Keep Calm and Keep Quiet

My mom always told me that if I didn't have anything nice to say, I shouldn't say anything at all. In a nutshell, this explains my long absense from blogging. It's been a tough few months. Scrap that. It's been a tough year. In my head, in my office, in my car...where my most negative thoughts seem to take place! In fact, substitute the words love for work and sister for mother in the Katy Perry song "By the Grace of God" and you pretty much have my 2013 summarized.

And it's by the grace of God that I'm finally feeling like I'm in a better head-space. That and the fact that the light at the end of the tunnel (shutdown from work) is in 4 weeks (and counting!) I've been getting back into the routines that keep me sane: morning sermon podcasts, going to cell and church regularly, giving back to those less fortunate and stopping those pesty negative thoughts when they come into my head.

There is so much that has been happening that has allowed for self doubt to creep in, self confidence to be obliterated and it's been a constant struggle to balance it all. In every exciting situation, I find the stress, am unsure, second guess myself... And this hasn't gone away but I'm really trying to remember the positives, to be excited despite all the uncertainty. It's become even more clear to me that I hate not being in control, hate not knowing what the next months bring, hate not knowing where I'll be living in 3 months time.

But it's time to cease the day, live it, enjoy it, love every moment of it. Yes the stress will come, the uncertainty remains - but in trying to approach it in a more positive manner, hopefully good things will come and the self fulfilling prophesy wheel will spin with more good fortune than bad.

There is no place like home

Although for the past (almost) 3 years Cape Town has well and truely been my home, there is something special about the place that you call home - especially when it's as unique as the Lower Albany area! In a little over a week (8 days to be exact #excitedmuch) we'll be making the long drive home for a couple of days in the good old Eastern Cape.

The 10 / 12 hours being couped up in a car with plenty of padkos (my mom taught me well), my man and our unique mix of music will well be worth it. We'll be cramming as much time possible with both of our families during our 2 and a bit days there. I'm also looking forward to great biltong, a Nanaga roosterbrood, the famous lime milkshake which is the saving grace of slumtown and the upright piano waiting for me at my parents house.

And then of course, there is the reason for the season - my little cuz is getting married and no one loves a wedding more than I do (even if it's another one to leapfrog me *winkwinknudgenudge*) No seriously, no one deserves a special day more than this special lady. I love and respect her enourmously and will no doubt need a couple of tissues to keep the tears at bay!

Think Happy Thoughts

It's a slippery slide, our mind. Get into a sticky situation in one area of your life, unable to see the positive in the situation and all of a sudden the whole world sucks! I realised a little while ago that I was letting small things that weren't ideal, granted, dictate my outlook on many other things and ultimately this was distroying my "thought life." As my brother has told me many times, I will FIND something to stress about. I've found myself becoming increasingly negative in my mind and this has now flowed over into my words. I definitely don't want to be that person who never has anything nice to say!

And so, in thinking about how to rectify this solution, I've come up with the following "how to think happy thoughts" guide:

 - WWGD (What Would Gran Do) - My gran is without a doubt the most insanely positive person that I know, and probably ever will know. She's almost positive to a fault. When ever that nagging negative pops up I'm going to thing WWGD!

- Be Grateful - Early on in my blog life, I wrote about all the things that I'm grateful for in my life. Prehaps rereading and recapping on this would be a good idea every once in a while ;-)

- Put it all in context - every day I drive past a beggar, a homeless person, someone with way bigger and more pressing issues on their mind. Take a chill pill. Have a glass of wine. Build a bridge. Get over it!

- Stop the repetition - if you've thought about it once, move on! Stop the endlessly repetative loop that one senario or thought get's airtime for in your mind
- Have a "looking forward to" list - ever since my homesick days at boarding school I've always made little lists in my mind of things to look forward to in that day or that week. It can be the smallest thing ever (like going home to watch your favourite show) but it really helps to have something, ANYTHING, to look forward to when you're down.

So here's to keeping calm and thinking happy thoughts from now on!

It's "air the dirty laundry" time again

It's that time of year again. Performance management year end review time. Bleh. It's never before been my favourite time but it's also never been something that I've TOTALLY not looked forward too. But then again, I've never had to give feedback to anyone before, let alone a full team. Nor, clearly, have I ever had such a tumultious year. There is a first time for everything it seems.

Not only do I not feel like rehashing all the long gone, but not forgotten "bosperaad" dialogue, I"m just not sure that I have enough emotional strength or energy to go through it all again. Some things truely are better left unsaid. Unheard. Unwritten. Unread.

