One small step for mankind…

I am an 80s child. I was born when footballers still had long hair and dirt across their face. Actually it was more rugby players and they still had short hair…but you know what I mean!

Awesomeness!

I grew up in an era when computers were intimidating and still represented bits and bytes on monochrome screens. There were no such things as cellphones and your phone was a fixed line home telephone with a cord and if you were advanced it had buttons instead of a dial. Every girl’s dream was to have a phone in your room, like in all those American TV shows we watched.

We shared music by illegally copying cassette tapes and recording the Top 40 on a Saturday by patiently waiting with your finger on the ‘record’ button while the DJ droned on over the song intro. A stereo player with a twin tape deck was a treasure, especially if it was portable! You could carry it around and listen to poor quality sound tracks wherever you felt like it…

Computer studies were reserved for the exceptionally talented students (all boys in our school) and was an after-school subject. Typing (on real typewriters) was for girls whose highest ambition was to become a secretary. As opposed to a nurse or a teacher. The first time I ever used a real life computer was in my first year of varsity and I did not even know where to switch it on. We had to write a programme on Cobol and I spent hours trying to figure out how to write an algorithm to draw lines. Computer studies were called Informatics and my text book was a glossy book filled with pictures of room sized servers and illustrations of how combinations of 00 and 11 represented letters and numbers.

I started my articles at an auditing firm in 1995 and was given a subsidy to buy a laptop. My first laptop computer cost the equivalent of 2 top-of-the-range iPads and had, wait for it, a colour screen. My whole audit team drooled over this state-of-the-art piece of technology, an IBM laptop with 8MB RAM. With this I could produce working papers on a programme using Lotus 1-2-3 and then print them out for review. Awesomeness.

The Idiot’s guide…

The 90s were of course an era of unparalleled technological advances and by the time we all prepared for the onset of the Millennium bug (can you remember that?), most of us had access to emails, the world-wide-web and I had long since traded in my archaic laptop for a new one. I even owned a cellphone the size of a mini brick. With the birth of my second child in 2002 I was able to distribute the happy news from my hospital bed via a text message (SMS) to all my pre-selected contacts.

It took me a while to forage into the world of social networking. Initially, I used a few online photo libraries to share some photos of my kids with friends and family overseas, after spending hours uploading a few pictures and emailing the web page link.

I cannot actually remember what finally convinced me to open a Facebook account. Actually, I do. I was recently divorced and developed a crush on someone and he had recently opened a Facebook account. I spent hours creating a profile, finding a profile picture, adding applications to show the world (or my 30 odd friends at the time) what books I read, where I have travelled to in the world and what music I liked. What hooked me to Facebook, embarrassingly, was the ability to ‘stalk’ people anonymously. How I loved searching for old boyfriends, old school friends, checking out people’s profiles, pictures of their families.

Of course, eventually Facebook sort of lost some of its initial lustre (and they started introducing privacy settings…). And I guess I got a bit bored with looking at pictures of school friends I could not place. I still enjoy Facebook and still think it is quite amazing how you can connect with people all over the world, but nowadays I rarely spend any time looking at ‘friends you may know’ and have taken to disabling feeds from several friends because I am really not interested in their ramblings.

I have resisted opening several other social networking accounts, possibly because I spent enough time on Facebook already… I eventually opened a Linkedin account, more for professional reasons, and I have kept it quite business like and only really connected with business colleagues.

I have resisted the Twitter wave for a very long time. Party because I was intimidated by the hashtags and twitter handles and the like, but also partly because I could not imagine who I would want to follow. My stalking prowls are much more limited to people I actually know and I could not think of a single celebrity I loved that much that I would like to know what they had for breakfast or what their awe inspiring thought for the day was.

But of course, I eventually succumbed. For two reasons. Firstly, because I thought it would be another way to share this blog (it is called publisize). And secondly, in perfect character, because my teenage daughter opened a twitter account, and I wanted to know what she was up to. And the beauty was that I could check out her tweets without actually following her. (Incidentally, it transpired that she pretty much use twitter to follow a few celebrities and follow feeds of funny jokes and sayings).

