beautiful nature by God designed.

May what you have learnt always be your lullaby,

Remain graceful, dream infinitely, and may your heart always be kind.


Momma loves you.



Sabotage of Self

Hello, it’s me again,

I have always found my way to a place where the things which negatively affect me need to stay inside. It is easy to share the good, but the bad and the ugly just will not come out.

It has always been my way to deal with my issues by storing them in a locked box in the deepest recesses of my mind. It is with difficulty (and under extreme duress) that I go looking for it again, but sometimes a glimpse of light falls upon it and, more than my interest is peaked, I feel an urgency to take out the contents, shake them free of dust and inspect every inch. But some things become uglier over time. More difficult to touch. They become smelly and gross with the mould and the moths and the darkness should have remained their eternal home.

Why am I doing all of this now? I’ll tell you…

Because of the glimpses of light. Because of what these glimpses mean. Because they not only pierce my consciousness but also my heart. And because I am heavy as lead inside. But talking about the things I don’t talk about might be lighting them with a torch…all of the little boxes will burn. But these little boxes are an integral part of who I am. Like every experience does, both good and bad, I am different because these little boxes exist inside me. What if they prop me up when I am too weak to stand and what if I become less resolute without them? Will I turn into a simpering little whiner, my hands held out in front of me for someone to lift me up from the mires in which I find myself stuck instead of doing it with the help of my little boxes?

What if someone sees them? What if someone sees them and decides that I am less worthy than I was before? What if someone see them, decides that I am less worthy than I was before, and leaves a new little box in the place they once waited for me?

Inasmuch as my little boxes exist, I have no room for any more. So I am going to find a little compactor and stamp them down some more so that the light cannot get to it. That’s all they really want anyway, isn’t it? To quietly continue gathering dust…hinges rusting peacefully, disintegrating gently over time until they, and their cancerous little occupants, cease to exist of their own volition. They will delicately stop propping me up and I won’t even realise that they have done slowly into the nothingness.

I can wait. I am patient enough to wait. I am patient enough to wait and to smile benignly while I do.



Too Late Now

Hello, it’s me again,

More than the anger I feel towards you, more even than the bitterness…it is the sadness that breaks me.

I trusted you. I shouldn’t have, but I did. I trusted your integrity and I trusted your work ethic. I believed in your potential because I had been witness to your growth.

And then you did the unthinkable. You took what was not yours to take. You used what was not yours to use to take what was not yours to take. You thought what you should not have thought to use what was not yours to use to take what was not yours to take.

And so you reinforced the cynical point of view I have been forced to have because of near constant reiteration. People cannot be trusted to do what is the right thing to do. People will do what they perceive to be the easy thing to do. The thing which has too little reward to prove fruitful. The thing which is wrong.

I am going to be angry with you for a long time. Because you were presumptuous. Because you were greedy. Because, if I had not opened my eyes and my ears, you may have duped me. Because just last night we had talked about how you raise your children. Because you are a liar and because you are a thief. Because I believed in you.

What happens now? How will you feed your family? How will you look at your spouse and how will you look at your children? How will you feed and clothe and take care of them? Because of your lie in one place you will be forced to tell the truth in another. Because of your theft you will lose more than you have gained. How short sighted you were. How very, very blind.

I hope that the lesson you should have learnt you will learn. I pray that your children do not suffer because of your ill doings. I hope that I do not meet you again. I cannot thank you for making me do the right thing when doing the right thing in this instance near broke my heart. But I do hope I never see you again.



Hello…it’s me again,

I’ve been around long enough to know that life is not a perfectly manicured garden. That wind and drought or rain and hail affect us all at some point or other.

So that I have been expecting a bit of snow for a while shouldn’t come as a surprise to either you or me. Because, you know…life happens! And, frankly, what surprises me more is that it took so long.

Anyway. What am I even talking about, right?

Well…that’s easy. It is the discovery of something one would rather not know. Something unpleasant. Something that makes one feel uneasy. Something one has to think about reasonably without becoming too emotionally distracted by it. Something to work through and something to make a decision about.

But sometimes one has already been to a place with similarly disturbing weather patterns, and previous experience colours our ways of thinking.  This is human nature. So I’ve left it for a bit…unfortunately, like a sore tooth one keeps touching with one’s tongue, my mind drifts back to touch it with jumbled thoughts. Writing has always helped to clarify things for me. To calmly notate. To think as I go.

Et voila! Here I am. Again.

There is no perfection in life. Every single thing is flawed. But we sometimes overlook these flaws to concentrate on the greater beauty. Just so, human beings, even ones with beautiful characters, are notorious for making mistakes which sometimes change us. A decision one comes to regret. A road one wishes to not have taken. A life changing occurrence we sometimes head into without thought to consequence. Sometimes we do not recognise it as something life altering…and one only knows that one wants it. Immediately. Consequences be damned! The things which change cannot be seen from the outside looking in. They may be recognised by others only as it affects them…if it touches them at all.

But the bottom line has always been that one must live with the decisions, the actions…and the pain they sometimes cause us and those who we are close to.

I guess we all have done some regretful things as we wade through the ocean of life. Sometimes we are not the ones who find these actions regretable but choose to remain rightiously indignant. But sometimes we cannot live with decision and must decide whether we will move backwards or forwards. Whether we will move vertically or horizontally. Whether we repair what has been broken or sever ties and repair only ourselves.

Sometimes, we are lucky enough to find forgiveness from those we have wronged and also find ways of repairing the damage we have done. We all do damage. And recognising this and attempting to make amends helps us to heal and to grow. And maybe if we are really, really lucky, we also learn to forgive ourselves.

I think that moving on from an experience which has changed you and also changed others is incredibly difficult. One hopes that these experiences don’t follow us all through our lives. I think that being able to admit or talk about these things take an enormous amount of inner strength as this opens us up to conversations we may not want to have ever again. And knowing that our answers to questions may not be what someone wants to hear.

So. Zemblanity. When I asked the question I had no idea the answer would be what it was. But, I’ve decided not to ask any more. I’ll wait for your story without promping you to tell me. I may not like what I hear, but that you answered my one question honestly gives me a million answers to questions anyway.

As I said. The writing helps. The reading may have confused the crap out of you though. Oops… 🙂


Expiration Dates and Puzzles

Hello, it’s me again

Where I “come from”, the good things don’t last. Sometimes they peter out and die a slow, natural death. Other times, pieces of your heart are forcefully yanked out and becomes bloody pulp. But, one way or the other, the end has always been an inevitability.

I sat beside you one day, not too long ago, and asked whether you believed that relationships have an expiration date. Your answer was one which baffled me then, and still does. You replied that all things run its course, but that this did not mean that every relationship has an ending.

So. This is me, confused. And this, of course, is the reason for this piece…

In the beginning of any new relationship, there is only newness…the person a breath of unfamiliar fresh air…a puzzle to put together with no idea where the pieces fit, a book with hundreds of pages yet unread…an unseen landscape of lush, lazy meadows and treacherous mountains.

I have heard, many times, that familiarity breeds contempt. And a part of me believes this to be true…if one initially dons the rose coloured glasses which skews one’s sight and blurs out peripheral vision. Take them off, and the quirks one once found endearing begin to grate, the differences no longer adorable but irritating to the point where biting one’s tongue is no longer an option. The beginning of the end, so to speak.

But here I am. Months later. A person who has never believed that rose tinted glasses served any purpose unless I was happy to lie to myself about what it was that I saw through them…and I am not. I want to see things and people in their true form, as I present myself in the same. I crave truth more than I need illusions. Time is too fragile a thing without imposing lies upon oneself.

