Mother dearest

I had a bad dream last night. I dreamt my mother had passed, all alone, and I had seen her lying there lifeless and no longer in pain. I cried out in anger and I cursed the gods for their decision. This was my mother! How could they!?

Now I know about how some people believe dreams are messages about how death is actually rebirth and all that bullshit, but I prefer knowing that ones subconscious opens up hidden doors within our minds when we’re asleep. Fears you never thought you had. Or maybe you knew it,  but accepting it would be as painful as going through it. Its possible. 
But seeing an image of your mother lifeless is another step towards accepting the fact that your mother means more to you than you realize. Or are willing to admit.
My mother steps on glass every day for me. She puts up with vile insults, disapproving looks. She tells me about how she feels unwanted. About how she feels like a failure.
It breaks my heart.
As a woman, one is obliged to be the following roles : Protector. Provider. Comforter. Punching bag. Cook. Maid. Slave.
We take hits on an every day basis. I feel my mother has been through enough of these proposed stereotypes and has accepted she just cannot fit into those boxes. She’s unconventional. I get that. She’s liberal. I get that. People don’t understand why she does this and I get that more than anyone.

I have heard people question her ways of raising us but I’m pretty sure I turned out better than most. She raised me to be myself. She raised me to be strong. I am equipped to provide for my family with a minimum amount  of resources. I am smart. she raised me to believe what I wanted to. She never forced anything onto me. Not religion. Not stereotypes. Not opinions.
I praise her for that.

I can look back at myself one day and see that I am who I am because this is who I chose to be. No one has pushed me into anything I didn’t want to do. And I have my mother to thank for that.

She might not be conventional. She might not be married. She might not be the best cook. She might be going bankrupt putting me through school. She might not be very helpful. But she’s taught me and my brother to follow our own routes with one thing on our minds: provide and protect.

And I will be trying to do that for her until the day I see her lifeless and no longer in pain.

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The secret

I have been reading about the secret since the book was given to me by a friend of a friend. Randomly, as though fate had intervined in my life.
I needed it and it appeared.
Granted, I am one of the most cynical and most pessimistic person you could find, hope never leaves my side. I am so afraid of rejection and disappointment that I continually avoid situations where I could lose.
I have been though hell and back. I have felt unwanted and unloved by people who I wanted to love me. I have been homeless and hungry.
Yet here I am. Alive and well. I have a mind worthy of greatness and I have a mother who continues to break herself to lift me up.  I appreciate and I love.

The secret was not just a self help book to me. To me , it was more of something I needed. I needed someone to tell me that my hope is not a lost cause. That it actually means something when you’re fighting for something. It reminded me that doubt is a weed that you plant within yourself and the only way you can stop it from ruining your garden is by removing it completely.  I know life is hard. I am the poster child for Murphy’s law.
I’ve had skin diseases, I’ve been made fun of, I’ve been decieved and ignored and yet here I am.

I am going to…
No I am making a change in my life. Depression has taken me too far down. All the crying and the anxiety attacks that no one ever notices is no longer going to bother me. It will no longer get in the way of what’s ahead of me

I am not asking for a straight path but the right one.
The universe… Or God… Whatever you prefer to call the higher power, it lives within u. Not above u.
The power is in your mind. My mind.
So its time to lift the shovel, fellow pessimists, because doubt has got to go.

As it were.

Everyone should have their own guilty pleasures. Some like the fact that wine makes their problems disappear. Others like pills (no judgment, I like pills too). Some people listen to really corny music and love (Taylor Swift, anyone?) and others, well, they eat. I guess I am a bit different.

I wouldn’t go ahead and say that I am unique in having a different pleasure. A lot of people do, but maybe they are not as confident to say it. I know a few people, my brother included, who tends to draw ad redraw the world map without noticing. He doodles Geography! And that is an example of how the simple pleasures we enjoy either go unnoticed or we blatantly ignore that we do them. Why is that though? Are you ashamed of the word “weird”?  I don’t think we ought to be ashamed of the things that make us happy. For example, my guilty pleasure:

I took a drive out to Oudtshoorn, Western Cape, the other way during the festive holidays. I went along with my boyfriend and his family and we took a 5 hour road trip. 5 hours….