Initially, I just followed a few Facebook friends, @EWNtraffic, and a few other feeds. The first time I got whipped into a frenzy was with the #FelixBaumgarter saga. I was watching the twitter feeds with heart-pounding excitement. How amazing was this. A front seat to the action as it is happening?

But last week, I got hooked. I have started checking my feeds, which now included a couple of news handles on a more regular basis. I do like to know what is happening in the world and it is quicker and easier than logging into News24.com or EWN.co.za. And on Valentine’s day I stumbled across this tweet.

Of course, I was shocked. This was our hero. I didn’t follow that much of the Olympics last year, but Oscar was one of the few athletes that I made an effort to watch. And what a beautiful story the paralympian who managed to compete in the able-bodied Olympics made.

Over the last week, more and more details emerged and the social media outcry has been unparalleled in South Africa. One journalist covering the bail hearing (@barrybateman) increased his twitter following from just over 7,000 followers to over 130,000 in days (including me of course). I was hooked. I followed the bail hearing with more vigour than the Royal Wedding. I checked my twitter feed all day long, in meetings, at work, in the car, while standing in shopping queues. You had to sift through lots of rubbish to get some factual reporting and opinions swayed like a pendulum, but we were all glued to twitter.

(By the way, in all the time I have been blogging, I have only twice seen posts from South African bloggers make  Freshly Pressed, and both times were in the last week, about our fallen hero, Oscar and our self proclaimed hero, the Sugarman Rodriguez. Of course, I wouldn’t take that as a fact…)

Now that the hype about the bail hearing is over and the long wait to the trial has started, I have to admit that I am hooked to twitter. I still don’t tweet much and still don’t follow any celebrities (except for Jamie Oliver), but I finally get what it is all about.

So, I am putting my hands in the air, and am saying ‘Hello, twittersphere!’

 

Confessions of an insomniac

For many years I tried to deny it. I have used all the excuses in the book. But I think it is time to admit it and call a spade by its name.

I am an insomniac.

I cannot remember the last time I went to bed and slept until the next morning, without waking up constantly; tossing and turning; throwing the duvet off me; pulling the duvet up when I get cold; getting up for a glass of water; or going to the loo because of drinking water during the night.

I have tried many things over the years to sleep better, but most things have counter effects which makes me toss it out.

Some of the things I have tried include:-

Sleeping tablets

I am horrible with sleeping tablets. I normally don’t have a problem falling asleep, rather, I have a problem STAYING asleep. It is not uncommon for me to fall asleep before I manage to turn the first page of my book (or click the page down button on my kindle), but then I would wake up at 01:00 or 02:00 wide awake, unable to sleep.

Jealousy makes you nasty…

Once, I decided to take a sleeping tablet on a flight to London as I had a long day of work ahead of me and needed my sleep. (Let me not get started on trying to sleep on an aeroplane!) I had it all worked out. I was flying business class (yeah, even then I cannot sleep properly), so I took the tablet just as we took off, which of course would give me enough time? In fact, it didn’t and I woke up with the air hostess trying to wiggle the plate of unfinished food out from under me. But STILL, I kid you not, I woke up at 03:00 (or 05:00, depending on which clock you were watching) and could not sleep again!

If I do manage to get a full night’s sleep, because maybe I take a stronger sleeping tablet, then I will wake up groggy the next morning and feeling like I didn’t sleep at all.

Toggle with the timing…

Of course I have tried to go to bed later. At one stage I was so tired that when the kids went to bed in the evenings (this was when they were small and I could force them to go to bed at 20:00 every night), that I would creep into bed with a book, with the intention of catching up on some reading, and would be fast asleep at 21:00. And wide awake at 01:00, tossing and turning for hours.

On the other hand, going to bed later just seem to delay that dreadful wake up hour by a couple of hours. So, now instead of waking up at 01:00, I would wake up at 03:00, which is definitely worse, because I will toss and turn for an hour, fall asleep and then wake up with a start when the alarm clock goes off, as I am rudely awakened from my REM sleep.