And I still see you as I did on that first day! The stars which are surely in my eyes when I am in the same place you are in shine as brightly. The touch of your warm hand on my cooler one still sends a delicious shiver up my arm. Your lips on mine still take my breath away and make my eyes flutter closed involuntarily. Your mind still dazzles me with its brightness and forces me to think new things. And your character still surprises with its warmth, integrity and strength. Some of your quirks mirror mine almost exactly. Others still only make you different to me. None glare at me menacingly in a way which makes me want to close my eyes and run, blinded, in an opposite direction.

But this can only mean one thing…surely it will be MY quirks and MY differences which cause open sores which ooze poison steadily into what appears to be something breathtakingly special…until it dies an ugly death. MY habits which will eventually not touch your being gently, but will grate hard enough to cause this beautiful thing to bleed.

And now I sit here, with my throat closed up from the almost physical pain this thought causes. I am not ready to think it! What if the puzzle I am is a picture which is undesirable once it has been completed? What if the pages of my book are a nightmarish horror story you can’t bear to read? What if your anticipation of me dulls as you put me together?

I sigh deeply when I think these things, but it is the uncertainly which chokes me like black smoke from a house burning from the inside.

I know that life does not provide the answers we seek when we seek them. Not often, anyway. And I know that life’s journey is strewn with the unknown…and that this is what makes each day a beautiful mystery. But I also know that some days become dark and cold, especially the ones which we expect to remain bright and warm.

I have always lived in a way that I can confront the bits about myself which I do not like and be practical about my faults and my shortcomings. I sometimes overcompensate. I am imperfect, and I have as much ugliness inside me as does any human being does. And my overcompensations may even be the things which are unlikeable or unsightly to you.

Still pondering, but I have no new thoughts except that one cannot live or love halfway simply because one does not see the middle or the end, as one does not stop reading an interesting book simply because one does not know the ending. And I love a good book…become engrossed in its pages…lost even sometimes. I learn to love or hate each character with fervour. I climb into the story as though I can see and hear and feel what they do. A favourite book can be reread a thousand times without my ever becoming bored, even when I knows exactly what lies on the next page and its characters become as familiar as the lines on my hands.

And more than a puzzle, you are my favourite book by far… I could do nothing. I could simply sit tight and continue enjoying your story and watch you read mine. This is life…who knows what happens when you turn the page?



Hello, it’s me again, 

You make me think that relationships are supposed to be easy. Which is crazy…they never have been before. They are supposed to remind me of my insecurities, make me over analyse every little thing, and cause little pimples of irritation to become the craters into which emotions throw themselves to die…or morph.

My experiences have taught me that relationships are not the fairytales dreams are made of. But you! You make me question the things I thought I knew and make me wonder whether I could have been wrong.

If you knew me, you would know that I’m the girl that runs away. The one that keeps an invisible tally for the reasons why a relationship can’t work.  For the things that make people different enough from me for compatibility to be an impossibility. That I am easily bored because I feel that most people don’t have enough interesting bits to keep me engaged enough to stick around. That I hate my space being encroached upon and that I am stubborn about everything being a certain way. That I am so fiercely independent that I can appear intimidating…and that I like this because it scares people off. That I don’t make plans ahead of time because setting precedents means that I am pinned down and that being cornered means I can’t breathe and that when I can’t breathe I disappear. That opening myself up to others means they have something to hold against me and that having people know me is scary and makes me anxious.
But you, sir, are making me question what I thought I knew.

I notice every little thing you do which makes me smile. Every little gesture, every little concession. The thoughtfulness you display. The lighting of a fire because i am cold. Driving with me late at night because I want dessert. How you let me share in your experience at the race track even though I had absolutely no expectation and would have cheered from the sidelines with the same childish glee. The Sunday afternoon bike rides for coffee and cake. The breakfasts and dinners, and snacks in front of the TV. The nights out when you don’t leave my side and look at me like I belong to you.

I notice the value you place in my opinion. The ease with which you take my hand or put your arms around my waist. The kisses on my forehead and the hand on my thigh. The falling asleep in warm, welcoming arms and staying that way until I wake up.

You scare me a little. Because you make me laugh so much I feel it vibrate inside my soul. Because you make me think so deeply that I can almost feel the neurons fire inside my brain. Because when you kiss me, I lose my breath. And because when you smile at me with those eyes, I am sure that my heart swells inside my chest.

I feel cherished and special. There is no rush to anywhere. The journey is light and carefree. I don’t feel put upon or burdened, irritated or the need to bite my tongue. Quite the contrary…I am happy. 

Happiness doesn’t seem to be a fairytale anymore.


The Stench Of Maybe

Hello, it’s me again,

Maybe it is because I am feeling a little out of sorts that has made me think about all the what if’s and the maybe’s in my present or in my past. I didn’t think that I was silly enough to dwell on either, and yet…here I sit.

Sometimes, what if’s are actual possibilities. But they aren’t plans, and they aren’t always rooted in reality. In fact, they generally are a figure of an overactive imagination. Imaginary monsters waiting for me to come around a corner so they can jump out and get me. Stinky little devils flinging burny little capes to capture me and make me melt in the heat of worry and distress. Or maybe they just feel like little monsters flung out of hell to torment me.

Even the nice maybe’s smell of never, masked by the sweet-smelling scent of who know’s.

I have always wished to be a person who does not become excited by possibilities until they were tangible enough for me to reach out my fingertips and touch them. To prepare for the worst so that disappointment doesn’t singe my peace of mind and doesn’t sully my buoyant positivity. The problem is, that I am not a robotic misfit with zero emotion and even less imagination. The problem is that I think too much and that my mind has no ‘off’ button. Unfortunately, this means that I am as susceptible to maybe’s and what if’s as every other human being is.

One of the things which I dislike most about myself is that I am an over-thinker. Prone to making something out of nothing. I try really hard not to show any of it…if I talk about the things which swirl and swoosh around my head in the middle of the night, they become real simply because I put them out there. So I don’t put them out there. There is no point to putting a what if or a maybe out there anyway…is there?

But sometimes…sometimes they are pretty and light. Sometimes they are soft enough to make me smile and easy enough to put me to sleep. And these are the ones which I dislike most. Because they cause hope to flutter around like a little bird, chirping sweet songs in my chest. These are the most dangerous ones…they appear gently and prettily, ensnare me with their brightness, and then, when they are gone, the darkness appears as black as pitch…

The maybe’s and the what if’s  stink of rot. They pervade the senses and they darken the light. They appear innocuous and simple, but their reach is far and dark. They colour the thoughts and pull at one’s soul. They are the unseen ghosts of the night, the monsters peering out from under the bed. They are the grossly disfigured apparitions which dreams become when one’s guard is down and sleep threatens to overcome.

The stench of maybe…



Hello, it’s me again,

I’m annoying! Yes. Annoying. Not annoyed…I am ANNOYING!!

The control-freak in me wants to make sure that things are always…well…right. That the people I surround myself with are fine. That they have what they need and that they are happy…or happyish. That every single thing I do is as perfect as I can make it. That it doesn’t break or fall down so that I keep them happyish.

So I overcompensate. Have a problem? Let me solve it. Not advise…not listen…not help. Give it to me and let me do it for you. And I know how this sounds. It sounds like I think you can’t do it as well as I can, and as though I think I know everything there is to know about everything. But I promise that this isn’t true. I only want you to stop worrying about it. I would rather use energy and time I may or may not have to try to fix things so that you don’t feel like you are alone. I know!!! Crazy, right?? Annoying!!!