Anyway, despite the different stops we took, my favorite was when we popped into Knysna. I don’t know if any of you know this but its called the Garden Route. And well so. Most of the town is covered in trees whether it be planted or natural. Large rows of trees tower over the roads of Knysna making the hues stand out better than any camera quality you could imagine. The colors of the green trees contrasted the tar roads and the dark brown trunks. But the sky…the sky lit it all up.

Halfway through back to Oudtshoorn, I noticed I had been smiling the whole time. My neck was sore from staring out of the window the whole time and I had been thinking deeply. I think about everything when I see something that beautiful. I am a born and Bred City girl but that doesn’t mean I haven’t ever seen great forests and fields. But nothing like Knysna.

The fact that I am hypnotized by God’s own sculptures. I could stare at a tree for hours and wonder how this living breathing beauty can outlive even the greatest of humans. I wonder how it would look in the next 100 years and if it will still be the Garden Route.

I wonder how we, as humans, can allow our ignorance and our narcissism to overlook the superpower that is human nature.

If only I were put in a different time. If only I were alive to see nature of what it was before us. Freestanding. Powerful, I bet.

That is my guilty pleasure.

Admiring.

 

 

 

So I’m writing this book…

waltbox

I would like to write a book that lots and lots of people want to read. I would also like to write a book that I want to write. 

Doing both of those things at the same time might be a challenge. 

I’m up for it, though.

Here’s a bit of what’s cooking, if you care to read it. (This is not the beginning, or the end. It would be maybe the middle of the beginning.) I would welcome any feedback.

WordPress doesn’t want you to find the page breaks at the bottom, but they are there.  

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Winstrop

“Winstrop?”

He was seated on a stool, sharpening a sword. He turned his head, cocked an eyebrow.

“Winstrop!”

He sighed, hung his head. He inhaled deeply, leaned the sword against the wall, exhaled. He rose from his stool to stand at attention. Lethargic attention. A disengaged civilian, not interested in standing to…

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Stuck in the middle

I have a kept a grudge on this subject for a long time. Being a colored girl in South Africa is not always easy….
We’re in the middle, us colored people, and we have these funny stereotypes stuck onto us at all times.
I’m okay with being the funny stereotype, but its the unfair privilege everyone else gets that upsets me

See, since I was finishing up high school, I was set on studying further. there was no other option for me, I was a student. A constant learner. I needed to feed my mind and to me the only way to get out of this life was to surpass everyone else mentally. And hopefully financially.
I worked hard, for two years, I stayed broke. Living off of my poor mother who had to take out loan after loan to pay for my first year. We lost our house and we were renting out this tiny one. Everything was okay for a year….

But then it all went down. When I applied to study for my third year, I was told I owe money for my second year so I couldn’t register till I paid 25000….ALL THIS IN JANUARY! 
I applied for loans, and I got no answer. Not even a decline. They told me that my mother doesn’t qualify,and then they “lost” my application.
I tried NSFAS and they wanted a divorce decree from my parents who barely even speak. That was a bit much for me

I tried the banks, but seeing as I couldn’t get my marks I couldn’t apply for a student loan from the bank (standard bank generally asks for a copy of your marks. And you only get your marks once you pay for your studies)

I don’t understand. I didnt.
I thought that it would have been easy, you know, for some one who wants to study to be able to. But I am not well off, credit is not in my parents favor and why am I suffering if they made a few mistakes in their life. My credit record is rising, yes but not nearly enough for what I need. I’m only 21 and I’m disadvantaged more than the previously oppressed race is at this moment. I get that they suffered… But they aren’t the only ones.

Its not even about race anymore. Its about passion. Its about consistency . its about hard work

I feel like if you are determined to finish, why should you not be able to get financial assistance. Why is it so hard to even go back to finish your studies?
As the self proclaimed middle child of the races in south Africa, coloreds are usually overlooked until we act up.
I’m just lost and confused as to what they are actually asking of me. Protesting is a waste of time. Saving up takes to long. What we generally need is to have a secure set of financial security institutions that will help students who cannot depend on their parents salaries.
For students like me, who would like nothing else but to go back to class and learn new things
Which is actually all I want.