This is where I'm at now...

http://www.omdraaisvlei.co.za/

There is nothing like living in clean air and peace and quiet that cleans out the soul :)

A Magical Friendship Fairy Tale…

I follow many blogs. Some are informational, some are funny, some fascinating, some are downright controversial...I like those the best :) As a result I come across many amazing and unbelievable stories. I am so thankful that I live in a world where technology allows me discover things about people and the world that I might have not known had I lived in another time.

Once in a while I come across a story so incredible that I spend days thinking about it. I have been spending a tranquil day at my sister's flat with her, my Mom and her house mate. During the course of the afternoon, my sister read us a post from a blog written by a twenty- six year old South African girl who has just been re-diagnosed with leukaemia for the third time. It doesn't take a smart person to figure out signs of battling this disease for a third time are not good. What makes this story all the more tragic is that she is the last surviving child of her parents. Her brother went missing a few years ago and her sister died during operation.

I admire this girl- her name is Lucille- not just for her bravery but because of her honesty. Having been a victim of a rather serious physical illness myself I remember the enormous pressure I felt to always be optimistic. To never show I was in pain or afraid because I feared hurting the people I loved. Lucille is full of hope, Lucille is brave and a beautiful person. But she knows that things are not okay, she is afraid and angry that life has dealt her and family this brutal card. She uses her blog write all of these feelings down and to express her love for her loved ones. She is not afraid to talk about what everyone is trying not talk about: the inevitable. There is a good chance she will die.

I encourage to read the blog of this beautiful girl, who's wisdom, bravery and honesty amaze. We all have problems both big and small, but once in a while I believe that we all need to be reminded to be thankful for what we've got and it is not the end of the world. I am including a post that was written straight from her heart to a friend she meet on Twitter.

Be blessed Lucille xoxo:

A Magical Friendship Fairy Tale…

by lessmoaningmoreliving

Once upon a time in land far, far away..
Okay no, this is the tale of a story that happened, is happening right under my nose every single day.
I used to think that friendship starts with a smile…
Reaching for the same crayon…
Being on the same sports team…
Listening to the same music…
Lifting as heavy as the other guy…
But this friendship started in an odd way, by a follow:

I followed right back, of course, he’s a CT Runner… ((again, 2 of my favourite things))
We never said anything to each other, other than a few random retweets and “Good Luck”‘s and of course I read every tweet of his about his running journeys in the beautiful city of Cape Town.  It wasn’t until December last year when we both expressed our absolute dislike of broadcast messages on bbm and how that guarantees a straight delete that I decided that I could sure as pie get along with someone like that… This is the beginning, after the beginning of this tale…

Matty,

It was right before Christmas 2011, while out at an end of year function where you were drinking too much, uhm, let’s call it awesome juice… and your typing absolutely sucked (keeping it real), but even though it looked something like this “candrjoja ojdjroejodkj kdj” I still made out every word and answered you like it was no big deal.  I’m an expert in slurred typing :/ lol.  It got to a point where you could see you made no sense, and you quoted me this:

“Me Tarzan, You Jane”

and that was it – that moment right there, that was the moment this friendship began.
I just remember us getting along really great, talking about running and awesome things like the beach and Cape Town and I thought you were absolutely great, and weird and a little bit insane – but you laughed at my lame jokes and that has been absolutely priceless to me.

Me Tarzan, You Jane

You were even goofy, yep said it, enough to watch Tarzan “with” me, although we’re 1405,3 km’s apart – made my soul happy that you’d do something so silly for me.
On Thursday, 19 January I was rediagnosed with Leukemia.
On that day I felt like my entire world fell apart, that everything I was trying to achieve and build up to was never going to happen.
Matt, you were one of the first people who I told the news to – which is insane, because I have obvious trouble dealing with real things.  I would much rather make jokes and be lighthearted than admit I’m falling apart, but with you it was okay to have this severe experience of being human…
I remember the first words you said to me after I gave you the news was this: “It’s ok Lu, it’s ok” and then you sent me the link to this song

The words in this song that struck me the most was

It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.Seasons are changingAnd waves are crashingAnd stars are falling all for usDays grow longer and nights grow shorterI can show you I’ll be the one

I will never let you fall (let you fall)
I’ll stand up with you forever
I’ll be there for you through it all (through it all)
Even if saving you sends me to heaven

Matty, you haven’t let me fall.  Not once.  No matter how tough treatment got, no matter what news I shared with you, you always responded with the same “It’s ok Lu, it’s ok”.  Somehow we have this insane connection – I remember a few days after treatment started, as I was having one of my just past 1am nausea attacks, without saying anything to you ~ you sent me a message telling me that everything will be okay. Ha! Coincidence? Maybe.  But this wasn’t the only time it happened, it has happened throughout.  When the rest of the world was telling me to get up, be strong and fight, you told me that it was okay to be weak for a bit.