And I also apologise. For things I didn’t do! All the time! Your car had a flat wheel? Okay, let me change it for you even though I have no idea how to change a tyre…and I am so sorry that this happened to you. I suck as badly as the damn wheel does. How dare it and how dare I?! You lost an item of clothing? Here, take mine…no, I am not cold even though I practically have a jersey with me all year round. And it is my fault that you lost yours anyway. No, you HAVE to take it. No, you have NO choice. Geez! What is WRONG with me?!

Logically, I am very well aware that I must have some serious insecurities. Wait. I do. Without a doubt. Let’s see…I am afraid of not being ‘enough’ because I allowed myself to believe the people who have told me so in the past. I am afraid of being judged. Probably because I have been judged harshly in the past. Haven’t we all?! I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings and I hate the thought of someone being hurt and no one caring that they are. Because I hurt sometimes and I can’t tell anyone about it…or won’t. Whatever. Because people judge and I am not enough.


What will I do about it? Am I supposed to be less than I am because of where I’ve been? Well…debatable, right? Stop overcompensating and putting others first? Check! Stop trying to do everything for everyone? Check! Believe that I am enough? Check! Stop caring what people think? Check!

Note that, when I say “Check!” I am rolling my eyes so far back I can practically see grey matter. One doesn’t change overnight. How about I try to be less controlling, for one. How about I try to sound less like I don’t trust anyone to do anything? Check! How about I give what I can without leaving myself without, whatever this may mean? How about that?

Wait…it seems that I am a nag too. And too lazy to write a paragraph about it. Shit. Add laziness too.






Hello, it’s me again,

When we were eighteen, my papa took Imaan and I for the second piercings in our ears. You scolded us like the naughty children we were. You would have scolded my dad too if he was around. Imaan had to take hers out immediately…I didn’t have to listen. But you scolded me for weeks after.

You were a strong man. Fierce and independent, a straight shooter who didnt always use tact to get your point across. When you had something to say, you said it. No frills.

When you became ill and lost your legs, you built up such a large repertoire of self deprecating jokes that allowed pity from no one,  and had us all in stitches. You somehow made us feel better about your pain. You continued to cook and make us eat. You continued to pop around for a visit. You continued to laugh at life.

You were a husband…you and your wife spent a lifetime together, building together and taking care of one another. You worked through what bad stuff came your way, and continued to grow together. You were an inspiration to us all…I always looked up to you and felt that what you had, I also wanted some day.

You were a father…you and your wife raised three strong, wonderful children, whom you continued to influence through adulthood as you did when they were children. There is much of you in them. I look at then and I see your strength and your straightforwardness, and the ability to say things as they are. They are strong willed, protective, and have beautiful, soft hearts. You loved their spouses as your own…almost as though you had chosen them as life partners for your children.They take care of one another…and they will continue to do so with their mom now, in your absence.

You were a grandfather…I watched you with your grandchildren. The pride which shone through your eyes. How lovingly you retold their stories and how your face lit up when they were with you. Of course…you scolded them too. Otherwise you wouldn’t be you. I think your constant furry companion will miss you most. You didn’t eat without him, and he never stayed behind when you were on your way somewhere.

You were a son…you were an uncle…you were a brother…you were a neighbour and you were a friend…you meant something different to each of us, and so we will all mourn you in our own way. We knew who you were and could predict what you would say and do. I think it is the laughter we will all remember most.

When my dad died, you took me aside and said, “Remember, you are my child too. You still have a father.”. And so this is why I stand here today. To reminisce, to thank you, and to wish you well. I now no longer have a father here on earth. I hope that you two find one another, so that you can finally scold him about the incident with the earrings.

We will all miss you in our own particular way. We will continue to keep you in prayer. Knowing you, you are looking down, and making up jokes about the fact that you now have legs again.

Farewell…until we meet again.


More About Monday

Hello, it’s me again,

I hated them way before I knew you. Where Sunday nights have always been the precursor to the hard slog of a new week (I promise that I actually do love my job!), Monday mornings have always been a the harbinger of doom, simply because…well…Mondays don’t need a real reason, do they? But I pushed through every, single one of them (yes, I know, we all do, don’t we? Stop rolling your eyes at me) valiantly…well, maybe sometimes with less grace than others…ahem…

Then you came along. You make my downtime way more interesting and fun than I have had in ages. We do stuff or nothing, go out or stay in, and generally have a blast doing whatever we like. And, in the latest plot twist, on Sunday nights (which generally are a downer to begin with), I say ciao and that’s when the shit hits me.

Mondays come and you aren’t around. This (and the realisation usually hits me like a ton of bricks), combined with the fact that I won’t get to see you for a few days makes Tuesday and Wednesday seem like Monday too (not the work stuff. Those are Monday right up to Friday). I make plans for coffees and drinks and meals and visits and nothings with friends or family, but they’re…well, not you.




​Hello, it’s me again,

It was one of those extreme Cape Town summer days…barely a breeze stirred the hot air and the sun shone bright and blinding in an azure sky unmarred by even a hint of cloud. I was a few minutes early, having over compensated for traffic and distance, and so I stood waiting outside, quite unsure of what to do with myself.

And then, there you were. Tall…tattooed…sexy, ripped jeans and yellow sneakers. Trendy sunglasses hid your eyes (which I later discovered were quite beautiful). And then, of course, there was the blue hair…giving you an absolutely impish quality.

The air vibrated with your energy, I almost thought I could see inanimate objects move in your wake. You walked with confidence and with pride, your stride decisive. You chose our table, and, as we sat down, I felt an the unfamiliar flutter of a swarm of butterflies awaken in my chest. The place was quite full…but once we had ordered our first drinks, the roar of the crowd became a distant drone, and there was only you and I. 

I found that your sense of humour surpassed that of the funny man I had corresponded with. Your voice low and sexy, I could have rested my chin in the palm of my hand and listened to you talk for eons, not much bothered with the quality of my response had I not been as interested as I was by the workings of your mind. I heard the sound of your laughter for the first time, deep and contagious. Your cheeks, covered in silver stubble, creased whenever you smiled, revealing a cute gap between your two front teeth. I  was drawn to the shape of your lips, which appeared soft and infinitely kissable. Conversation flowed as easily as our fingers had typed, and laughter came easily and often. Your intelligence, hinted at during our many conversations, shone through your piercing eyes and each topic we touched on became enthralling simply because it was you with whom I was conversing.

I am sure that I was more flushed by the imagined heat from your body than I was by the ambient temperature. I am convinced that I might have talked with you for an age more if time was nothing but a means by which we measured the passing of each day and not the tasks which needed accomplishment within the hours and the minutes each contains. But, alas, life tapped at the window and peered menacingly at us both, a dour reminder that neither it nor time would wait for either of us.

When we said goodbye, I ventured a hug…and you kissed my lips. The simple touch was like a torch taken to dry tinder, and sparked a blaze I was unprepared for. I think the kiss was one which shocked me…it appeared quite innocent, but its effect stayed with me for many hours.

As I lie quietly in my bed, having tried to remember every scent, every detail of yesterday,  I wonder whether I will see you again. I think I must. Which, if you knew me, would make you gasp and agree that wonders will never cease.



Climb The Mountain

Hello, it’s me again,

Adaptability. Thinking on your feet. Embracing change. LIFE!

Some people take one look outside the window after having a shower, see bright, clear, blue skies and wear what will keep their bodies cool for expected hot weather…other people pack a jacket. It doesn’t matter how bright the sunshine may be today…clouds form real fast, and sometimes bring with them some mind numbing cold weather. Of course, the opposite is often true as well…the thing is, one never can tell.

You have your packed lunch and car keys in your hand. Your ride is fuelled and ready to launch into the direction you have mapped out for yourself…you’re pretty damn sure you have all your bases covered. But do you? What if your car breaks down 200km from home…and you left your wallet sitting on the kitchen counter? You never know…

You have a long term plan. You have it all mapped out. Crossed your t’s and dotted your i’s…but you get caught by a sideswipe you had no idea was coming.

