Final Goodbyes

Over the last week or so I’ve tried to find the perfect words, the words to say goodbye, the words that will do the moment justice. And all I’ve managed to do is waste paper. I’ve realized there are no perfect words so I’m just going to talk.

I remember the first time I met you. Well, I was young so I don’t know whether it is a memory or a figment of my imagination. I was staying with my mom on the farm. I hadn’t seen my dad in ages and I was so excited. When he arrived I ran out o the car to greet him only to see you, sitting in the passenger seat.

I was terrified. You were tall and beautiful with a hair so big you could put Jonny Bravo to shame (I suppose that was all the fashion back then). You got out of the car and I could feel myself quiver in fear. You were about double my height, you were elegant and graceful (not an easy feat when climbing out of a bakkie), and you were wearing high heels. I ran and hid under my bed, terrified and sad that my weekend with my dad had been ruined. You were the ultimate step monster.

I was wrong. Hell, you’ve been proving me wrong ever since.

Over the years you have taught me so much and shaped me into the type of woman I want to be. You dispensed your advice, and I took from it what I wanted. I look at the woman you were in all the time that I knew you and can’t help hoping that one day I will be like you too.

In my matric year we went on holiday to Port Edward. I remember you and dad sitting us down and telling us what the doctors had said. The cancer had spread, taking over; we didn’t think you’d make it to Christmas. I think you thought so too for a stage. I remember walking down the beach, my sister and I with our arms linked. You two were just ahead of us and there were a couple rocks we’d have to climb over. I watched as my dad grabbed your hand and helped you up and over. I saw it then. You were the love of his life and he was going to support you through every step of this fight. This would not be the end.

I was right. A year later I was home for the holidays and you were still fighting, still standing. I was so proud of you and I admired everything about you. I know that dad dying was a huge blow, and saying goodbye to Ollie (Oliver Barnes McGinn, our dog) just after that didn’t help. I thought the for sure that you’d give up but you continued fighting for as long as you could. You amazed me.

I know it is selfish to wish that you were still here but I guess I just miss you. But it has come time to say goodbye. Thank you for all the lessons learnt, for all the lessons taught, for the life you led and the memories we shared. Thank you for taking us in and looking after us as your own. Thank you for being the best Step Monster I could ever have asked for.

Mr Froggy and his Tampons

I have recently single-handedly (and by that I mean with the help of some friends and the ever-present, abundantly humorous enigma that is karma) found the solution to all the world’s problems. The answer? Blue flashing lights on the packaging of ladies tampons (red would be more apt but Blackberry beat me to it) and little green frogs that live in your shower.

Yes, I know, slightly obvious right? How has no one realised this before? Just in case you’re not following though, let me elaborate.

On Tuesday afternoon I had lunch with three other ladies (believe it or not, this is the frog part of the story). Somehow or another we managed to get onto the topic of this tiny little green frog that used to live in one of the ladies’ shower. Every morning when she’d get in the shower there was this little green frog.  It soon became the family pet.

On one particular day this particular woman’s son was in the bathroom stripping the paint off the ceiling of the bathroom in the hopes of repainting it however when he was done he realised that little Froggy was covered in dried paint dust. In a heroic (although utterly pathetic) attempt to save poor Froggy from the dreadful wrath of the paint dust he decided to get the hoover out to dust him off. Needless to say, Foggy was suckered up into the depths of the foul beast known as the vacuum cleaner.

Froggy was eventually rescued, cleaned up and retuned to his usual post, although it amazes me hat he decided to stay after that.

A few weeks later Froggy faced a new near-death experience, this time in the form of a well known martial arts manoeuvre known as the ‘door plus door frame equals squash’. He was once again rescued although this time his rescuer managed to get it right fist time round and after many moments of intense worry he was restored to his original condition (plus some emotional scaring). And Froggy stayed on.

Froggy finally met his fate when trying to escape the new found world of the inside of an upside-down umbrella a couple weeks later and is still missed by the family.

Then on Thursday afternoon I had a Microbiology practical. I was sitting in the lab, with my lab partner, waiting for some weird liquidy stuff to incubate, bored out of my skull. But I had my lab partner to keep me company and due to the cabin fever that accompanies an upcoming Biochemistry test, he was on form. After solving the crises in the middle east, chatting about the bombings in Boston and the death of Margaret Thatcher , we took it upon ourselves to solve the only crises left; the woman’s handbag!

Anyone who has ever owned a Mary Poppin’s handbag knows the desperate need for a tampon that has a flashing light on it. And I’m sure that any guy who has sat patiently dialling his girlfriend’s phone while she basically upended the entire contents of her bag all over his car in the hopes of finding that damn ringing thing can see how beneficial these would be to the entire nation. This could change the way the world is run!