Never leaves my side 

Matty, today was one of those hard days – one of those not so strong days.  Today I felt my body start to give in, piece by piece.  Gosh a few times during the night I wished, hoped to just be rid of the feeling.  I’m ashamed to say, I wanted it all to be over.  I was ready to let go of life, but I kept strong, I held on, because  “It’s ok Lu, it’s ok”.  Earlier when I woke up and read your messages, I got these flashbacks from the day we met… I never told you, but hugging you for the first time wasn’t weird or awkward at all – it felt like hugging an old friend again.  You made me laugh and smile and even that night when I wasn’t feeling well you told me “It’s ok Lu, it’s ok” and you took my hand and just held me.  Magical moments, memories that keep me strong.  You went running for us tonight Matt, for your legs and my heart and you took me beautiful pictures of the scenery of my, our Cape Town.  I’m good with words, but the feelings spilling over my cheeks as the tears leave my eyes is the best way to describe how I feel about this gesture.  It felt like I was right there with you, only in my mind we’re running that route but sweating heavily and smiling, not crying.

There are no guarantees in life, but Matty, you’ve made me see that it doesn’t matter how many times my stupid pride tries to push you away – you’ll stay.
Thank you for being a shoulder I can soak with my tears, thank you for fighting away my fears.  Thank you for making me smile, no matter how much life gets me down.  Thank you for making me live this magical friendship fairy tale every day!!
Sometimes a hero isn’t the person who will run into burning buildings or shield you from danger – sometimes a hero is the person who will stand beside you, hold your hand and whisper quietly“It’s ok Lu, it’s ok” .  Matty, you’re my hero.
If I can’t hold on long enough to be your friend always, I need to say to you:
It’s okay Matty, it’s okay…
You know…

http://lessmoaningmoreliving.wordpress.com/

Madiba

Today was Nelson Mandela's 93rd birthday. A few years ago a campaign was started on Mandela's birthday that encouraged South Africans to spend part of the day helping those less fortunate. Amazingly enough it has actually taken off. Today my cousins volunteered for charity, my Mom donated clothes to a children's home and our church celebrated the opening of the a newly built dormitory for disabled school children. I was hoping to donate blood today, I was a donor before I became ill in 2009, but unfortunately I am still waiting for clearance from my doctor to start donating again.

I am careful of not turning people into gods, but like everyone else I am amazed at Mandela. I was afraid of him when I was very young- my grandmother was responsible for that. They called him a terrorist. But when I actually questioned why he was so bad and what a terrorist was, no one could ever come up with what I thought was a good enough answer...I was just told he "made trouble". The truth is I learnt was true freedom was from Mandela and I only realised the value of it once his plight became known to me.

Most of you will know his story: He spent 27 years- the length of time I have been alive in tiny space no bigger than my bathroom. What is not widely reported now, even by Mr Mandela himself is the torture that he and his fellow activists suffered all because they wanted to be treated the same as white people. He was a husband and father- he missed the growing up of all his children. He sat in prison knowing that his family were being terrorized and isolated because of him and he could do nothing to help. I can't imagine the pain and unbearable agony he must of gone through.

The most important lesson I learnt was when he was realised from prison in 1990. He forgave. How he could forgive always used to strike me dumb- those people ruined his life. As an adult I now realise one of the reasons he was able to forgive. He knew what his reason for living was. His life had a purpose and a passion- something most people spend their whole lives looking for. He had a purpose and he was willing to die for it. They may have placed him behind bars but he already had freedom in his own heart.

We may be born into a country where democracy prevails. We may grow up having everything we ever wanted. We can travel the world but if we do not have freedom with in our hearts and souls, we might as well be locked in a prison. I believe some of the greatest battles in history have not taken place between enemies, but within a heart and a mind. It's like thinking you are in darkness when the sun has already risen. It's seeing the world in grey when it is actually bursting with colour. It is love, it is happiness and it is where life starts. It is understanding that You. Are. Actually. Free and not just thinking it.

I am including a poem called "Invictus" by William Ernest Henley  being read by Morgan Freeman, who played Nelson Mandela in the movie Invictus. While in prison Mandela was inspired by this poem and kept it close to his heart. It is reported that he would recite this to the other prisoners. This poem says best what I am trying to say. It means "unconquered" or "undefeated". Thank- you Madiba for this lesson.  http://youtu.be/9oIKqeZWjis

"Invictus"

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishment the scroll,

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.

7/7

On July 7th, 2005 I left my flat in Southfeilds, in the south of London and took the tube to my work in Kensignton. It was a typical day, with me wishing that it was weekend because as usual I had gone to bed so late the night before. I had been living in England for just over a year and was loving it. I used to work to walk quite often, mostly because I loved being out in central London so much. But it took me two hours to get to work that way and owing to the fact that I was exhausted that morning I took the train a little late.