After you wipe the tears away and square your shoulders, you find your bearings, reset the timer on the clock and step forward again. Only ever look back long enough to understand the lesson. Because that’s why you are here. Not for a rosy, all expenses paid trip to wonderland where all your dreams are meant to come true, but for the lessons! The world needs more people prepared to ride out the crazy wave, to climb the mountains, to take another chance, because these are the strong ones. The scarred ones. The beautiful ones. The ones who do not pity themselves, but get back out there and show the world that there is strength inside your blood and wisdom inside your heart.

Yes…there will be moments of melancholy…Yes, there will be sadnesses and tears…but is joy not made all the more intense when your life is not only happiness? Is strength gained from hurts not all the sweeter when you can run your fingers over the scars and feel pride instead of pain? Is your smile when things go right not broader because your expectation that they will is less?

Climb the mountain. The view up there will take your breath away.



Hello, it’s me again,

What’s happening to me?

So tired that I cannot see.

Sleep eludes me,

And my thoughts simply will not let me be.


My soul cries,

My mind bleeds molten fires.

My heart is squeezed by so many wires

My body, unable to move, surrounded by mires.


It is so hard…

And I am marred

By the things which have charred

And left me scarred.


But…I know that I am made of grit

I know that I cannot simply sit.

I cannot quit…

I must find my spirit!


I will pull myself up by my bootstrings.

And pretend once again that I have wings,

And find those things which make my heart sing!

I know that this will my lost peace bring.



My Own Choosing

Hello, it’s me again,

I have had so much to think about these last few weeks. Many choices to contemplate. Ideas floating around my mind like sparkling bits of dust dancing in a beam of light, I sought to find sufficient focus to lasso each one in turn, and drag them towards the proverbial pen in order to capture them where they cannot disperse into nothingness.

I have made myself alone. Well, in my heart, really. This most certainly is as true as the sun shines in the morning sky. A decision to remove myself emotionally from relationships which bear the darkest traits of most longstanding, long suffering ties have made this so. The ones which weigh heavily upon shoulders already bent with burden. The ones which add sadness and which goad one into grasping at what once was…but from which the light fragrances and cheerful laughter of the past proves elusive in this, the present.

And so, a decision that I would rather exist in a place where I can find some contentment, with the very few people who make me smile, and laugh, and think on the occasions when my own company becomes too much to bear. The ones who do not judge, who accept that my life does not run along the parallels of theirs. The ones who accept the integrity of my words and my deeds. And the realisation that if I am not missed by those with to whom I am bound by the invisible strings of yesterday then they will not tug on these strings…and my heart will be free to roam and my mind also free to grow.

Of course, I do come from somewhere. And where I come from cannot be changed, nor do I wish it so. Those from whom I come and with whom I grew remain inexplicably tied to my heart. They are etched into the fibre of my being like symbols into flesh. Permanently marking and visible and distinguishable from all others.They are mine. But do they recognise that I am also theirs? Do my transparent thoughts and deeds give cause for wonder or translation? Does what I think and feel and wonder and believe make any indent upon their conscious or subconscious? And does my non-physical absence give cause for the same? Do I matter…?

Then there are others. Others whom it appears I stumbled upon on the rocky path to wherever it is I am going. The ones who taught me, and loved me, and even showed me that I am indeed a part of a puzzle which I did not know was being put together. That I added what was needed and that I received what I did also.
Some of these remain…and they will always do so if I had any choice in the matter. But others…others I have had to leave behind. A heart breaking, soul wrenching, hand wringing experience of pain and loss. The necessity of letting them go made so not because they no longer served a purpose, but because the pain of dragging the weight of something which no longer breathes life becomes too much to bear.

A time of transformation, I think. Perhaps I am hard hearted and perhaps I refuse to make a reasonable argument on behalf of those I have chosen to remove myself from. But…perhaps I have made many arguments on their behalf…arguments in which I have put away my own feelings and given them the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps I have wrestled with myself on their behalf too many times to count. Perhaps I have put them first more times that I have done myself. Perhaps it is time that I work on me first.

Another new page. I believe that actions have consequences. I could make some guesses on how this chapter will go, but, if I believe that the reasons for this particular plot change are sound, I am going leave it be and concentrate my energies on finding the place where contentment lies. If I am particularly lucky, I’ll find that happiness resides at the same address.


Fanciful Meanderings

Hello, it’s me again

It is the things we want that we cannot have. It is that which we crave that becomes a mirage…the closer we get to it, the further out of reach it becomes.

Bull. Shit.

There is that which keeps me awake at night…wakeful dreams…fanciful meanderings around my tired, cotton-filled mind. Dazed by sleepiness, but unable to grasp the darkness because. In the dark, these things seem closer than they are in the light. The attempt to lasso them and drag them forcefully to me in an exhausting effort to make them stay until morning comes.

As is true (most times) what I am talking about is intangible…that which cannot be bought and kept…that which we all want…that which seems impossible to grasp with one’s hands.

My particular brand of wishfulness is the fulfilling, all encompassing knowledge that I am loved beyond measure and accepted beyond boundaries. That the ache of loss will dissipate as the darkness does when the sun rises in the morning, bringing with it freshness and newness and possibility. It is craving the feeling of worthiness and seeking the clarity of wisdom. It is the abundance of depth of conviction that pervades the pores and unseats uncertainty.

With clarity at 2am in the morning, I lie staring up into the darkness with full awareness, feeling the air on my skin…aware of every breath I take and its affect on my tired body. The silence rings in my ears with thunderous noise. There is a faint light which shines from the the lamp outside, illuminating the room only slightly…enough for me to feel that I am not the sole survivor of the human race. My mind roams free with my body in total repose…

I imagine that I am floating to the place I see in my mind…that place which no one knows exists…the place my soul calls home. I imagine that this place is where my people all are. The ones I know, the ones I knew, the ones I will one day know… and that they wait for me with childish excitement as children do on the eve of their birthdays or Christmas. I imagine an overwhelming sense of love, acceptance and peace emanate from their very pores, and that this is infused in to the core of my being in an instant…I become transparent with intensely joyful…and I being to cry.

Tears of relief as pain is pushed out forcefully by lighter, better things. Tears of joy that it is true…that I am. That they are. That we will be.

I awake cold…goosebumps have gathered on my cold skin. I pull the thin blanket over my arms and turn toward the window. Outside, the light is beginning to brighten…the promise of a beautiful day tangible. The air smells of new things. Possibilities await. Reality is what I decide it is. Dreams are ready to be plucked from the ether. I close my eyes for a bit…they will keep until the alarm goes. For now, I’d like to go back home…








Hello, it’s me again

You are a stranger to me. And yet you know who I am. I am a stranger to you. And yet I hear you…

How strange it is that one can speak with a person who one does not know about dreams and dreads? About wishes and whimsy? How strange to discover more similarities than differences, and stranger still that neither need to be voiced to be heard?

How strange to wait, with bated breath, for a sentence sometimes more meaningful than a day’s worth of words with another? And then to feel them no matter how quietly they are spoken? That a breath or a pause carries meaning? That trivialities carry no weight at all?

To be carried away with words earnestly meant and honestly voiced. Opinions shared and debated with fervour…smiles or laughter sprinkled like dust which moves playfully through a prism of light. How strange!

Speak to me some more…let your breath spell out your name as your words spell out your making. How very strange…

You are a stranger to me. And yet you know who I am. I am a stranger to you. And yet I hear you…
How long before neither of us is as strange as strangers are?