Sleeping with the notebook next to bed

I am sure you are asking what I think about when I am tossing and turning. It is definitely worse when I am stressed out at work and inevitably I will wake up thinking about a potential problem or solution or something that I was working on in my subconscious. And I was told that you should wake up, write it down and go back to sleep. However, waking up and switching the light on and actually writing something down is a sure way to get me wide awake. The next moment I would be sitting down and writing whole essays, making detailed to-do lists and thinking up other things that come to mind. As if my 02:00 mind thinks it is cleverer than my 08:00 mind.

Amend my eating/drinking habits

I have tried to cut out coffee after lunch time, before lunch time (incidentally, coffee doesn’t seem to keep me awake in the morning so how can it keep me awake at night??). I have tried to drink a glass of warm milk, or no warm milk. I have tried to eat a piece of cheese before I go to bed, or in the middle of the night when I sometimes wake up hungry. I have tried drinking a glass of wine, or avoiding alcohol. Makes no difference whatsoever. The only difference is that after a couple of glasses of wine I may wake up with a headache in the middle of the night, so I take a headache tablet in advance when I exceeded the recommended-not-to-exceed quota, or in simple terms when I range from tipsy to drunk. Better safe than sorry!

Counting sheep or something similarly dull

I get bored pretty quickly, so trying to count sheep, or doing something boring, like reading the Economist to lull me to sleep, does not work, because inevitably my mind will wander. In fact I find it better to read an interesting, but not gripping book. Interesting enough to keep my mind occupied, but not too interesting as to keep me reading until 01:00 in the morning.

Some pre-sleep exercise (affectionately named sexercise)

Of course a release of hormones such as induced by this type of late night activity does stimulate sleep and is a sure fire way to fall asleep, but like a person who sleeps next to a railway line, it takes me a fairly significant amount of time to get used to someone sleeping next to me. I know this is weird, but I will wake up if someone next to me turns around. My kids know that I only allow them to sleep with me on weekends and on special occasions; otherwise I prefer to sleep alone. I get irritated when the cat walks around on the bed, or wake up when one of the kids get up in the middle of the night, so just imagine a snoring or farting partner? In fact, I sometimes snore myself when I sleep on my back and that wakes me up! Definitely not a short-term solution.

So, what to do?

There are a few things that worsen the midnight insomnia spells. It definitely is worse when I am super stressed at work or panicking about something. And something insignificant like stressing about doing something on time will become a huge issue in the middle of the night. I will wake up with a start from a dream where I missed my aeroplane, because I forgot something at home, or neglected to check what time I had to check in the night before I travel, probably because I still need to pack. So, maybe get a bit more organised can help?

And the whole cellphone/social media thing has not helped either. I know I should switch off my phone at night, but I don’t, so sometimes in the middle of the night when I wake up and glance at my phone to see what time it is, I will look at my emails, and sometimes (horror face!) read an email. Or check my Facebook news feed. Or read a message I missed when I fell asleep. And the longer I stay awake, the more difficult it becomes to fall asleep again. Eventually, I will switch on the bed light and start reading…

So, maybe a suggestion for this year and in the furtherance of my sleeping habits, is a list of light reading, engaging enough to take my mind off things, but please no page-turners!

Alternatively I must just find a way to chop off my head every night and stick it back on in the morning, although I have visions of The Witches of Eastwick as we speak…:-)

Any suggestions??

 

You can’t get lost and other famous last words…

I have conflicting feelings about the invention of the GPS.

On the one hand, for the directionally challenged like me (in Afrikaans I would say rigtingbeduiweld), it can be a life saver. No more driving around with an open map book on the seat next to me, multitasking, trying to figure out where the hell I am, whilst attempting to look confident driving like I-know-exactly-where-I-am-heading. Especially when I am driving through a dodgy area.