I can't remember much about that morning but when I look back now I remember feeling rather unsettled sitting at my desk and not knowing why. It was so quite. Too quite. An hour and a half after I arrived the phone rang and it was one of the psychotherapists at the practice where I worked asking to speak to my boss. "Have you heard whats happened?" he asked. I had no idea. "There are bombs going off on the Underground" he said casually...so casually that I actually thought he was joking. He actually starting laughing and then told me to tell my boss that they were shutting down central London and he was not able to get in so he was going to start walking home. I sat at my desk shell shocked after that call not sure what to do, still not quite believing what I had heard.

The phone rang about three minutes later, just has I had noticed I had 6 text messages on my cellphone. It was my grandmother's cousin who lived in Wimbledon, frantic wanting to know if I was alright. She told me that three bombs had exploded on three different Underground trains, one of them was on the train line where I worked. Knowing my Mom would freak out as soon as she heard the news I asked her to phone my parents in South Africa and let them know I was alright. The rest of day was spent frantically trying to contact friends around the city, which was difficult as they had shut down the cellular network in central London. All public transport was suspended and later that day there was a sight most likely never to be seen again. Millions of people walking the streets to get home. By the time my boss let me go home the streets were empty and deathly silent- there were no cars or people. I knew the way home from walking to and fro to work but was I terrified walking that night. I eventually got home at 10pm to three relieved housemates.

Terrorism to me was something that seemed to only be exclusively on T.V. It never seemed to be real, something that always happened in a country worlds away. I had watched as an 18- year old in numb disbelief as those planes had hit the Twin Towers could not comprehend how a person could actually do that.  For the first time that day, the monster that had been trapped in a television set touched my life and became very, very real. The real weapon that terrorism uses is fear, panic and confusion that normally hits in it's aftermath making the world angrier and more dangerous.

Today is the 7th anniversary of the London bombings. Seven years ago today four very misguided young men stepped onto London's public transport, which services over a million people a day, and took their lives and those of 52 other people when they detonated explosives strapped to their bodies. 700 hundred more people were injured. In the days that followed a shadow was cast over the country. It was almost like a sort of universal trust had been broken. In time everyone recovered from their shock and anger. But things were never the same again.

I have often found it odd, especially since deciding to follow God again, how people can commit the most horrible atrocities against mankind all in the name of something that in my opinion that is all about love. I personally feel that God is all about life. He speaks life onto us. His command is love. Yet somehow people use God to kill and control other people. They project their own selfish desires onto God and make it all about Him when it's actually all about them.

From what I know about Islam it has to be one of the most peaceful and honorable religions out there. Some of the greatest people I have ever known have been Muslim. We once had a Islamic landlord who let my family stay rent- free in our house for months after my Dad had his heart attack and my mother became unemployed because his way of honoring his God was to shelter us. Because of a handful of extremists shame has been cast onto millions of other peaceful Muslims.

Like I said before, terrorism's greatest weapon is fear. Fear does terrible things to people and is even more dangerous when it affects people on a mass scale. One of the characters in Starwars said that fear eventually leads to hatred. An emotional cancer. This is so true, I think most of you will agree with me that 9/11 changed the world and we are now more afraid and more angry. It has taken away a piece of our freedom. Some of us will never be able to fly without the niggling feeling of, "Will I make it?". Some of us now insist upon living behind ridiculously high wall for protection. People are afraid to go outside because of "What if?. I know plenty of people that will not completely trust someone because they are

What can we do to change this? I have no idea except for the way that I reacted after the London bombings. The day after, I got back on the tube and went to work. I was one just six people in that carriage. Normally it's packed. We had to stop in the middle of a tunnel for five minutes which got me a little unnerved and I asked a guy sitting further away if I could sit with him, eventually all six of us were sitting together. I can't exactly say it was the most pleasant journey of my life. But I made it to work that morning, one of the very few people in London that did. The second time I got on the train it was easier and the third time...

So my answer would be learn from the experience, never forget but to move on. Yes those people have got us afraid but don't give in to it or you will be doing exactly want they want you to do. Don't be prejudiced and distrustful toward someone because they are part of a religion that happens to have a few extremists. Don't listen to the "What ifs". Don't hide behind walls. You don't have to change the world but you can make a difference to your small corner. That is the only way to win this war. That way your children will not inherit a world of hatred .

RIP 07/07/2005

 



From the dark side: The end...a stir fry

Today is Father's day, I always struggle with Father's day mostly because of the past I have with my Dad. I thought maybe I would just sleep through the whole day until I was literally guilted out of my bed, forced to come downstairs and put on a smile. Since about 14:30 this afternoon my sister's voice, blaring as she bosses us around has had the same effect on me as nails on a chalkboard.