It’s No Good

Hello, it’s me again,

You know, the thing is that it is no good trying to forget. And anyway, you’re too precious, and you touched my soul in a million different ways. You have been the cause of the most amazing highs and the source of my deepest, most wrenching pain. But you’re too much to forget.

I know that you and I will never go away for one another because we impacted each other’s lives on too great a scale. No matter how many years have passed, the mention of your name, the sound of your voice or the ping on my phone still causes that jelly filled feeling at the backs of my knees and the sudden thud of my heart in my chest. You were it. Maybe you will always be it for me.

And we would have been the ones others look at in amazement twenty years from now, the word, “WOW!!” scuttling through their minds. But we never could keep it together.

And that is the point of this rant. You and I simply cannot keep it together for any significant period of time. Even though we are fantastic together. Even if you mean the world to me. We always last for the honeymoon period…and when there is an eclipse and we can’t see the light, one turns away from the other and walks off to a better vantage point without grasping the other’s hand. Yes. This is what happens.

For once, I wanted you to fight to remain with me for ever. To choose me over the hassles which every life has. Just once. For the last time I voiced this to you. Putting myself back together after each break-up was so damn hard, but I did it. And the next time there is a ping on my phone or a 12am call, I answer and find myself back in the moonlight…

But I can’t do it again. I am allowing myself to be broken over and over again, and I don’t seem to find all the crumbs to put myself back in quite the same way…there are tiny little gaps where I used to be complete. I now know with 100% certainty that I am not the same girl I used to be. I now know that I need to find other, new pieces to substitute what once was.

It is no good trying to forget. I am going to have to learn to embrace what was and make it a part of me without allowing it to turn me bitter and cold…because neither of those traits are naturally in my nature. I am going to remember the part of me which was yours to keep…but I am going to let you keep it. This part of me will always be yours.

It is time to embrace what has become of me and become better, not bitter. Yes, it will take time to find the things which will fulfill me in the ways we used to. Yes, it is going to take time to feel secure and worthy again. Yes…I know that I am going to actually have to allow myself to grieve, to cry, and to heal. But I know I will…maybe one day I will wake up and no longer miss you. Maybe that day is next year, or five years from now…but it is as sure to come as the surety that the moon will rise in the evening…and that I will one day again bask in the moonlight…but next time I will remain as the moon makes its way across the horizon, and until the sun rises on the other side.







Hello, it’s me again,

A few days ago, someone asked me what I was passionate about. My answer consisted of only one word. People.

People are beautiful. People are different. And yet we are all so similar in so many ways. People have so much in common with one another when it comes to ‘The Big Stuff’, and yet our differences manifest in ways which blow my mind.

Because we have so many differences, and our perspectives differ from one person to the next, our strengths and weaknesses range from mediocre to exceptional, and every level in between. This is the stuff I get excited about… this is what I am most passionate about. The differences. The flaws and imperfections. The life experiences which have helped mould each of us into the shape which we are right now, and envisioning whether or not this shape will hold true one year from today, or whether we will refuse to stagnate in a comfort zone. The things that hurt. The things which bring too much joy to hold inside.

Tell me all of it. Tell me the whys and wherefores, the hows and the whens. Show me the substance which distinguishes you from me. Paint me a picture of the pain and the road which led you away from there to a place of healing and happiness. Or tell me how you got to where you are and whether you want to stay or leave. Draw me a map of your dreams and sketch your fears in pencil.

It is listening to someone talk about their lives or experiences, their families, the things they enjoy doing, the work which they do…and it isn’t simply the listening which interests me. It is noting the changes in their voices with which they speak of experiences they have made which have lasting impact for them. It is watching their eyes light up with love or empathy for the people they care about. It is about their personal passions or pains. It is envisioning the lightness or heaviness of their limbs and the watching the light shine or fade in their eyes.

I have not yet met a person who was not able to teach me something which I could not use as a lesson in my life…because of our striking similarities and our glaring differences. Each of us lives our lives with certain routines and crazy variations to these routines. Every single one of us contains both blinding beauty and terrible ugliness…and I am interested in both.

So, the next time someone asks me what I am passionate about, my answer will consist of one word. People.

Oh! When you read the title of this piece, you had something else in mind, didn’t you? Oops…


Challenge Me, Teach Me

Hello, it’s me again,

Is it wrong that I enjoy the company of people who challenge my way of thinking, with whom I can debate and who I can learn from instead of those who converse in an utterly bland, pleasant way? Is it wrong of me to want more than vanilla, but to also want to know why the flavour of mint or english toffee should be more rousing to my palate before I choose to taste it?

I think my mind will stretch as far as I allow it to stretch…and I think that a lazy mind is restricted because one does not apply oneself. Hey, don’t get me wrong…I am not saying that I know it all…which is exactly my point!

I may not find everything the universe has to offer interesting enough to want to learn more about it…as an example, I hate math.I would rather read something that evokes emotion, and math does not do that for me. I would rather learn of the culture or belief system of others than tabulate a table or measure wood for a cupboard. But…there are many who would rather learn these skills than listen to someone tell their life’s tale.

I want to know that a middle of the night conversation is going to be more than giggles and nods if I am to stay awake for it. I want to be challenged! Teach me what you know and what I do not. Just so, that which I know I can share with you…and, if my thoughts do not mirror yours, tell me why!

The thing is, I cannot bring myself to explain why I am the way I am, or why my thoughts are as they are to those who have no interest in delving beyond what is visible and exploring the depths of my mind if I cannot do the same. I cannot make another human open up to me and show me what their thoughts are coloured by, and how if they are not interested in seeing the hues of mine…

But if I do not try, I am doomed to glide by those who think as I do, and wither away until my grey matter becomes dust.

And I don’t know if I am ready to be okay with that…


My Own Company

Hello, it’s mee again,

You know, I think they’re right. All those people who say that you have to love yourself first before you can love anyone else or accept love from another. They’re on to something which feels totally true.

In solitude you listen to only your own thoughts. In solitude you learn more about your true self that you do surrounded by a crowd. In solitude you have the opportunity to let go of the facade shown to others.

It’s pretty obvious that I have spent a great deal of time by myself recently, isn’t it? Believe it or not, at first, I had no choice. My state of mind simply was not condusive to intelligent conversation, or impulsive laughter, or fun of any kind. I needed…no, I craved solitude. I was in no fit state to pretend I was whole, and only in the quiet of my own space was I able to lay down the mask and just…be…

Life, of course, does not wait. Nor did I expect it to. In fact, what I wanted was for time to move a little faster so that I could count down to the day I would feel better. Give time time, they say…so I did.

One day…one week…one month…then two…then three…then four…then…then here I am. Again, a new place. Again, a new me.

My home is now different. My daughter with her school career nearly complete. My life revolving and evolving around much the same and so much different. I feel ready to take on its challenges and its blessings once again.

And I am forced to feel a hint of pride, and I am made to smile. You see, despite the knocks and the shoves, and despite losing my footing, and despite losing my way sometimes whilst on this crazy path of mine, here I am.

With the sun kissing my skin and the warm breeze ruffling my hair, here I am. Still. Again! Here I am! I AM whole. I AM good. I AM blessed. And so I have no choice at all but to love me.

And with a heart bursting with gratefulness for the trial which brought me here and the lessons I have been made to learn, I say this…

I am back.


And Then There Were Memories

Hello, it’s me again,

And one of our songs played on the radio and I signed a document destined for your city and I remembered our last holiday and our last meal and the last time I heard you laugh and felt the last time you held me in your arms and told me I was your everything and the last time we dreamed together and our last drive together and the last time we lit a fire and the last time you got me drunk and the last time we laughed and played and loved and talked and planned and…and I couldn’t…hold…it…back…

The next thing I knew, I had tears streaming down my cheeks, splashing onto my desk. And the next thing I knew, I was heart broken all over again. And the next thing I knew, I was dialing your number, hoping I got your voicemail just so I could listen to the automated voicemail, and the place you inserted your name.