On the other hand, I am one of those lazy drivers who will end up just following the GPS instructions without concentrating on where I am driving or even which direction. As an example, I always take a GPS with me to Cape Town as somehow the mountain confuses me endlessly. But the end result is that even after navigating to Cavendish Square about five times, I still wouldn’t know how to get there without a GPS.

However, when going to a foreign city, it is like a lifeline! I am normally pretty scared to get lost in a new city, and those complimentary maps they hand you at the hotel does not help at all if you don’t know where you are! And the best thing is, I only need my phone. That’s right, isn’t it?

Well, that’s what I thought when I landed in Edinburgh on the a cold, but not wet Tuesday in December. When I first arrived (after the initial shock of losing my iPad), I set out for a short stroll in the immediate neighbourhood around my hotel in the Old Town. This was fine and since I only walked in a circle, the hotel map did the trick. I did breath a sigh of relief (after walking down some stairs) when I realised I ended at the bottom of the street where my hotel was located…

A couple of hours later I ventured out for a longer stroll. Actually, I discovered that I forgot to pack pajamas, so wanted to head towards the shopping area and then maybe get something to eat. My taxi driver told me I was only a few blocks away from Princess Street, so I decided to walk in that direction. I punched ‘Princess street’ into my phone’s GPS, fixed my scarf and set off.

The directions per my phone looked something like this.

Not sure which is more confusing: the detail directions of map view??

For starters, I thought Princess Street was quite a bit closer, but nevermind, I am not scared of a little walk. Secondly, it was dark already and I had no idea which direction was north, south, east or west. But it is easy, because all I had to do was walk in a direction and see if I am walking away from the end point or walking towards it, not so? A recipe for disaster!

My first mistake was turning right on George IV bridge, instead of left. Unfortunately, since I did not want to appear lost, I kept on exiting the maps application on my phone and had to start a search from scratch everytime, and somehow the directions kept changing… After about 15 minutes, I eventually realised that I was definitely walking in the wrong direction (this was when I reached the Edinburgh University, and a new search indicated that I was now more than 2 miles away, whereas I started out just more than a mile away). Clever girl I am….

So I started walking in the now correct direction. But the GPS was telling me to go down Potterrow and when I started walking in the direction I thought I was supposed to go, I seemed to go further away from the blip that was me… Eventually, after walking in all 4 directions I realised it wanted me to walk on the motorway, going under the pedestrian road, which is more or less when I clicked that I was following the vehicle directions and not walking directions… And in a city like Edinburgh, with one ways and pedestrian roads everywhere, this makes quite a difference, I’ll have you know! A new search for walking directions, showed a much more straight walk along a main road.

My actual route vs the proper walking directions…

With a couple of wrong turns I eventually found the right road and made it to Princess Street Gardens. From there I just had to walk down the many steps and I suddenly found myself in the midst of a German Christmas market. Elated, I remembered the taxi driver telling me about the market in Princess street Gardens. Only, instead of the 15 minute walk, it took me more than an hour. And I was starting to regret wearing my new hiking shoes…

After buying the fated pyjamas, I headed back to the market for something to eat. I feasted on a pork steak burger, while listening to a conversation between two students, one of whom had the ability to use the word ‘like’ several times in one sentence. Miley Cirus would have been jealous. I finished off my meal with a delicious homemade hot chocolate, and started making my way back to the hotel.

As it turned out, my hotel was only a 10 minute walk from the market! But, at least I did learn my lesson, and memorised the route I had to take the next morning to the starting point of my tour…and left with plenty of time to spare.

I wish I could tell you that this was the end of my navigational, directional and public transport challenges on this trip…but alas…a story for another day!

 

Speak up!

Enough is enough already!

I am a very proud South African. I think we have a beautiful country, with wide open spaces and nature scenes that will take your breath away. Yes, we have our issues in this country, most of them still an overhang from exclusionary political policies and governments in the past. But, contrary to lots of people’s predictions, we survived an almost catastrophic situation and today, we have a democratically elected government and some of the most advanced constitutional rights in the world. Education, unemployment and social imbalances are some of the main issues that come to mind, and the impact that these issues have on levels of crime, etc. All these issues are constantly being debated in the media, and as parents, we generally give our kids the best education that our money can buy. And we build houses with high fences, alarm systems, and keep a wary eye out for criminals.