But...this is the corporate worold after all and so let's all get down to it and air the dirty laundry. I'm ordering a healthy dose of Stay Soft to dish out at all the many upcoming conversations giving and receiving that wonderful "constructive" criticism everyone always talks about. Apparently it's great for personal growth (or self esteem deminishment.) And again I say Bleh. BLEH...

Heartfelt Stories

A little while I blogged about the awesome Heartfelt evening I'd been to. Rather than tell their stories for them, read the 4 amazing women's stories here.

The Bilbo Baggins in me...

I'm such a creature of habit and route and tend to dislike massive changes, and yet, I crave adventure and out of the box experiences. The thought of packing up all that I know and love and moving to some remote African country (before I sound misinformed about my own continent...outside of SOUTH Africa) both horrifies me and excites me beyond belief!

I've always thought that once you've found your "partner in crime" it would be far easier to leave the life that you know and embark on a massive adventure. More recently I've started to think what better way to raise a child - open to new places and people, new ideas and experiences.

All these thoughts have been running around my ever-over-active mind for the past few days. It's that "there must be more to life than this" moment that currently haunts me. Seeing people who I work with who have been not only with the same organisation, but in the same role, for 20 years quite frankly scares the living daylights out of me and I've only been here a little over 6 years...Moving from the sleepy hollow that I used to live in to the slightly less tiny nearby town was a big move. The move from there to my now much loved adopted Mother City an even bigger jump (which despite all the anxiety and stress around the move, has without a doubt been the best thing that has EVER happened to me) and so the thought of ever leaving is both sad but comforting to know that it can be done happily.

Nothing is on the cards in the near (or even distant future) but it's definitely an adventure that I'd be open to taking if and when it ever comes up. Prehaps, like Bilbo, I'll make my way home oneday after a story book adventure safe in the knowledge that places have been seen, people have been met and experiences had that would never have been possibly imagined had we not left the home!

Who do You say I am?

Last night I attended Heartfelt with a friend, an evening for ladies at my church, Common Ground and the topic couldn't have come at a better time for me. The theme of the evening was "Who do You say I am?" and the four ladies who shared their amazing stories explored who it is that we listen to when it comes to how we form opinions of ourselves.

One of the ladies did the most hillarious skit portraying all of the comments from those around us descrining us that we save and replay over and over on the "casette tape" in our minds. Things like: she snacks alot, she's a drama queen, she is not at all sporty, she looks like a rugby prop, she is highly emotional... How do we go about defining who WE are (and who HE says we are) when playing these recordings over and over in our minds.

They played the "Dove - Real Beauty" clip, which I'd successfully avoided watching after hundreds of my facebook friends had shared it! It shows just how we as women aren't able to give a clear description of how we look and how tainted our opinions of ourselves are by the views of others.

It was a time to reflect and look back over the past few months and to try to erase some of the horrible things which have been said, have been heard, have been written. To take back control of the "tape in my head." To take back control of the image that I have of me and to not give a damn of any image that overs may have as a result of hearsay. To take back control of the image I portray and to ensure that it's reflective of who HE says I am.

There are limited spaces left for the last Heartfelt session taking place on Saturday - Cape Town ladies, click here if you are keen to attend this amazing event.

No Pain, No Gain... Now SMILE

Today I truely am smiling a BIG smile...and not only because it's Friday. When I was a kid we went to our beach house (my happy place) every holiday and all of my cousins and I loved to go up the beach on bakkies (they were allowed on the dunes back then!) We would then try to dig the tyres into the sand, hoping that the bakkie would get stuck and we would then have to come to the rescue and push it out...so random I know! One day when we were far up the coastline with family friends I was digging up a storm and knocked my front tooth out by hitting it against the rim the bakkie formed around the tyre. Our family friend, 9 months preggers at the time (she gave birth 2 days later!) raced me back to my parents and all I can now remember about the long drive was thinking that I really hoped that she didn't give birth with just me in the vehicle with her!

Why am I telling you this really random story?! Well, I obviously got my tooth fixed back then and although it lasted about 24 years, it wasn't the prettiest fix seen to mankind! Last week, with much pushing and prompting from my mother (thanks mom!) I embarked on the painful process of repairing and improving my two front teeth. It took 3 dentist trips and 2 trips to the dental technician (most of these very painful) but today I can SMILE and be confident about it! The "no pain, no gain" saying really is true. So I'm celebrating this Happy Friday with a big, straight toothed SMILE :-)

Be Brave and Keep Going

My cousin, who is the closest thing that I have to a little sister, is about to embark on an amazing adventure. And as with any amazing adventure, there comes a point just before it commences that the nerves and doubts set in. I know this because I'm probably one of the most conservative, stuck in a rutt type of people you will find, and before I set off on my big adventure, I was riddled with stress, doubts and just plain panic!