The reason I have been writing this all this about my grandmother is because this week we finally put her in a home. Granted she really should already been in a home years ago but my Mom just couldn't let go. Up until just recently my Mom was the centre of my grandmother's universe and she couldn't stand to be away from her. My mother believed that once my grandmother stopped responding to her love that then it would be time to let go. I think that my Mom carries a lot of guilt because it was that idea that led to disaster with my grandmother breaking her hip and her final decline into complete insanity. This led to a year of hell for our family that caused a breakdown of our relationships, isolation, depression and a whole lot of anger for all of us. If my grandmother was herself she would be horrified at all that happened.

Now for what I see as a true tragedy: My grandmother was raised to believe that her most important place was within the family. She may never have had a career, but she worked twice as hard for her family. She came from a wealthy farming family but received nothing except a small settlement in her parents will...all because she was a girl and her husband was meant to take care of her.

My grandfather died penniless in a home (which was paid for by his brother) when I was 19. Standing over him in the final hours of his life, I felt nothing more than pity for him. I was more heartbroken by my Mom begging him to stay so she could spend more time with him. That was so awful. My beloved great- uncle died two months before I left for England. He had suffered a massive stroke the year before his death that left him a total invalid, unable to speak. Our family had raced across the country when that happened. I sat with him in the hospital throughout the night squeezing his hand and stroking his face trying to get my brain accept that my uncle, with his twinkling eyes, larger than life personality and booming voice was the same frail man that lay expressionless in that bed. It was a great day for him when he died. He loved God more than anything else on this earth and longed for the day when he could finally meet his maker.

My great- uncle had made a great success of the farm he inherited and it has now been passed onto his sons, one of which is my godfather. My grandmother's younger brother drank his farm and his money away. He died of cancer when I was 8. So my grandmother is the last one left. The last one from the glory days.

So in other words my poor grandmother is broke and even though she worked so hard. We could not afford to put her in a nice home or one that was even close buy. The home she is in now is very basic but comfortable for the price. But it is two hours away and my mother will only be able to see her once a month. My Mom has lived with my grandmother for most of her life except for her university years and the first 3 years she was married to my Dad.

It has been a mad dash to get my Grandmother ready. You will not believe how much stuff you need to buy to get someone ready for going into an old- age home. The night before she left I was in the kitchen chopping vegetables for a stir fry and I was listening to my Mother talk to my Grandmother about the home, how many friends she would make, how the nurses were going to spoil her and how good the food was. My Mom washed her hair, cut her nails and was rubbing cream on her hands. My grandmother kept thanking her. The stir fry was not quiet working out the way I wanted ( I added to many damn noodles!) and then it hit me. My grandmother has been alive the whole time I have been alive, she was there for everything and I mean everything. Years and years of everything was going to end with a stir fry?. This mostly likely was going to be her last meal with us. This was probably the last supper I would make for her.

We are took my Grandmother to that home for her die. Her road on this earth will end there. And while she may change homes or come for visits, you know what I mean. A page has been turned and we are now facing the final chapter. The landscape of our family will never be the same. And with the stir fry thought came the cold realisation. I will never hear my Grandmother call my name again, she will never make me another cup of tea, her stories have now gone.

I'm still angry as hell but I don't hate her anymore and I don't want to be angry either. But I guess the reason why I am afraid to let go of that anger is because behind all that rage there is a heart wrenching sadness and a tunnel of endless regret. I have racked my brain trying identify those times when we may have had a second chance for a good relationship. Maybe everyday was a second chance, maybe we were never meant to be. The irony is that if my grandmother had not had Alzheimer's we might have been very good friends.

On that last night, after everyone had gone to bed I went into her room to fetch Milo, who for some reason had taken to curling on my Grandmother's bed after she went to sleep. And there she lay tiny and fragile, a ghost of her former self. For some reason I thought about one Christmas when my Mom, sister and I were struggling to drag our potted Christmas tree into the house on a mat. My grandmother pushed us aside, took hold of the mat and dragged the whole thing in by herself quickly and with such apparent ease that all three of us were embarrassed by being shown up by a seventy- something woman. There are a lot of things I want to change about the past but none of that matters now. Saying "I love you" just felt to weird but I whispered to her how sorry I was. She didn't hear me of course. They say that the bitterest tears shed over a grave are for words left unsaid. I took Milo and left.

The next day she was gone, I stood in her room. Her bed was stripped and all her belongings were gone. Photographs of her now seem ancient, moments frozen in time. I am now part of her legacy. I hope and pray that I will learn from her mistakes and live my life well.

From the dark side: My confession of hatred...Part 4

My grandmother had an older brother- my great uncle, whom I loved and adored. This is what is so ironic to me. Those personality traits I hated in my grandmother- her vanity, racism, sexism, prejudice and controlling personality were even worse in my great Uncle. Except for the vanity. I can't understand it or explain it but he should have been even more of a irritant, but I was able to look past all of his flaws and saw him as a surrogate grandfather. He was a hugely charismatic man with a larger than life personality and loud booming voice. He would sweep my sister and I up into tight hugs and kiss the tops of our heads over and over. He listened to us intently, prayed over us and told us long stories. The best way I can describe him is that he knew what all your bad traits were but he focused only on what was good. He was one of the first people (along with my Mom) who looked past my cold steel exterior and saw a treasure.