But today I hang my head in shame. An incident in the past week has forced the country to face an issue that is often swept under the carpet and ignored by the masses. And as a country we should be embarrassed.

Last week Friday evening a 17-year old teenager from Bredasdorp in the Western Cape went to a pub, about six blocks from where she stayed with her foster mother. Her foster mother warned her not to stay out too late, and gave her a curfew of 01h00. At 05h00 her mom was called out by the neighbours when a girl was discovered brutally gang-raped and savagely mutilated. Her worst fears came true when she recognised her daughter’s shoes protruding from the blanket.

The girl later died in hospital, but not before she named at least one of the attackers, a friend. The girl was injured so badly that hospital staff had to receive trauma counselling. The outcry has been widespread, and reported widely, even in overseas media and yesterda, a third attacker was arrested and I wish for the sake of her parents and loved ones that the ordeal is dealt with swiftly and that the attackers get the maximum sentences and rot in jail.

Zapiro’s cartoon (Mail & Guardian 7 February 2013)

However, the whole gruesome issue has highlighted rape and violence against women in this country. Primedia, through its local radio stations launched a campaign called #STOPRAPE, quoting statistics that a woman in this country is raped every 4 minutes and it is estimated that only about one in every nine rapes are being reported. To emphasize this, they sounded a beep every four minutes throughout the whole day. Chilling. The response was overwhelming. People calling in, sharing their stories, offering help.

LeadSA’s #STOPRAPE campaign

The stats are indeed shocking and has given the country the dubious title of the ‘Rape Capital of the World’. Horrific stories about women being further traumatised when they report rapes, the long and drawn out court battles, police’s reluctance to investigate the crimes thoroughly, and criminals being set free after years due to insufficient evidence are abound.

I am ashamed that this is taking place in the country that I love. I am ashamed that people turn a blind eye to this travesty of justice and that we don’t seem to be able to protect our kids and woman from these inhumane deeds.

So, for what little it is worth, I am throwing my voice in with the countrywide outcry and am saying STOP.

It is time that we face this issue head on. The time has come for some serious debates about how we stop the widespread violence against our women. The time has come for swift action by the authorities and enforcement of our legal rights enshrined in our constitution. We need to make it clear for once and for all that we will not tolerate this behaviour and that we will punish these crimes with the harshest sentences applicable.

Today, my heart goes out to a mother who had to witness this brutal end to her daughter’s life and hope that she finds peace one day.

We have a responsibility towards our kids and women. And as parents we have a responsibility. One of the many tweets on #Stoprape yesterday was this one:

Instead of teaching our daughters how to avoid getting raped, we should be teaching our sons not to rape.

For me, that is the crux of this. We need to show each and every man or son out there that we are disgusted by this, that it is not acceptable and that society will not tolerate it.

My 14 year old daughter’s BBM status yesterday

On the way home yesterday, I saw my daughter’s BBM status update and tears welled up in my eyes.

Enough is enough already!

Let us show the world that we care. Let us show the world that we can make a difference.

Let’s make the people of this country proud again.

 

A trip down memory lane

A post I read on the weekend from The Stiletto Mum made me think. It appears to have been in response to a blog challenge which I clearly don’t know about, as I am ignorant with such things.

I was teetering on the brink of leaving a comment, but couldn’t get my mind around what I wanted to say, so decided against it.

But my mind was on a run, and I started wondering. The call was to list three most significant childhood memories. And the idea was to illustrate how these childhood memories have shaped you.

Of course I also have many childhood memories that come flooding in when a question like that is raised. My problem was that I immediately started to think of all the sad childhood memories, and how indeed these memories have shaped me. The thing is, that I firmly believe that things that happen to us, do not make us who we are. Yes, of course it influences who we are, and we can often draw a link between who we are and what we’ve experienced, but I have very little sympathy with people who throw their hands up in the air and declare that it was their fate to be who they are because of something that happened or didn’t happen in their past. I am sorry if I am offending anyone, but I simply don’t buy it.