My advise to my pops is this:

Everything worth doing should have a healthy dose of fear attached to it - we need to be brave enough to stick to it and move forward regardless. Your adventure may seem daunting now, but once you are there, with the world at your feet, new opportunities surrounding you, new things to experience, new places to see and new people to meet, you will look back and laugh at all the sleepless nights and moments of self-doubt that you are now experiencing.

As someone who was stuck in the biggest rutt of all time, I can safely assure you that the fear is worth it. The reward at the end of the journey is worth it. The happiness that comes with positive change is worth it. The personal growth that change brings out in us is worth it. The fear and nervous anticipation is worth it...TOTALLY worth it!

It's the belief that things can and will be better because of the decision you've made that will get you through.



I am an African

 

In one of my favourite speaches of all time, Thabo Mbeki speaks of what it is to be an African and puts poetically into words what so many of us feel about this land, but are unable to relay to others who have not yet been blessed with a trip to our shores. I wish that I had had this text to use when explaining to my boarding school friends in England that while we don't have lions roaming our streets, we do have lions on our land. Or to the curious European travellors in Zanzibar who wanted to know if Apartheid really did still exist in 2009 (because some random German lady told them that it did!) Or to the African-American who claimed that I could not call myself an African because of the colour of my skin, but he who had never before set foot on African soil could. 

I had to hack back into my Bebo account (remember that predescessor to Facebook) to find this poem which I posted on the site (324 weeks ago it tells me!) I remember clearly the first time that I read it and how it struck such a chord with me. In these words the unknown writer is able to communicate so eliquently how I feel but can't always adequately explain.

Africa
I am an African
Not because I was born there
But because my heart beats with Africa’s
I am an African
Not because my skin is black
But because my mind is engaged by Africa
I am an African
Not because I live on its soil
But because my soul is at home in Africa

When Africa weeps for her children
My cheeks are stained with tears
When Africa honours her elders
My head is bowed in respect
When Africa mourns for her victims
My hands are joined in prayer
When Africa celebrates her triumphs
My feet are alive with dancing

I am an African
For her blue skies take my breath away
And my hope for the future is bright
I am an African
For her people greet me as family
And teach me the meaning of community
I am an African
For her wildness quenches my spirit
And brings me closer to the source of life

When the music of Africa beats in the wind
My blood pulses to its rhythm
And I become the essence of music
When the colours of Africa dazzle in the sun
My senses drink in its rainbow
And I become the palette of nature
When the stories of Africa echo round the fire
My feet walk in its pathways
And I become the footprints of history

I am an African
Because she is the cradle of our birth
And nurtures an ancient wisdom
I am an African
Because she lives in the world’s shadow
And bursts with a radiant luminosity
I am an African
Because she is the land of tomorrow
And I recognise her gifts as sacred

The Success Indicator

I feel like this morning is the first time I can breathe again at work since about 3 weeks ago (and as a result this is my first post in just as long!) In one of my last posts relating to leadership I touched on some of the issues I've been grappling with recently and the past few weeks have continued to give me much food for thought.

Without getting into all the gory details, I've had to take a step back and review myself. People always say that self awareness is one of the most valuable traits in successful people and I'm seeing now exactly why this is so. In light of this, I sought out more information on exactly what it is that sets successful people apart and how one can start the journey of self improvement. I came across this awesome illustration (despite the spelling error on it - but who am I to judge!) which I now have stuck firmly on my office wall.



And so, in all my interactions (not only at work) I'm trying my best to "exude joy, embrace change, have a sense of gratitude, compliment, forgive, accept responsibility for failures, continuously learn..." It hasn't been easy in all circumstances but I'm hoping that at some stage the much needed positive change will come and that things will improve.

Tragic Take out Tuesday

Analysis: After the murder that shocked the country, a time for introspection

Reeva Steenkamp, a lively, well-liked young woman with a promising career, was allegedly killed by Oscar Pistorius on Valentine’s Day. It is a horrible, surreal story. The discovery that a national hero and global poster-boy for inspiration may also be a murderer is devastating. But we cannot allow Pistorius’s status to prejudice our response to what seems – based on scanty available evidence – like a gruesome act of domestic violence. If this is what it was, to downplay it would be to betray Anene Booysen and countless others.