My great uncle was unbelievably strong while my grandmother was weak and I think it was because of how they were raised. He was raised to be a man and lead a legacy. She was raised to serve and produce children without asking any questions. If she had been given half the chance I think my grandmother had the potential to do great things. But she was a woman.

In 1996 one single event set off a chain reaction of which the tragic consequences we are dealing with today. My Mom had taken my sister and I to school, my Dad was away and my grandmother was alone in our house fixing breakfast for herself and my disabled aunt. Smoke suddenly began billowing from down the passage, she ran to the room she shared with my aunt to find that a heater had short-circuited and caught alight. The surrounding area and the edge of my aunt's bed had begun to burn. Despite being someone that was prone to severe panicking what she did was truly remarkable.

She lifted my Aunt off the bed, put her in her wheelchair and raced her out into the lounge. Then she went back into the room threw several blankets over the burning heater picked the whole blazing mess up and dumped it outside. She again ran back into the room and threw her bedding over everything else that was burning. My Mom came home to find my grandmother with black hair, hands burnt raw and sobbing uncontrollably because the house had almost burnt down and it was her "fault".

We were truly blessed that day, what could have been a horrible accident was saved because of God's mercy and my grandmother's bravery and quick thinking. We went on with our lives much more thankful but what we didn't know was that a silent switch and been flipped by an invisible hand. Over the next ten years we witnessed a transformation that would shock us all to the core.

Milo- First six months on the blue planet

I don't know when exactly Milo was born but we are estimating that it was the end of December/ beginning of January this year. His mother had back to back litters in a hole under the farm workshop. I heard that the kittens from the litter before Milo's had suffered cruel fate which I won't go into. It seems that fate literally dropped him into our laps- how strange that we happened to be driving on the same road at the exact same time Milo's mother was carrying him across. We had actually meant to be home earlier that day but were delayed for some reason I can't remember. I was told to take him because they shoot stray cats on the farm where I live because they rent some of their land to an organic chicken farm. How anyone could shoot a kitten is beyond me and I became furious and told the farm manager that he was to bring any stray cats to me and I would take them to the SPCA. I threatened to lay charges and go to our local newspaper. I think he found that more funny than threatening but obviously I must of made an impression because he started to feed Milo's mother and her remaining kittens. As far as I know they are still hanging out at his house but they are feral and he plans to take them to the SPCA once he has tamed them.

We have also seen a cat that we are sure is Milo's father- he has exactly the same colouring. This cat has to be one of the most enormous cats I have ever seen. Comparing Milo with his siblings, he was almost twice their size. So this is going to be one BIG kitty that we'll have on our hands.

It's only once I looked at the photo's I have been taking of him over these past months that I realise now how much he has grown. When he started out his ears looked to big for his face. He is now going through what I hope is just a phase of being really aggressive- attacking people's  feet with no warning. It feels like we are disciplining a two year old.

Anyway, despite his stubbornness and tough-boy persona, I have really grown to love this silly kitty and I hope and pray he will be with us for many years to come. I have posted a whole big bunch of pics of Milo from when I first found him to how he is today.

Hours after I found him- a very scruffy and flea-bitten kitty (not a very flattering picture of my nose!)

He liked to cuddle and go to sleep when in the car

Keeping the kitty in the mirror company

He is alseep here! He fell asleep while licking his butt!!

Loves his favorite toy- a teddy I've had since I was born.

This may look cute but he attacked me seconds after this was taken.

Bedtime

Chewing on my nose

Back from the hospital and very scrawny and skinny, he's made up for it though!

Cats seem to be very specific on how they drink water

Lazy ass

"By standing in front of the computer screen, I'm sure I'll helping Mom study!"

Why are cats so weird?

"I love making a mess and watching Mom clean up YEAH!"

I'm I the only that finds it a little freaky that he insists on watching me bath?

"I've discovered the roof"

"Now if only I can discover how to get down!"

Happy Singles Awareness Day!



JenniPenni



So the day of red and white has rolled round ( well it is just ending for me hear...thank God). If you are a guy with a girl, today is not the day you want to be broke. If you are girl  with a guy now is a great time to show off to your friends....or cower in the corner. And if you are single, well on just this one day you will probably feel so much more...single.

Valentines have never been all that spectacular for me. In primary it was exciting because I would maybe find a chocolate on my pillow when I got home from school. Sweets in our house were rare. In highschool I was ignored, although I had a friend who used to bake heart- shaped cookies every Valentines- she saved me. And then of course there are those "young love" relationships were most of the time we were both to broke to do anything spectacular. I had a guy dedicate a song on the radio to me while I was living in London. That was the only highlight in my Valentine history.