By now I am sure you have caught on and realised how these would be the solutions to all of life’s problems, or maybe you are siting there staring at your screen nodding as if you understand but quietly trying to figure out how many different kinds of drugs I must be on. Well actually the point is that these two conversations happened to be the highlight of my week and I have come to realise that the solution to life’s problems is to make sure that you have as many of these conversations as you possibly can everyday. These are the conversations people will remember you by.

Bunny Hugging and Cardboard

So, because I love to test the rules that society has made and because I am semi-sadistic I decided it would be a good idea to live with my sister this year. Now, I know what you’re thinking; it’s a recipe for disaster right? No one in their right mind should ever decide to move in with a sibling. Well, firstly no one said anything about me being in my right mind (EVER) and secondly I actually rather enjoy living with her.

Yes, it is sort of our duty to ‘argue’ from time to time and trust me we’re brilliant at it, absolutely masterful, but for one reason or another we have managed to survive our first month without throttling one another (to death) and I’ve actually come to like it despite what everyone said it would be like.

I have got one complaint however: the damned woman is a vegetarian!

Now this would be fine for most people I know as they did not grow up on a farm where the closest thing to a vegetable is actually a potato (I may be slightly exaggerating here) and where red meat is not a luxury at some meals but rather a necessity at EVERY meal (for the sake of not sounding like a red neck we can exclude week day breakfasts).

But seriously, I love my meat. Nothing like a good braai or some seafood to cheer me up!

The adjustment has been hell. And I never thought it would come to this but I find myself eating soya food in the hopes of it tasting even slightly like a beautiful fillet steak or a Karoo lamb chop. Please can I just inform whoever it is that makes this vegetarian food that unlike soya, meat is actually tasty and doesn’t taste like someone stomped on some baked beans and made it into some shape that could (if you really use your imagination) pass as looking like a chicken strip.

It’s horrible. I don’t know how vegetarians manage to give up biltong and droe-wors for something that resembles cardboard to such an extent that half the time I think I forgot to take the packaging off. It is disgusting and a complete waste of time because fifteen minutes later I’m hungry all over again! The things I do for my sister…

But hey, at least I’m not eating Eeyore like the rest of you!

Beauty of Life

Oh to go back to those days when I was fearless; the days before I understood all the dangers of the world. Where my biggest fear was that my mom would catch my cousin and I causing mayhem and get her wooden spoon out. Oh to be fearless.

Our fears are what keep us alive however. Fears are what make us check both ways before we cross the road, the thing that stops us from jumping off of high buildings or cliffs. Yes, fear is a necessity; to a certain extent…

People often ask what my greatest fear is and I’d love to be able to get all philosophical and say that it’s hurting other people or whatever other lame fears you hear about in movies, but my greatest fear is losing control over my own body. It is one of the most terrifying experiences ever.

In my matric year at an inter-house gala I fainted in front of the entire school. My best friend was the only thing stopping me from cracking my head open on the side of the swimming pool. When I came round I was hyperventilating and I opened my eyes… I couldn’t see a thing. I closed them, and then opened them again. Still nothing.

I lost my sight for about two hours that night and it scared me nearly to death. I had absolutely no control over my own body and that terrified me. No matter what I did I couldn’t get my eyes to work. Eventually the doctors managed to fix me up and I’ve been fine ever since, well apart from the fainting thing.

Turns out I have a lack of iron in my body and sometimes I just faint, but it hasn’t happened in ages and I had almost forgotten about it.

Then last night I lost control of my body once again. I was at a friend of mines house warming this time and we were all drinking and smoking hub. I noticed early in the evening that I was shaking slightly but didn’t take much note of it. Later that evening my pulse went through the roof. It was beating hard and fast, way faster than it should have been but I sat down for a while and it started to calm down.

Just as we were about to go out, I stood up and that’s when it happened. My body started jerking; I had no control over my ligaments and couldn’t move voluntarily. My knees buckled under me and my elbows kept twitching and I was full conscious throughout.  It was absolutely horrible and there was nothing I could do about it!

And then it dawned on me how much I take for granted. Having full control over my own body is something I’ve only thought about twice and yet there are people who have this problem every single day. I don’t think I would be able to survive. So next time you willing move your hand, or look at someone or something realize how lucky you are to be able to have that control and then wonder in awe at the beauty of life.

From London to Monte Carlo

Growing up on a farm means that you very rarely come across strangers, especially when said town is situated in the middle of Mpumalanga’s Highveld. However after many years of long hours, endless building supplies and countless mistakes my parents created a beautiful lodge on one of the most stunning farms one could ever come across.

It was here where I got my first waitressing job, my first job behind a bar and my first meeting with a man called Jonathan Stage.

Oh, he looked so terribly out of place! His tall, pale frame was almost as out of the ordinary as his British accent. And his lack of khakis, two-toned shirts and army boots informed me that he was definitely NOT a local. To this day I have no idea how this well mannered, well educated Brit managed to stumble across our doorstep.