By REBECCA DAVIS (courtesy of Daily Maverick)

Ahead of Pistorius’s court appearance on Friday, there are very few concrete facts about the shooting of Reeva Steenkamp in the public domain. We know that the shooting occurred in the early hours of Thursday morning, reportedly between 4:00 and 5:00. We know that Steenkamp was shot several times in the head and upper body. We know that neighbours reported hearing a disturbance before the shooting, and that police had previously been called to Pistorius’s house because of what police spokesperson Denise Beukes called “previous allegations of a domestic nature”.

Importantly, we know that it was a neighbour, and not Pistorius, who called the police to the scene after hearing shots ring out. We know that the police will oppose bail during Pistorius’s Friday hearing. Although it is apparently common practice for police to oppose bail in cases like this one, Beukes gave a hint that there might be something more to motivate their opposition. She told journalists: “One of the reasons we will be opposing bail will be disclosed when he appears.”

We may also assume that it is definite that it was Pistorius who killed her. Police are not pursuing other investigations. We are not clear where the story emerged that Pistorius had mistaken her for an intruder – a suggestion dismissed by Beukes. It may have been an assumption of the Beeld journalist who broke the story. It may have come from Pistorius himself, or it may have been suggested to journalists by someone with an interest in protecting Pistorius. Whatever the source, it played a critical role in directing how Steenkamp’s murder was initially framed: as an accidental shooting. Consequently, there was much initial sympathy directed towards Pistorius.

As the day progressed and facts were clarified by police in a way which strongly suggested an intentional shooting, this sympathy began to wane. Journalists began digging in Pistorius’s background, and unearthed a number of unsavoury incidents. There was the hissy-fit he threw after being beaten in the 200 metres at the Paralympic Games last year, which suggested a man capable of anger and resentment in a way that was quite at odds with his shiny public image. There was a boating accident on the Vaal River in 2009 in which it appeared likely that alcohol was involved. In the same year, there was a night in police custody after Pistorius was accused of assaulting a 19 year-old girl.

There was also the testimony of Pistorius’s ex-girlfriend Samantha Taylor, who told City Press last year that the athlete has a wandering eye. “Oscar is certainly not what people think he is,” Taylor said – a statement that seems eerily prescient in light of current events.

Last year a New York Times journalist spent time with Pistorius and reached some interesting conclusions. “Hanging out with Pistorius can be a great deal of fun,” wrote Michael Sokolove. “You also quickly understand that he is more than a little crazy.” Sokolove painted a picture of a man prone to recklessness – he reported that Pistorius drove at 250km/h. He also portrayed him as jittery and gun-crazy: Pistorius whipped him off to the shooting range upon hearing that the journalist had never shot a gun before. Tellingly, Sokolove wrote: “Suddenly, I felt like one of those characters in a movie who must be schooled on how to be more manly”.

Pistorius, on his Twitter account, boasted of his shooting prowess in November 2011, writing that he had spent the afternoon at the shooting range. “96% headshot over 300m from 50 shots! Bam!” Pistorius tweeted. The athlete, Sokolove concluded, had the disposition “of a person who believes himself to be royalty of a certain kind – a prince of the physical world.”

Sokolove’s piece (which was by no means universally negative) was unusual in presenting an even mildly negative account of Pistorius, because his standard media coverage has been so uniformly glowing. And how could it be otherwise? His is a tale of endurance and inspiration; a triumph in the face of adversity. Pistorius is a reminder not to be constrained by physical limits; to follow one’s dreams; to not take no for an answer. It is heady stuff. He has done more than anyone in history to raise the profile of both disabled athletes and the Paralympics. He has carried out extensive good works to improve the situation of other disabled people.

It is totally understandable that the media would canonise Pistorius in the face of this. When someone operates so successfully as a symbol for so long, who cares about the man himself? Pistorius was a good news story, which is why advertisers love him – he is visual shorthand for “inspiring”, a metaphor on blades. It doesn’t hurt that he is extremely good-looking. In South Africa, he has made us proud. At the Olympics, he put us on a global stage: one of our own done good. To be asked to give this up and replace it with a profoundly ugly narrative, one of violence and death, feels traumatic.

In South Africa, we find it hard to let go of heroes. Hansie Cronje was still voted the 11^th greatest South African of all time in 2004, despite having been disgraced and banned for life from professional cricket. And Hansie didn’t have half the inspirational cachet that Pistorius does. Sportsmen often get imbued with undeserved moral virtue – part of an aeons-old tendency to conflate physical prowess and external attractiveness with inner goodness.