You are just a man. You are just another human being, flesh and bone and blood. I am a separate being. Then why do I feel like I am not separate from you? Why does it feel like I am half of you and you are half of me and I am now walking around as only half of who I used to be? Why does it feel like you are my home and I have been banished to a different planet where I have to pretend to be the same I was before you?

Why are parts of me scattered here, there and everywhere like shards of broken glass or pieces of a mirror which no longer fit together perfectly because it has pieces missing? Why are the biggest pieces of me no longer mine but yours even though you no longer want them?

Anyway. Tomorrow will be better…won’t it?


What May I Keep?

Hello, it’s me again,

The is a question which will keep me from slumber tonight and many more nights like tonight. A question which bears down on me like a weight I cannot lift. A question which tears at my insides and pulls me apart.

What may I keep?
WHAT may I keep?
What may I KEEP?

There is not a thing of permanence in my life which may be measured in terms of years or decades which I have made or done or achieved that is mine alone. Nothing. Not one single thing.

So what may I keep for myself?

Nothing I do ever seems enough to quite cut it. Nothing lasts for any period which isn’t measured in months. Eight months. Nine months. Three months. Six months.
Everything I want must come with a Fixed Term Contract.

Platitudes don’t help. “You play the hand you’re dealt.” (BULLSHIT). “You’re a single mother.” (CRAP). “Life is tough.” (HOGWASH).

Then there is, “Hard work pays off.” This makes me shake with an anger so great I could break a great many things.
Hard work does not pay off. Money does.

There is not a thing which could be said which could make me feel any more or less of an utter, absolute, mind-numbing, stupid failure. I fail. It’s what I do. I do it well. I do it consistently.

What breaks me is knowing that my failure makes those around me fail too.

No peace, no bliss, no “Home”. Idle dreams I have no business dreaming. Dreams of joy and being free of cares and worries when these things do not exist in my world.

So. What may I keep?
Nothing, right? Yes…I know.


Swimming Against The Tide

Hello it’s me again,

My arms are heavy as lead…
My chest is on fire…
My legs are like jelly…
But more than this…more than the physical fatigue which pervades every single cell in my body…
My heart and mind are screaming with exhaustion.

Because I’m swimming against the tide.

I’m a strong girl. My life has been a series of heart stopping lows and breathless highs.
In love my heart is blissful. It is secure and full and bursting with untold joy.
But my mind…my mind is filled with darkness and worry and pride and…and tears. Walls, when knocked down become cliffs. Cliffs when navigated become dark, swirling rivers.

Because I’m swimming against the tide.

And being me, I am a creature filled too much with pride. Pride in all I have been blessed to achieve in my life. Pride that I am the proud mother of a talented, beautiful child. Proud that I am deeply and completely loved by someone who thinks I am loveable. Proud, proud, proud. How does one with so much pride ask for more?
How to say “Help me, I’m drowning. Help me, I’m afraid. Help me, I don’t know what to do anymore.”.

I’m swimming against the tide.

I choke on words. I blatantly refuse help from outside myself because I don’t know how to gracefully accept it from anyone. I push people away who offer any form of support because I accepting it is like accepting that I am weak and broken.

And I’m too used to swimming against the tide.

“Just keep swimming”…right?


Wishing, Watching, Waiting

Hello it’s me again,

It isn’t that I have lost my passion for ordering my thoughts and voicing them with the written word. It is that words have the power to make me whole…and they have the power to make me come undone.

The very last thing I want is to colour my words with tinges of grey and black. When I started my blog, my intention was to try to colour your thoughts with bright bursts of laughter, maybe provoke you into thinking outside the lines…or perhaps to simply evoke empathy.

And yet here I am…tightly bound with dark threads, wishing and waiting for the day I may twirl myself right out of them into a shock of fresh air and bright skies.

That day, however, seems impossibly far off. Because the wishing I can do smilingly. But the waiting…the waiting makes me feel small and piteous. Watching an unseen clock for the seconds which tick loudly in my proverbial ear.

Tomorrow. Right? A thousand tomorrows away.

Worth the watching, waiting and wishing? Absolutely.


Old Things

Hello it’s me again,

Every now and then, you may walk into my kitchen and find me using the oldest, most beaten up frying pan and wonder why it is that I can’t afford a ‘decent’ one.

That old pan, scoured to within an inch of its life, is older than I am, and fries the best, most perfect eggs on the planet.
That old pan belonged to my grandmother, long since in the beyond.
Newer, prettier frying pans with nonstick coatings don’t even come close.

I have other old things, easier on the eye, more sparkly and less useful. Just as every single one of us does. I don’t know if I would have used it had my grandmother not used it first. I might have lifted my eyebrows in disdain at its distinct ugliness. Instead, it belonged to her. It was good enough to use in her sparkling clean kitchen, and so it is perfectly good in mine.

No, this is not a weird story wherein I tell of being closer to her, frying eggs in her battered old pan on my lovely new stainless steel stove top.
Instead, it is a reminder that things can be useful long after one thinks they should be relegated to the scrap heap.

It has a lot to do with the fact that pretty is not always perfect (don’t get me wrong, I love pretty new things as much as the next girl). It also has to do with taking care of what you have.

What do you have that needs taking care of besides things? What is old and used and slightly ugly which you relegate to the back of you mind as you would a shirt purchased 20 years ago which has yellowed with age?

I realise that I sometimes need to be reminded that familial relationships which have the musty smell of age and the comfortable texture of old fabric must sometimes be taken out, shaken, and brought back to life.

How will I know that I cannot grow to need these ties as much as I now need that old frying pan? Are cousins not one’s first friends, and aunts and uncles surrogate parents when we are children?

So. Battered frying pan notwithstanding, I think I’m a little hungry for something other than fried eggs.


Turning The Page

Hello it’s me again,

There is something to be said for cutting the unnecessary from your life. For concentrating your energies on a leaner, cleaner way of life.

We clutter our lives with things of no import, things which cause our own unhappiness and misery. Things or people who sap our energy and leave us listless and colourless. We allow the behaviour or attitudes of others to drain us or darken our sight. We act without insight and foresight and spend an untold amount of time regretting decisions made in haste.

I’m letting mine go…all of it…all the bad, the unneeded, the valueless.
I want more.

I know who and what I need in my life. I will act in a way which adds to this, or brings me closer to it. I will no longer allow the unnecessary to steal my time, my peace or my joy.

I will go to sleep with a happy smile on my face, knowing that I have done all I could. I have lived in a way which contributed to the joy of others. I will put the stresses of the working hours away, and revel in the happiness of a day spent building the future I dream of.

I will wake energised and eager to start a day in which my efforts, perhaps not immediately rewarded, will do so in the long run.

I will start now.



Hello it’s me again,

Life is a constant state of turmoil, with moments of clarity and peace added to the maelstrom to keep us focused on whatever path and plan we are meant to undertake.

Life is like walking through a storm, lightening making us jump in fright, soaked wet to the bone from giant raindrops from which there is no escape, thunder creating a noise we cannot close our ears to.

Life is like a journey through a muddy wilderness, pools of quicksand threatening every footstep, branches hampering the way, lashing arms and face at a near constant pace. Thick leaves from trees up above hiding the sun…deep gloom no help for a traveler who knows not where next to place weary feet.

And yet, it is all worth it in the end. The storm clears. The wilderness disappears. The joys unseen during a hard journey become transparent and breathtaking beautiful as one’s senses take them in. Breathe them in…see them through eyes new with wonder.