Now this may sound unbelievable. But I am a very happy singleton and a very grateful one too. I can't imagine being in a relationship at this time in my life- the poor man!. I don't even have the desire to get married. But I am only human and on this day when where kitchy red hearts, over priced cards and stuffed animals are flying around I have the same feeling I have every year: I am wondering if there is something wrong with me. I almost feel guilty for not having someone in my life- even though it is my own choice. However, all is not lost I think I have found a way to combat this.

When Valentines rolled around last year I was still very sick with BIH. My Mom's two cousins popped in uninvited as they always do and I made Thai Green Curry for everyone. My Mom wanted to have a special dinner for my dad by the dam- which was the highest point on the farm and had magnificent views. So I cooked them roast vegetables and steak and made chocolate cake for desert. My cousins and I then dragged our braai ( a barbaque) up a steep hill for a fire. I set the table with a white cloth and silver candle sticks and had to practically do a bloody fire dance to get the fire going. The look on my Dad's face when my Mom brought him was priceless. My parents spent most of the evening up there. I went home and watched Titanic (don't judge me!).

I was exhausted but I felt happy and I realised it was because even though I didn't have a Valentine. I had created a wonderful Valentines memory for my parents. This year I did the same thing. I had to resort to ready made meals because I was so short on cash...but they didn't know that:). So if you get depressed on Valentines Day like I did try making doing something for somebody who isn't your lover but needs to be shown a little bit of love. Help a couple out that can't afford a nice Valentines. Let your loved ones know you love them.

Showing someone that you love them really rang true for me today. This morning we discovered my cousin was going in for a MRI because they suspect he has a tumor on the brain. He had not told anyone because he didn't want to add to the family problems. Having been through this myself two years ago I know how terrifying it can be and I can't imagine having to do it alone. We raced through to the hospital. I was able to hang out with him just before he went in. He was in this dodgy multi- coloured hospital gown. It was so funny, he looked like Joseph with his technicoloured dream coat. We were laughing and joking around and then I watched, with a heavy heart as he walked down the hall and disappeared. I didn't have a boyfriend today, I didn't get to go to a fancy resturant or on a romantic picnic but I can tell you with certainty that there was no place I would rather have been.

Here is a song I learnt in primary school. It is really beautiful even if it is a little corny. I love John Denver and the message in the lyrics is perfect for what I want to say:)

My Little B

To love someone is to risk loosing a part of yourself

This has been a big week for me...I have finally re-registered at University to complete my degree. I don't care if I have to complete the damn thing in bed, I'll do it.

This week there has also been a major victory and a close to a beautiful chapter. Some of you, who are regular readers of my blog have heard me briefly discuss a little girl only referring to her as "Little B". I have been very vague about this and I am sorry but please know I only did this to protect her privacy. However after much thought and discussion I decided I should share this with you, only because this story is incredible and you will be amazed at the resilience of this child.

Little B is actually my second cousin. Her mother and I were very close growing up. The circumstances of Little B's life and that of her sisters are extremely tragic but I won't be discussing it on this blog. Before the holidays, I made the decision to foster her. I did this because in 2011, Little B was due to start school and we had a BIG problem. Kindergarten/ Nursery school is not compulsory in South Africa ( a little dumb if you ask me), so she was unable to get a government grant like she could for school and there was just no money for her to attend Nursery School otherwise. Now in the area where she lives the standard of education is extremely high- B would have to pass a school readiness test to see whether she was ready to go to school and this is where we had the problem.

Little B is extremely bright but tragically because she had not attended Nursery School or had anyone take time to prepare her for school she was streets behind other kids her age. I am always wary of getting involved with any drama in my family because if you give a hand they will take an arm, if you know what I mean. Watching B's situation was like watching a car crash in slow motion and it became apparent that nothing was going to be done. My Mom and I arrived at their flat one day explained to her what we needed to do and then packed her up and moved her into our house. It was heartbreaking watching this tiny little girl say goodbye to her Mom and each of her sisters. She sat in the back of the car all the way home, in silence tears pouring down her cheeks. Even though she had never been away from her Mom and sisters I could see in the determined look on her face this was something she knew she had to do.

You will be amazed what this child accomplished. Little B had just a few weeks to cover something that took kids two years to cover in kindergarten. The day would start at 7am , we would break for tea at 10:30am go on from 11 until 1pm and then again from 2pm to 4pm. I discovered that B had picked several things up just by observing her older sister but it was jumbled and needed to be put into order. When she wasn't at having lessons with me she was playing games that had something to do with lessons. We decided it would be best for B to go home on weekends to her mother and sisters and give me a chance to sleep.