In reality, though, they often do much to counter this perception. South African sportsmen have a particularly bad track record when it comes to violence against women. Cricketer Makhaya Ntini was found guilty of rape in 1999, though the conviction was overturned on appeal. Springbok Percy Montgomery spent a night in the lock-up in 2009, after his wife laid an assault charge against him, subsequently withdrawn. James Small, a 1995 World Cup winner, was outed as a wife-beater by the father of his former fiancée Christina Storm, who claimed to Fair Lady in 2001 that Small beat Storm “at least half a dozen times”. His compadre James Dalton also had his day in court in 2007, charged with having tried to drown his wife.

These incidents make news – unlike countless others – because of the public profile of the men involved. But there’s no sense that they are particularly career-limiting for the men involved. South Africa is famously sports-crazy, and the adulation meted out to successful sporting personalities seems to result in a high degree of immunity. Sportsmen are also prized on some level because they are the “manliest” men, in a country where aggressive, testosterone-driven masculinity is rewarded in arenas from schools to boardrooms to bedrooms.

Anene Booysen and Reeva Steenkamp lived very different lives. Steenkamp was well-off, professionally successful and from a stable home. None of those factors ultimately protected her from harm. Like Booysen, it would appear that she ended her life at the hands of a man she trusted.

In a terrible, poignant irony, Steenkamp had paid tribute to Booysen in an Instagram post earlier this month. “I woke up in a happy safe home this morning,” Steenkamp wrote. “Not everyone did. Speak out against the rape of individuals in SA. RIP Anene Booysen.”

In any other country in the world, a death like Steenkamp’s would provoke a vigorous national conversation about gun ownership. In South Africa, that’s unlikely to take place to any meaningful extent: too many citizens exist in a siege mentality, and too many people live in fear. But even if we’re not going to talk about guns, we have to keep talking about violence against women. We have to acknowledge that the problem pervades every echelon of South African society: that it touches the leafy estates of Pretoria as well as the construction sites of Bredasdorp. We have to work on developing alternative masculinities: ones that prize virtues other than being able to run the fastest or hit the hardest.

We have to do these things now. It is literally a matter of life and death. For Anene Booysen and Reeva Steenkamp, it’s too late. DM

Be Brave and Just BLOG IT

Being honest and vunerable is a very brave thing. I don't know about you all, but I often find it a lot easier to be honest about my emotions to complete strangers, in writting, than to those I know. When I started this blog, I just wanted a creative outlet - I didn't want anyone to know who I was, let alone have those around me read it. It took me a very long while to send my man the link to it and I still haven't told any other family or friends about it! I kind of like the idea of it being my little secret...My place to be me without the fear of reprise.

Why is it that we are so scared to open up and be vunerable to those around us? Prehaps it is that those around us don't truely know what goes on in our minds? I'd like to believe that one day, if my family and closest friends were to stumble across this page that they would know and understand the posts within the context of my life. There are however many "friends", or prehaps people better described as acquaintences, who would think I had multiple personalities!

When thinking this all through, I realised that, as the years tick over, I'm far less phased by what those around me think of me. This has forever been an issue that has plagued me and it's so empowering to be breaking free of it...slowly, but surely! I'm very happy to focus on the great group of close friends and family who know the real me than to be concerned over the views of others.

Am I ready to hit the "share blog" button on my Facebook page or even Twitter account yet - probably not. But then again, there are still plenty more years coming up to grow in confidence and in "who-gives-a-damn" attitude! Let's call being brave a work in progress.

Keep Calm and LOVE, South Africa

One of my very first blog entries was Keep Calm and Love South Africa. This time (prehaps aptly on Valentines Day) I'm putting the comma after love and before South Africa, because while we as South African's are all very good at loving our country, we aren't all very good at loving our fellow South African's (well at least not those who look different to ourselves.) We need to learn to LOVE. To love one another, to love our diversity, to love those who challenge the norm, to love the new things that we see on a daily basis.

Let me start by saying that it's taken me a long while to write this post. Even longer to post it. It's not only that heavy of a topic, but also something increadibly close to my heart...literally ;-)  Let me establish some facts up front:

- I LOVE this country

- I LOVE that not everyone is like some of the the people I decribe

- I LOVE a man that has a different skin colour to myself 

Back to the very beginning: I was born in 1982, into the height of the Apartheid era in South Africa and grew up in a small farming community in the Eastern Cape. I grew up initially attending our farms pre-primary school where I could play with my slightly older best friend, Veliswa and eat cheap digestive biscuits and drink warm milk fresh from the cow during break time each day. I learnt my nursery rhymes, numbers, days of the week, vowels, colours etc all in Xhosa.