And then…and then a new journey begins…


Negotiable Non-Negotiables

Hello it’s me again,

Trust. Honestly.
These are certainly non-negotiables…aren’t they?

Doubt niggles at the corners of my mind…a dull, persistent itch.
Being me, I have refused to touch it, all the while knowing that it is like an untreated open sore, and is sure to turn into a smelly, oozing, infected mess.

The knowledge is like a sheet of clear glass. I know that once I shift it, it will fall. It will shatter, and it’s pieces will scatter across the dirty floor. Its shards will cut and bleed…and leave scars. I already know that wounds heal. But wounds are painful, and the growth of scar tissue far off in the healing process.

Once the glass has shattered, there is no way of putting it back together so that it is completely whole. It will no longer be a thing of beauty, but something fragile and ugly.

But it is falling. And it will shatter. I may need to cover myself so that I don’t get cut too deeply, but, as the saying goes…forewarned is forearmed.
The time to touch the wound will come. The ointment will be expensive. The healing will be painful in and of itself. But the scar will grow to cover it, and pain will become a dull ache in poor weather.

Ah…life. Life happens…



Hello it’s me again,

I want the air to be still enough to hear what it is I need to know.
The whispers of truth to questions deep inside, below.

I want to close my eyes long enough to see what is always just outside my line of sight,
The brightness I strain for with all my might.

I want to float on the wind, high above in the air,
Closer to the sun, to feel its warm glare.

I want to toil the earth and watch good things grow.
To dig my hands into damp soil…to sow, and then reap, and then sow.

And then I want to sit quietly long enough to see a flower grow.
Having heard the answers,
Having felt warm to my core,
Having seen what I must.
Simply…to know.



Hello it’s me again,

It hurts to hear you say my name and still use the word “love” in the same sentence…
The pain in your voice is so tangible that the words are like knives, piercing my heart, wounding my soul.

When someone hurts you, it is something which can be worked through…no matter what you did, not matter how hard it is, no matter how many times you must examine it and them…it is entirely possible.
I take my lessons from the hardship and the pain, I become strong through them, and I decide to heal.

But self-inflicted pain is the worse kind of emotional trauma.
A decision made at a point in your life, an incident which acted as a catalyst for a life-changing decision. Disappointed, disheartened, disenfranchised…whatever your reason or justification may be, your pain is based on your own judgment, meritorious in your mind, apocalyptic and cataclysmic for you and those your decision affected.

But I used your decision as a means to make a swift, powerful change in the journey of my life even though initially I could see no light. I chose to not break, even though the cracks showed for a little while. I chose to smile both inside and out even if the smile on my lips was a lie in the beginning. I chose to be more than “ok”. I had no choice but to close the door and wait a while in an ante-chamber…a confessional with myself on either side. Examining. Chastising. Punishing. And then cleansing. Forgiving. Growing. Evolving. Healing.

I became the me I am now. Finding happiness and joy in the dark corners of myself, blowing softly on the embers until a spark ignited a blaze which killed what my heart did not need.

The remorse with which your voice shakes pains me. The fondness with which you reminisce saddens me. The tears you weep are so gut-wrenching that tears form in my own eyes, and sobs build in my own chest.

I want for you to find happiness.
Even if you do not find it with me.
I have accepted that maybe we aren’t meant to be, even though you will always live in my heart.
Please take the time to heal.
Please take the time to work through that which hampers your growth and breaks you apart.
Please learn from the past so you can teach in the future.
Please take care of yourself so you have substance to share with those around you.

Anyway, helloitsmeeagain…

My Own Worst Enemy

Hello it’s me…again,

You know, I really am my own worst enemy. And I really, truly need a brain-swop (I might consider being the next guinea pig for such an operation…just saying 😉 ).

This damn thing just doesn’t stop! No matter what I do, no matter how peaceful I am the thinking, the analysis, the conjuring of ideas from the ether and the imagining things-that-will-go-wrong never, ever stop.

Geez! Enough already!
I’m driving myself quite mad! No, not literally…I’d be the first to admit to that. Maybe that would make a brain swop more likely.

The thing is, I AM a thinker. But sometimes…just sometimes, I wish I could catch a break from myself. Just have nothing at all floating around my brain matter. The kind of quiet I find when I am able to meditate, which isn’t nearly often enough.

Writing helps. Writing down what I’m thinking or feeling about…well anything, even thinking.

Now won’t you please help, and take a few of these thoughts to bed with you so I can get some sleep? Thanks 🙂


My Truth

Hello it’s me again,

I woke up this morning with the proverbial light bulb shining in my eyes, blinding me to the point where I shook my head and closed my eyes in search of a way to clarify or simplify this profound moment into something I could apply in my life.

If I censor my actions or reactions to the world outside, I am doing exactly what I need to do to get by in a place where others may not understand what makes me tick.
But…if I sensor my actions or reactions to myself, I lose my truth. I cannot hide what I feel from myself, even if I feel the need to conceal it from others for fear of whatever the repercussions may be.

Being true to myself is something which must not become negotiable. It is as much a necessity to my way of life as having air to breathe and the ability to reach out and touch someone.
If I sanction my thoughts and ideas, I will slowly dissipate into nothingness…and I am not nothing.

It would be the same as facing a mirror which is covered by a sheet. Why would I hide my face from myself? I need to be able to look at my inner reflection, the flaws inside myself in order to grow. And I need to be strong enough to search for them in order to find them.

Simply put, I may not utter what sits on my tongue, but I feel the words fizz on its tip. I may not do what my limbs ache to do, but the energy to do so rushes through the blood under my skin. I may not reveal my thoughts or show intent, but I have faced them both and am aware of their presence.

I have always said that I live out loud, and if the rainbow hues inside me colour the world outside and changes the light by even a fraction of a fraction, it is enough.



Hello it’s me again,

And there she was. Joy…

It was another one of life’s fated moments, set out through what appeared to be a random coincidence.

It was not our first meeting…we had met before, and I had taken to her in the first instant I looked at her, without speaking a single word. A smile…she had me at hello.

And then an opportunity for conversation, laughter, coffee. An evening of conversing about it all. Love, Life and The Universe.
Differences and likenesses. Similar life events which had helped shape us into the beings we have become. The lessons taken from things seen, heard, read, experienced.

Naked communication between two persons who had loved, lost, touched, missed, found, hurt, healed and shaped. No judgements, no unwanted or unneeded advice, listening, and the realisation of similarities or differences, nodding understanding, or mutual anger at the retelling of a past outrage.

Ideas and ideals bouncing between us, principles and principal players smiled at or mutually frowned upon. Laughter and shadows of sadness flittering in the open spaces.

Joy of Hope. Joy of Faith. Joy of Love.
Thank you…

Anyway…helloitsmeeagain… ❤

Freedom And Bliss

Hello it’s me again,

Life has been so magical that I have been struggling to find words sufficiently appropriate to express how and what I feel. Can you believe it?!

I have always appreciated what I had…but I have also always been aware of what I wanted.

I knew the importance of communication…but not the importance of talking and, in turn, listening.

I am positively influenced by the healthy relationships of which I am a part. But have never been so influenced that external stresses barely touch my peace, or that I didn’t need to remind myself of the million blessings I have been given. Now, I have an overpowering desire to shout out how amazingly blessed I am!

The outside circumstances pale in comparison to my inner fulfillment and contentment.

The thing is, I make me happy. I found peace and contentment hidden within myself, and having been slowly peeling back the layers, savouring every new thing, feeling the joy swell and expand. Learning to look for the pleasure in the world around me while being still enough inside to appreciate what I see and feel.