I soon learnt that he was adventure obsessed and loved Africa more than most Africans do. It wasn’t long before he looked right at home on our lodge. He probably new all the little ins and outs of the farm better than I did. He worked for us for a while before he moved on to new adventures and new countries.

Tragically, Jonny’s mother suffers from Alzheimer’s disease, a disease which causes memory loss and get’s progressively worse until there is no memory left to lose. Jonny has had to witness his mother lose all her memories, her lucid moments becoming fewer and slowly losing her ability to remember friendships and relationships without being able to do anything about it. You see, there is no cure for Alzheimer’s.

But Jonny intends to alter this and while he lacks the ability to do the research himself he does intend to raise the money to help. In May of 2013 he intends to cycle from London to Monte Carlo in order to raise funds for the Alzheimer’s Society.

There is more information on the following link about the Society, the planned cycle as well as a plea for donations to help get this cause off the ground. Please could you all help me in supporting Jonny on his journey? Any donations are welcome. Let’s help find a cure for this disease.

London to Monte Carlo

Valentine's Day

It’s come to that time of the year again where all us desperately single, hopeless romantics club together to voice our utter hatred of Valentine’s Day. The time not spent on ‘perfecting’ ourselves by grooming, trimming, waxing and painting, is spent on desperately trying to attract the attention of some clueless male specimen who has absolutely no idea as to the importance of such a day.

So in the week leading up to this supposedly celebratory day I must emphasize to each of you who will be spending your Valentine’s Day holed up in your flat with chocolate and wine, watching ‘P.S. I Love You’ and ‘the Notebook’ like me, that while Valentine’s Day may be a lonely day for all us single beings, it is still a day meant to celebrate the very essence of romance.

We should not try and convince others not to celebrate it, we should not hate ourselves for being single and we should not hate ourselves for secretly wishing that we had a man who would sweep us off our feet in their (preferably shiny and new) car to some (fancy) restaurant.

And yes, Valentine’s has become an over-commercialized reason to celebrate something you should celebrate everyday anyway, by buying expensive gifts and cheap chocolate shaped as hearts, but the truth is that it is always nice to have an excuse to spoil the people you love.

So if you are one of those girls who has spent the last week (or month) preparing your ammo so as to ‘prove’ to everyone else that you actually want to be alone on Valentine’s then by all means go ahead but let me tell you something, there are tonnes of other girls feeling the same way, so grab your girlfriends, dress up a little and head out. There’s nothing to lose. And I promise it will be better than crying yourself to sleep, over some boy who’s not even worth it anyway.

Mind Splurge

The air a bit colder and the street slightly darker, the moon barely fuller and the drink, oh the drink; it was these nights that lead to this moment. It was nights such as these that lead to your creation. Yes, you are merely a creation, but my creation nonetheless.

                Dear Rebecca

                I haven’t heard from you in a while and when it came to my attention I thought I should write to see how you are. Things are going okay here. Mum and Dad are busy getting divorced and tonight’s fighting was worse than ever…

Do you remember now? I wrote to you, spoke to you and trusted you; my creation, my friend, my diary. It wasn’t meant to last forever; it was just supposed to help me cope.

Yet now you are taking over my soul. You pull at my fears, unhinge me and throw them in my face making my greatest fears haunt my every waking moment. Until I finally find sleep… then you show me an entirely new kind of hell.

                Dear Rebecca

                My father passed away this morning. I had to fly back on the first flight I could find. I saw him lying in the hospital. So many tubes, beeps and voices that belonged to nurses I couldn’t comprehend. Goodbyes are inevitable, death is the only certainty and life is the longest and shortest thing we will never understand…

Some coping method hey? A once off, nobody loses, get out of jail free card. It seems life doesn’t work that way. You are my parasite, eating away at my grief yet slowly embedding yourself into my soul and causing a far greater pain. A depth unknown to me, or any other; a pain so deep you feel nothing.

No, I cannot love. No, I cannot feel. No, I cannot bring down these walls.

                Dear Rebecca

                It’s time to say goodbye. I wrote to you once before on the loss felt when saying goodbye and yet it is with complete certainty that I can say no loss shall be felt over the loss of you. You     may know my darkest secrets and hold parts of myself which will never again be shared but you also hold the ability to break me. It is time we said our goodbyes…

…

The Truth; the Heart

There are moments of truth

Moments of lies

The only thing left

Hellos or goodbyes

There are moments of love

Moments of hate

Both anchored in passion

Altering fate

There are moments of sadness

Felt only in a heart

That’s been bent until broken

Expressed only in art

There are moments like these

When the meaning of life

Is questioned forever

At the blade of a knife

…

It’s been a year today since my father passed away. I realise this blog is pretty dark and mostly confusing but I needed to express in words what was going on in my mind.

Missing you, Dad. xx