At some stage and for reasons that I either can't recall or weren't explained to me at the time, I moved to the local English pre-primary school, where all my new friends were white and the quality of the tea time biscuits was slightly better. Around the same time my mom had to explain to me that Veliswa was no longer allowed to visit me in the afternoons to play, as her dad (who worked for my dad) now considered her grown up enough to help her mom cook in the afternoons. Her dad had also told her that the sea would "swallow her" if she went in it when she came to our beach house with us, but that another whole story! Our daily play dates ended and I was devastated.

Skip forward a few years and I remember the first black kids joining me at my "Model C" farm school. The parent body had taken a vote - Yes or No (as it was known back then) and they, collectively had decided to move with the times and allow non-white students into the school. Of course there were proviso's: the parent body had to hand select the students (and their parents) who "passed an interview." Enter Wendy, Elroy and Kiran...I still remember them all clearly. I was fascinated by them, because they weren't white like me, or black like Veliswa. Kiran and Elroy spoke Afrikaans - which, other than my obsession with American TV shows we were forced to watch in Afrikaans (unless simulcast on the radio) I had not heard before. Wendy spoke perfect English and perfect Xhosa.

My mom explained to me that Wendy's parents loved each other very much, but because of the rules that the government had put in place, they had not been allowed to get married before she was born as it would be illegal. I remember being sad for them, but also intrigued about how this all worked and how they were somehow "outsmarting" the system by having Wendy and only now being allowed to get married. The 30 minute drives to school, on horrible farm roads, undoubtably felt even longer for my mom as she patiently explained Apartheid's laws to me, her views on it all and how things would hopefully soon change.

They were my first exposure to a mixed race couple and I remember them both very clearly.

I want to say that I've always felt more comfortable with Black people, but prehaps that's too strong a statement. Generally, I find that I'm more accepted by people that I meet who are Black and as a result feel more comfortable around them. This being said, I was lucky in that I attended a boarding school where I was exposed to many cultures, races, languages and religions. Living side by side with people so different and yet so similar to yourself is a surefire way to open your eyes to just how alike we are and yet, appreciate the uniqueness that we all have.

 Fast forward a good few years and I find myself about to embark in a relationship after years of being single. Being the over-analyser that I am, I have a lot to think about: am I ready to open up again? Do I trust him? We're great friends but can I see this relationship being romantic? If I do, and this goes all the way, as I would want any relationship at this stage in my life do, am I ready to be in a mixed race relationship? I know my parent's views, but would this extend to me, their only daughter? Am I ready to have mixed race kids that won't look like me or have straight blonde hair?! I'm sure that you can imagine how busy my mind was for the week that I left my most amazing man stewing in anticipation over whether or not I'd reciprocate his now-voiced feelings. 

Ultimately there was no choice for me - I was too far down the road with him. I couldn't imagine my life without him in it. And deep down I knew that all the rest would be ok too. We were (and still are) so similar in so many ways that ran more than skin deep that I knew that the risk was well worth it. And anyway... I really do love cute dark kids with crazy afro's :-)

Fast forward a year and while driving home from our one year anniversary dinner, we turned on the radio and listened as Eusebius McKaiser (author of There's a Bantu in my Bathroom) asked the question on his evening talk show: can the number of mixed raced couples one sees nowadays in South Africa could be an indicator that we are moving past racial prejudices of the past?

The callers reponses were varied but generally positive. I'm not entirely sure that I agree. Yes - generally people are accepting if they know the couple or if they live in more "liberal" areas. What saddens me is that there are still people out there like the lady I encountered recently at a pub. Sitting at a table not even a metre away from me, she stared at me holding my man's hand discretely under the table, while telling her friend to look at us, claiming loudly "it's so disgusting." What I find disgusting is that she not only had these thoughts, but then voiced them...and loudly to boot! I tend not to be affected by the stares (because to be honest I stare at mixed raced couples too as I'm still intrigued by other people "like us") but hearing such narrow minded views trying to tarnish my love for someone based only on skin colour did hurt.

I've rewritten the account of this incident a few times now as the first couple of drafts were very angry and may or may not have included sentiments along the lines of : "Get with the times... or leave. Plenty others have and you are welcome to join them in Australia. This is a reality that you will not escape, a reality that will become even more present in your life as the years go on - prehaps even someone in your family (heaven help them!) will also find true love housed in a skin colour your don't approve of. But ultimately, this is a reality you won't escape so get with the programme ok?"

The reality is that we do all live here...and as much as I'd love to, I can't banish people like her to Australia (#joking!) I suppose that we just need to try and open the minds of those who share her views and foster a culture of acceptance and love in our societies.