I liked me first. I knew me first. I found the me I am first, and that’s how I can share myself with you.

I had heard that this is how it really works. If you’d told me I would experience the utter freedom I feel, I would never have believed you in a million, trillion years. But I believe me now.

Ah…happiness? Utter bliss!

Anyway…helloitsmeeagain ❤

The Joys Of Parenthood

Hello it’s me again,

When you smile, my world lights up and I feel a glow spread all the way from my head to my toes. And when you cry, I break into a million little pieces.

I hate the thought that I might one day have to say, “I can’t…” when you need something I can’t provide. And every time I am able to say, “Yes.” I feel a sense of pride which makes my chest swell.

You bring me joy…but there is also the kind of worry that is as much a part of parenthood as the inexplicable amount of love I feel is. It’s the kind of worry that sometimes keeps me awake at night. The kind of worry that makes my heart leap in my chest and beads of sweat break out at my hairline.

Will you be ok? Will you be more than ok? Can I keep you safe? Am I doing enough? Am I doing too much? How can I stop bad things from happening and hurting you?

All I want is to be the best parent I can. I know I’m not perfect, but I want to be perfect for you. I want to be the shining example you need me to be. I want to lead by example. I want to provide enough…I want to be enough.

You, my child, are my first priority, the purest love of my life. You, my child, ARE my life.


The Sound Of Music

Hello it’s me again,

Music is not as simple as sound to me.

Music moves me both inside and out.
Music makes me want to close my eyes and sway, or jump up and dance.
Music draws emotions from my core and brings them to the forefront.
Music puts words to my feelings in a way I cannot easily express for myself…even if the song has no words to listen to.
Music colours in pictures from my memory or sketches my dreams in the air.
Music conjures smiles or tears like magic.
Music highlights my hopes or fears, and makes them doubly real.
Music teaches lessons or reminds me of lessons I’ve already learnt.

I couldn’t possibly live without the sound, the taste, or the textures of music.


What Do You Do?

Hello it’s me again,

What do you when you find yourself without an explanation and you cannot make yourself ask for one…what do you do?

What do you do when you’re told something is true but you know it’s a lie…what do you do?

What do you do when your gut says talk, your heart says wait and your mind says be still…what do you do?

What do you do when what you know will eat away at you…what do you do?

What do you do when you’ve broken down walls which you know will be rebuilt in steel…what do you do?

What do you do when you’re divided between confrontation and silence…what do you do?

What do you do when you’re caught between a lie and a truth…what do you do?

What do you do when you’re at a crossroad between a lasting happiness and an infinite pain…what do you do?

What do you do when being true to your nature can kill your dreams…what do you do?

What do you do when you have no…idea…what…to…do…?


Making Sense

Hello it’s me again,

There are days like today, when thoughts I was thinking while asleep simply will not dissipate as my wakefulness comes…thoughts which will remain until I write them down in an attempt to make sense of them.

The morning I woke up overwhelmed with the most amazing feeling of joy, my mind filled with remnants of yesterday, and my heart singing a chorus I can’t quite understand…except that it feels like happiness, and the words which swirl around in my mind won’t quite make sense of themselves.

Today there is no explanation, there is no writing them down because what I feel contains no logic, and I cannot simply notate them on paper (or keyboard, really).

So I will hug them to me…let them carry me through the day…treasure them…and smile my secret smile.

Happy New Day…


The Little I Know

Hello it’s me again,

I can’t even begin to pretend that I know it all. Or that I know many of the secrets which life holds. I cannot say that I am a reader or a knower of people. But I have come to understand one or two things. And one of them is this…

There are people who wear their hearts on their sleeves…their intentions, their thoughts, their hurts and their joys as well. One need not read too deeply to discover who they are.

This piece is not about the ones who are easy to know…

Some people do not shout out their feelings so that the world may hear them cry out. They hug what is inside them tightly enough for the knowledge, the pain or the happiness they feel to be theirs and theirs alone. It is not something which is practiced in order to excel at…it is something which comes through lessons which they have been forced to learn.

Thick skin. What is this thick skin people speak of…and why do some of us wear them? Armour. Protection against future intimacy, or heartache, or pain, or disappointment.
Some of us have learnt lessons harsh enough to try to shield ourselves. Lessons which have wrought scars tender to the touch, and are not easily healed due to the perpetuation of ills on an unprepared heart and soul.

Trust broken again and again. Heart broken over and over. Would you not then ‘grow’ a skin which is too hard to penetrate? Would you not then heed the lessons and retreat into a part of yourself which you alone can touch? Would you then not protect yourself against any and all potential pains?

I have had my fair share of pain and raged against the universe in righteous indignation. I have made light to others of the broken pieces I carry within myself. My choice was not to put myself in a box which no one could touch, but rather to put the hurts in such a holder, and store them away in a place I need not revisit.

I understand the need for self-preservation and self-protection. I understand what it feels like to have a crushed heart and to hold the fragments of broken dreams and promises in my bleeding hands. And so I also understand the need to protect myself against that which could again pierce, and break and twist and shatter.

I understand why you wear a skin thick enough so that the only one who touches you is you. It hides behind your smiling eyes and crouches low beneath your shining spirit.

I see your beauty and your purity and your strength. Do you see the admiration in mine and the extended hand I reach out to you? Does it draw you by even a fraction? This is enough…as long as you see that it is there.


Letting Go

Hello it’s me again,

She’s tall, has legs as long as mine, and a beautiful figure…her nature is too. My gorgeous, smart sixteen year old daughter.

At the age where friendships and going places become increasingly important, and being popular is tantamount…imperative…all important.

Despite that she has a good head on her shoulders, and allow her to go out and visit, and have some fun, I worry.

She’s my baby…she’s my everything…my heart screams this out, and my head says that, at some point, I have to loose the tethers, or leave the door ajar and let her go a little, and hope that she remains who I know her to be, and grows up safely and carefree.

I watch her wait for her friends, who I know to be good kids, to fetch her. And a part of me wants to pull her back and tell her she may not go.
But I know that this will cause nothing but unhappiness, so I will not.

*sigh*…the joys of motherhood. Imagine my reaction when one day she falls in love and tells me she wants to get married. Ahem…anyone know a hit man I can keep on speed dial? 😉


I am Still Me

Hello, it’s mee again,

Have you missed me? Wondered where I disappeared to? Shall I tell you?

A few months ago, I gave up on my old life. Struggling with health issues, struggling with anxiety and depression, just struggling. I have always lived my life by my own code…if you have said and done all you can to change things and tried and tried again, it isn’t wrong to make the decision to walk away.

At this point, I simply could not do it anymore. I was lucky enough to have a very supportive child and a partner who simply cannot do enough to see me happy and healthy. So I took the plunge. Because honestly, I believe that I was committing suicide in a painful, drawn out way.

I decided to start over. Start from the beginning. Beginnings are supposed to be good, right? My own business, about something I am passionate about. A new life in unfamiliar surroundings. Taking time to heal and feel like me again. Trying to network, trying to market my business, trying to push the confines of my previous way of thinking.

Trying to remain positive while you wait for the universe to hear you…begging for your pleas not to fall on deaf ears…beseeching God to grant what you ask is hard. Antidepressants and blood pressure medication part of my new way of life. I write this while sitting in my nightgown after doing nothing but housework for the morning. Pushing back against despondence and fear of failure. Dreaming of a time when I will again be successful, when mental, emotional and financial insecurities and dependencies are a thing of the past, and my present and future glow bright before me.

I am healthier than I have been in years. I am more loved than I have ever been. I am closer to my child than I have been in the longest time. I will be more than okay, because my spirit and my will to succeed will continue to propel me forward. I suppose that means I had better get out there, right?