The first question, I guess, is who am I and what makes me who I am. I am many things but I think an underlying theme in my life has been that I believe I am a survivor. Not a survivor like in the television series who can live on snails and roasted bugs for weeks on end, with no proper place to sleep or shower. Not THAT type of a survivor. No, I mean in the figurative sense. I don’t think there is a lot that can bring me down indefinitely. And that’s not ALWAYS a good thing. I think sometimes I run the risk of getting myself into hurtful situations, thinking that I can get through it no matter what.

So I decided to set aside the sad memories or hurtful memories and come up with some good ones. Sadly, I cannot remember a lot of carefree things from my childhood, as I have felt like a mini grown up for almost as long as I can remember, but I was bloody well gonna try!

1. 

   I can remember the day my dad taught us kids (strictly speaking it was only me and my sister, as my brother was still a toddler) to eat prawns! I was barely 10 years old and in those days it was a real luxury. Unlike today where lots of kids virtually grow up in restaurants, eating out for us was reserved for ‘special occasions’. Having a Kentucky Fried Chicken take out once in a while was a HUGE treat. But this was not in a restaurant, and my dad made the prawns at home.

   He slowly and carefully explained how to hold the prawn with its legs downwards, snap off the head and remove the legs, and finally prise off the skin. He then proceeded to explain to us how my mom, at their engagement dinner did not know how to peel prawns and halfway through the meal looked up and saw that my dad’s plate was filled with shells. Her plate was empty. Yes, she ate the prawns shell and all, not knowing any better and I am sure not wanting to offend my dad.

   I am hugely thankful to my dad for making us try different food when we were young. Today, there is virtually nothing that I don’t eat, although he would not have ever believed that this fussy child who hated her veggies would one day munch down broccoli and cauliflower.

2. My dad was a wannabe magician and knew almost all the card tricks in the book. And he loved playing cards and games. I remember many happy evenings playing cards, Monopoly, Snakes and Ladders, Ludo, Chinese Checkers. We even used to play 21 with matches, trying to (unsuccessfully) outbid my dad.

   Today, I wish I could remember the card tricks he used to teach us. It would come very handy at a party! He was a very patient teacher and would show us how to ‘knock a card through the table’ which was not very effective as our hands were too small to hide a card and he would show us the tricks of ‘three in a row’, which was played with matches. I can still remember glimpses of some of the tricks, probably just enough to make a stuff-up of them, but every now and then someone would do a trick and it will bring an instant smile to my face.

   I still enjoy playing games with my kids, and whenever we go on holiday, we always take a game or two or a pack of cards with us. We love playing Yahtzee and can spend hours throwing dice or building Jenga towers. We definitely don’t play as much as we did when I was a child and that is sad, and probably something I should aim to rectify.

3. For a bit more than a year when I was seven years old, my dad was the manager of a motel in Phalaborwa. This was when my brother was born and we lived in a staff house at the motel, which was some distance out of town. Both my dad and my mom worked there, and they loved it. My dad had a very creative streak and would teach us how to fold napkins, how to set a table with fish knives, forks and of course, how to use cutlery properly from the outside, and how to indicate to a waiter that you are ‘done’ eating by placing the knife and fork together.

   Being the boss’ kids, we used to have a ball. Since I normally only got home from school after lunch every day, my mom would order lunch for me, which would normally include lots of healthy vegetables, which I rarely ate. For dinner, we were allowed to order whatever we wanted from the menu, which invariably was either Viennas and chips or Sandwiches with Cheese and Syrup. With Milkshakes. Yeah, I know, a very sophisticated palate for such a small child.