One lady calling into Eusebius' show spoke of having been in a mixed race relationship for over 20 years and how those around her still notice the looks that her and her husband get, but she no longer does. I hope that it doesn't take me that long because I'm in this one for the long haul...

Home is where your Heart is

Lately, I've been longing for (/obsessing over) having my own home. I lived in the same farm house until I was 21, bought my first home at 23 (with the help of my parents of course) and then my second, with my brother (and again, the help of our parents) two years after that. They have always wanted stability and security for us, and undoubtably through them, I've come to associate "owning a home" as the same thing as having a home.

On moving to Cape Town two and a half years ago (time flies when you are having fun!) I felt more at home in this city (surrounded by friends like family to me) than anywhere else I'd lived. Despite firstly, the housemate from hell and now the letting agent from hell, this city in undoubtably home. What, for the past couple of weeks, has felt missing is the brinks and mortar to call my own...and the ability to put nails into them without the fear, trepidation and literal nightmares, of how I'll fix it when moving day comes.

I didn't at any stage stop to think of how others may view my current obsession. Perhaps insane to some that I'd find something material as such a source of comfort. Perhaps pressure at what exactly it entails (they don't come free after all) or perhaps the uncertainty of not wanting to put the cart before the house...I mean horse!

My man's aunt recently passed away and this got me thinking...is home not where the heart is (even in my small, but very comfortable, rented flat...with no outside area!?) Is having a place to call home more important than having a person to create a home with?

Every now and then a little perspective is good for the soul...and the sanity. The rest, as they say, will come.

Keep Calm and Cuddle Me

So I had a mini-meltdown the other day. In fact, I'm sure that my man would agree that they word 'mini' does not adequately describe the meltdown he witnessed. Let's use the word 'major' then. I had a major-meltdown the other day.

It was the perfect storm: some of my deepest insecurities and fears were touched on, added to them, my hate of any form of conflict was exposed as well as many of my worst pet peeves. All in the space of a couple of hours. I'm a person who likes to be in control, to have a long-term plan, to know what is coming next. And everything that went down on this particular day, put me (or made me believe in a the highly-emotional state that I was in) totally out of control.

The result? Tears. And lots of them! It was hardly a graceful or beautiful sight. No, I think it is safe to say that it was a totally unattractive few hours on my part! And what did my amazing man do? Run? Laugh? Head for the hills? Nope - he was just there: calm, logical, rational, supportive. After a long cuddle and attempts to get me laughing again, the worst was past and feeling like I'd just run a marathon, I curled in a ball and slept like an angel.

Looking back, it REALLY wasn't the biggest deal, but I suppose that's the 'joy' of being a women. We get hurt by the small stuff, we worry about our happiness and the delicate balance we have to maintain in order to keep it, we hope that we are strong enough to face the storms - but sometimes we aren't - and that realisation in itself is hurtful to our proud, independant exterior.

One thing that I did realise through this ordeal is that I can't control everything that will happen in the future and that it's not realistic to think that I'll be able to avoid conflict at all costs. I suppose that's life...the real, unpleasant, underside to all the upsides we experience. I'm just very grateful that this time I had someone by myside to (try to!) keep me calm and cuddle me ;-)

Keep Calm and Carry On...into 2013

It's a new, clean, fresh year! I'm not generally one for New Year resolutions, but I do love the idea of a brand new start, a clean slate of sorts. January is always a time of cleaning out the closets (literally) and finding new and improved things to replace the old and rumpled with. This year I'm on the hunt for the perfect scatter cushions...but let me not get sidetracked!

"Out with the old and in with the new" is all good and well but there are however somethings that I want to "carry on" from 2012 - my new found love of the random ramblings on this blog, my rediscovered love of scrapbooking (lame and SO middle-aged Afrikaans tannie-ish I know!!), my attempts to hit the gym and become physically fit (sing it with me now: physically, physically, physically fit!) and just generally to live life to the full - appreciating all that comes my way. The good, the bad, the ugly...

After spending some great QT with my family during the break, I was reminded by my (oh-so amazing) Gran, that in life you always have the choice to see the glass half full, to see the best in people, to have a positive attitude no matter what the obstacles. She is the best example of someone who does this 100% of the time and the results of her choice show in her serenity. So when the chips are down and the times get tough, my motto for this year will be: "What Would Gran Do?"

Here's to a happy, hopeful, harmonious 2013 everyone :-)

Keep Calm when Remembering Rhodes

#rhodesmemories was recently trending on twitter much to the dismay of other univerisities alumni who replied on twitter asking where all their memories were?! As I read through the hundreds of tweets, I had mixed emotions remembering the the days that Wordsworth would decribe by his famous phrase "it was the best of times, it was the worst of times."