I will admit I was hard on her but I was frantic and heart sore. I realised with great sadness, that Little B's life now and in the future would be far from easy, she couldn't afford to be model- coddled. I remember holding her when she was just ten days old and thinking how many battles she would have to fight and most of them she will have to fight alone.

But I was not kidding when I said that she was resilient. She took on every challenge I threw at her with a fiery passion. When the time came for Little B to leave she could read and write at first grade level (something that's not mandatory for starting school, but we achieved that anyway) she knew her multiples up to 2, could add and subtract ok, count up to 100, recognise all her shapes...

Once we were over that hill we were facing yet another. It was January, the school year in South Africa starts in January and it seemed as though all the schools were full. I was angry...while I putting this kid through 8 hour days someone could have filled out a stupid form for her to attend a school!. Each school shutting their door in her face was beginning to take it's toll on Little B. She told me that the schools didn't want her, pained rejection written all over her face.

But the law was on our side. schools are divided into catchment areas. Whatever school she lived closest to by law, had to take her. Eventually this school agreed to take her, they had no choice ( but we told Little B that they liked her and really wanted her) but first....the nail- biting school- readiness test. Yes, however unethical it seems if she didn't pass this test she would not be allowed to go to school, even if she was of age.
I had to go see my psychiatrist that day so I couldn't be there. We heard nothing all day and we couldn't get hold of her mother so we went by her work. As soon as we parked I saw Little B and her mother racing across the parking lot. I opened the car door, feeling very shaky and B jumped into my lap.

"I PASSED, I CAN GO TO SCHOOL!!!!!!!!"

She had passed her test with flying colours. She told me when they said she had passed and could start school, she cried, "Happy tears". I went into town early the next morning to see her off on her very first day of school. Never in my entire life have I seen a kid so excited to go to school. She looked so smart in her new uniform. I took ton of pictures. Her Mom and I walked her to her classroom. She already knew two kids in her class. The whole time her Mom and I had goofy grins on our faces and my heart was swelling with pride. I went to kiss her goodbye and she took my hand and tried to pull me into her classroom but I stopped her. "This is where on you're on your own my love, I can't come in with you". I feared that maybe this is where the waterworks could start but she just shrugged "I've two friends". Then another little girl came and put her arm around her and they walked in the classroom together - I had to hold B's Mom back!- the teacher then shut the door. Her Mom and I stood outside the school crying- how traumatic it is sending a kid to school!!.

I have learnt a lot about love these past few years. It is mostly love that has kept me alive. The biggest lesson I learnt about love from my experience with Little B, is that a lot of it involves selflessness and letting go. Sure I knew that that was all a part of love before, but having B in my life really drove it home that to love someone you risk loosing a part of yourself. I got Little B I had to open up windows in my heart that I had closed long ago to care for her. For a few weeks I was the center of her world and she was my main priority. I taught her, fed her, bathed her, cared for her when she was sick, played with her, watched her sleep, hugged and kissed her tears away. I was tired, amused, in love, frustrated angry, heartbroken, joyful all at once. She was mine for a short while and now she is back where she belongs and treading her God- given life path while I watch cheering for her wanting nothing but for her to be safe and succeed. Of course that is not always guaranteed but I have faith.

I have inspiration: if this child moved mountains the way she did then so can I! On I go to the road less travelled:)

For the love of a bunny

 In rememberance of my two precious furballs whole gave me so much joy in the short time they were mine:                        


                                     

 Basil at 2 weeks old- I thought he was a girl at first and named him Cornflower!

Wabbits in a box: the day I got Buttercup & Basil

My Mom feeding Buttercup some cabbage

                                       

Buttercup always saw Basil as her own personal cushion, here she has her feet propped up on his back. He never seemed to mind though.

Haha...Basil...such a character!

No, I did give my bunnies wine!, I put them on the table to clean their paws. It's amazing that my Mom allowed them to climb all over her furniture.

Buttercup after the labourer brought her back the first time she went missing, she was covered in dirt and oil. I carried her around all day and she just slept.

Buttercup says "Merry Christmas"

The Bible and the Bunny: I was doing some Bible reading (yes I do do that occasionally!) and I accidently took this picture while playing with my phone. Ironically it's the last picture I took of Buttercup and was taken just hours before she dissappered again:(

I have already received the greatest gift.

My last post was very negative, but I stand by it. This is an incredibly difficult time for me personally and for my family. Debt, death and illness are our constant companions this Christmas and I needed to rant, to get all my frustrations out.

We keep telling each other and whispering to ourselves that this too will pass. And it will... what we are experiencing right now is a massive shift and change. Our old lives as we know are coming to an end an a new life is beginning and unless each of us embraces it we will be left behind.

I am destitute right now, I have lost everything. But this morning I began to think of my best friend and my break down when I was in America- how very close I was to ending it. And I realised that right now even though it appears I have nothing I have already been given something that many people can only wish for.