   

   Oscar and Knersus in the TV show

   I have very fond memories of playing in the sand, swimming in the pool, eating Pap and Marog with the workers and just being a carefree kid. South Africa was way behind with television, and in those days television broadcasts only started at 6pm in the evening, with only an hour of kids programming, so this was one of the highlights of our day. At one stage a film crew came to stay over for the filming of “Siel van die Mier“, which was a local Afrikaans production. One of our hero’s of the day, Schalk Jacobz, who we knew as Knersus from another childrens’ TV series “Oscar” was part of the crew and he would entertain us for hours with his evil Knersus voice.

Of course there were many other fond memories, but these are the first three that comes to mind. And what a nice trip down memory lane this was!

To good memories and making good memories!

What are your most memorable childhood memories?

 

I had a dream…

A couple of weeks ago I had a dream. About a boy. A little boy that climbed into my heart on all fours and will probably never leave again. Today is his birthday.

I was in a toxic relationship for three years. I now know that this relationship was poisoning me, but at the time I was in love and I could not or would not see the wood from the trees. I believed that this was my great love of all time.

Looking back on a relationship like that, it is always so much easier to see the signs that you refused to see at the time. Some of them were subtle hints that something was wrong, and some of them were flashing signs that I ignored because I was either afraid to face the truth or doubted my own instincts.

Whichever way you look at it, coming to terms with the fact that someone that you loved cheated on you and lied to you repeatedly is like reliving a nightmare over and over again. The worst thing about closing a door behind you that someone tried to keep open by blaming you and by denying obvious truths, is that all your memories are tainted.

Most of the time, when a relationship ends, there follows a time where we avoid the person’s name in conversation, where we consciously avoid the person or anything to do with them. It is part of the healing process. But after some time, we can once again laugh about the good memories and times and acknowledge that it was not all bad. And we can once again run into that person in the local supermarket, without feeling like the world stopped its orbit for a moment or two.

Of course, it was not all doom and gloom. It was like a rollercoaster ride, with fantastic highs and earth shattering lows. Unfortunately, my memories of this relationship are ALL tainted. Some of the truths I found out afterwards made me realise that I was living in a dream. I now know that there was always someone else, even in the times when we were most in love; the times that I would have promised to spend the rest of my life with this man without the blink of an eye.

Most of those memories can be swept under a carpet as either fake memories or see-it-for-what-it-was memories. However, I cannot delete the memory of the little boy from my inner most heart. The little boy was his son, a child born out of a previous (or so I thought) relationship. It transpired that for long periods while we were together, he was trying to convince the mother of the child to take him back. And even succeeded a couple of times.

Throughout that tumultuous time, this boy was like a child in my house. He was like a little brother to my girls. I played peek-a-boo with him, taught him the ‘I love you’ gestures, sang him repetitive nursery songs to put him to sleep, fed him and changed his nappies. I loved this little boy like he was one of my own. Initially, after we broke up, his mother allowed me to see him. He came to visit us occasionally. Until his dad and I tried to make it work one last time. When it didn’t work and he cheated on me one last time in a spectacular fashion (and denied it), he made sure that I would never be able to see his son again. Which is probably better for him. After all, who was I to him? Just one of his dad’s ex girlfriends.

But my heart was broken. I missed him. I missed his cuddles and the way he touched my hair and told me I had ‘very nice hair’. I missed his big blue eyes and the way he chuckled when I tickled him. The way he ran into my arms when I counted down 1, 2, 3….

In my dream, he was crossing a street with his mother. She looked lovely, her hair was shorter than I remember, and she looked happy and content. His hair was a bit longer and he looked at me shyly and with no recollection whatsoever. I hugged him against my leg, and he squirmed to go to his mom. She picked him up and he nuzzled her hair.

In reality, I will probably never see either of them again. I understand that they moved and are living somewhere on the Garden Route, more than 1 500 kms away from Johannesburg. And I doubt that it will be a wise move to ever contact his mother again.

All I can hope for is that the dream was conceived in another consciousness and that it is the universe’s way of letting me know that he is doing well, that he is happy.

Happy birthday X-man. There will always be a chamber in my heart where I will treasure your memory.