Many of us took years to part with our overalls



I sometimes get asked by the students I meet if I could rewind the clock and go back, would I or is the working world better? Its a tough one for me to answer. So many of my greatest friendships grew during these crazy 4 years - through thick and thin we supported each other through break ups, let downs, tragedies, growing up and finding ourselves. Without some of the tougher times, prehaps these bonds would have been less durable, and so if that's what I can take from them, I do it gladly.



Boatraces...enough said

Some of the funnier tweets recalled how every year, we as Rhodents celebrate like we've won trivar (invarsity games against NMMU previously know as Trivar because of the now nonexistant participation of UFH) although we never do.  Other stories told of Smuts House, a guys res, and their firedrills where often there were more females than males present! Many retweeted that prospective parents, after reading all the trending tweets, were intercepting their childs RU acceptance letters and burning them...I'm not sure that I blame them.

At the end of the day, be it the best of times or the worst of times, they were times that defined me - definate us as friends. I look back now and write it all off to growing up, learning about life, making memories that will never be forgotten and having (now) hillarious stories to tell of how it all went wrong along the way. Here's to keeping calm when remembering Rhodes!

Keep Calm and Overcome the Sunday Night Blues

I live for Friday evenings through to Sunday afternoons at the moment. And while Monday's are by no means my favourite days of the week, at least they aren't as bad as Sunday nights. Prehaps it's the anticipation of the week ahead being worse than the last, or knowing that while I've got sunkissed skin from the weekend, I'll soon be stuck back in an office while the sun and fresh air taunts me from outside.

More likely, I think that the Sunday Night Blues that developed in my boarding school years have never quite left me. Anyone who had to make the long drive back into town after an amazing time at home - eating good food, sleeping in your own room, catching up with family and friends - will know what I'm talking about! My brother used to call it the "dirty laundry feeling", knowing that once you were back in hostel, back to reality, you'd have to change all your linen (a true feat for a 9 year old kid - duvet covers proved an enormous challenge for those tiny arms) and sift through that smelly laundry from the past week to tick it off on the laundry list!

And then there was Chapel...the 3rd compulsory service of the week...in our formal wear. Getting those blackmail stockings on over sunburned legs, still hot from the summer temperatures and sticky with chlorine, was never pleasant. My grandfather used to say that he went to Church enough during his boarding school years to never have to go again (this didn't go down well with my Gran!) While I might not agree fully with Grandpa, I'll avoid the Sunday night service at all costs.

Other depressing things to avoid doing on a Sunday evening definately include watching Carte Blanche (the music alone is enough to make you want to slit your wrists), eating any form of pie (King Pies in particular were always on the menu at school on Sunday nights) and wearing anything other than your PJ's from early afternoon onwards.

Now that the Sunday blues are over for this week, I'm off to conquer Monday morning...

Keep Calm and Give Blood

Did you know that a single blood donation can save up to 3 lives? Did you know that while having 5 days of stock is ideal for the Western Province Blood Transfusion Service they currently have 3.5 days worth of stock and this number can at times drop to 2 days? Their website lists the 6 good reasons to donate blood as being:

1. Blood saves lives: Every unit of blood donated can be separated into its constituent parts and used to enhance the lives of up to four recipients.
2. There’s no substitute: Unfortunately, there is no known substitute for blood and it cannot be replicated due to its complexity. Only real blood will do.
3. Blood is in short supply: Because the need for blood is so unpredictable, we’re always one day away from running out. While 75% of our population are potential recipients, a mere 1.5% are donors, and only 16,000 donors give blood more than four times a year.
4. It's a good cause: Giving doesn’t get much better than this.
5. You could be next: It's not a nice thing to consider, but the fact is that you, a close friend, or a family member could well be the next car accident victim or surgery candidate requiring a transfusion. Wouldn’t it be good to know that our stock levels are adequate?
6. The process is safe and quick: We use sterile, disposable equipment, so there’s no risk of infection. The entire process takes just 20 minutes, after which you can resume your daily activities. And finally, you won’t even miss the one unit (475 ml) of blood donated. It is quickly replaced by your body.

I found this chart rather interesting. If you do know your blood type, check out who your blood could help:

I'm on my way to donate my 17th pint now (very convenient that the blood service comes in to our offices to do it!) So what is stopping YOU from giving blood? Visit the South African National Blood Services website to find out where you can donate anywhere in South Africa.