I have been meaning to write this post for a while but quite frankly I just didn't have the words.I am going to write about the people that have kept me alive, pulled me back from the brink when mental illness threatened to engulf me. They are the light at the end of a very dark tunnel. Please bear with me because I don't think I could continue this blog without mentioning them- they are all the reason why I am here.

My Aunt: A great sadness and guilt still fulls me when I think about this. I was staying with my Aunt in California when things started to happen that would eventually lead to my breakdown. I don't know, but I have a feeling that my Aunt blamed herself for what happened. What my Aunt didn't know is that a lifetime of trauma, abuse, depression and anxiety was closing in on me. Why it happened while I was staying with her I will never know. I had only met my Aunt a few months before and was so embarrassed about what was happening to me that I did all I could to hide it, instead of confiding in her. Eventually I got to the point where I could no longer hide anything from her as I was slowly falling to pieces. Still, I refused to talk to her. She knew something was wrong and didn't know what to do. Her life was already stressful when I arrived- she was caring, full time for her husband who had suffered a heart attack nine years earlier and had been severely brain damaged as a result. It is only now, having to care full time for my grandmother that I really have gotten a sense of what it must be like. Her husband was ( and still is) a wonderful man and love of her life. What happened to him devastated her.

This woman bore the brunt of my breakdown. Despite that she allowed me to stay with her, rent free, paid the MASSIVE phone bills I rung up (I'm talking like a $1000 people), supported me for three months while I waited for my social security number (someone forgot to do that when I was born) bought me a laptop for university and a camcorder and a camera to document my time in America. She was a lady of few words but through everything she did for me I knew that she loved for me. I am just so sorry she had to see me like that.

My Mom: I can honesty say my Mom is the sole reason why I haven't landed up in an asylum. If you are a mother you can particularly empathize with what my mother has had to go through. Like I said I was overseas when I had my breakdown and my mother was in South Africa. She had to sit through my hysterical phone calls where I was to terrified to form coherent sentences or I was drugged up on sedatives and slurring. She never knew if would be the last time she would speak to me. The hardest most sickening thing is that there wasn't much she could do...except pray. And everyday she was down on her knees having her faith- which is something she has been blessed with in abundance- tested to the limit.

The person that got off the plane when I came home was not the person that she had said goodbye to nearly four years before, just a shadow of her former self. My Mom has had to suffer through my mood swings, she is the sole receiver of my sudden rage attacks, she continually looks in on me when I sleep 18 hours a day. She has had to have almost soul- destroying conversations where I actually tried to convince her to let me commit suicide, that she would be better off without me, that she would move on. And she would say, she'd be lost without me and ask me to please stay. Yep, I've done some pretty heartless things.

My mom is not perfect, she has made some huge mistakes, especially where my Dad is concerned. But she has stayed in hospital with me, held me through all my lumbar- punctures (spinal taps) and endless panic attacks. She organises my meds- that she hates- into pill boxes each week and reminds me to take them. She has dragged me out into the sunlight when I wanted to stay in the darkness. She prays for me unheeded and believes against all the odds that one day I will be healed.

Karen: Karen is my best friend, who lives in America. We met when I was sent as a temp to the company she worked for. I often joke that she must have her house hooked up to the fountain of youth somewhere- she was in her late thirties when I met her but she looked no older than me in my early twenties. Our friendship was still in the beginning stages when I had my break down. I didn't talk to her at first but she knew something was wrong. She had every reason to walk away- I mean I was acting like a freak not mention that mental illness scares the hell out of most people. But she stayed and took care of me. She nearly lost her job because of me. She saved my life. I honestly would not be here if it weren't for everything she did for me. Not just her, but her husband too. He could have told her to stop seeing that psycho South African girl but instead he tried include me in everything they did. Since I didn't have a car he would come to pick me up and then drive back to drop me off- they lived in the next town so this was no small journey.

Many things have gone wrong in my life but I really can say that God has blessed me with true lifelong friends- even if they all live in different countries!. I had lost all my faith in God and even in the existence of God after my breakdown and I wondered why I could hear nothing from Him, why had he abandoned me. I  now know that I was never alone and I do believe he used Karen to make a difference. She changed my life and I now treat people differently because of her.

The picture up top is of a Willow Tree ornament that I gave Karen on her birthday. The picture below is of the one she gave me before I left (That's my precious Basil in the background). It's called "Angel of Remembrance"

This has been a difficult year for many people all over the world and this Christmas will be sad for very many. I'm going to reveal the materialistic side of me and say that I LOVE presents and the fact that I most likely won't be getting any is a real downer. But in the grander scheme of things I have already received one of the greatest gifts anybody can get: I have been loved unconditionally and even better....I have been able to love in return :).

These ads come out while I was recovering from my breakdown and every time I see them now it puts things into perspective.