Tag Archives: freedom

My First Time Travelling Abroad

At 22 you are meant to be in the prime of your youth. You are meant to be very happy like a modern-day Mary Poppins, fun is meant to ooze out from your back pocket, people are meant to smile at you while you skip down the street to a tune you made up in your mind like they do in commercials, all things perky are meant to stay perky for at least another good 8 years. So when I felt at 22 that none of that was happening (except for the last bit) and the stars were rudely wiped from my eyes by the reality of life and for believing in dreaming so much, I was really confused.

I wasn’t sure if I was in a mid-life crisis or in my case a quarter-life crisis or maybe I was just demanding too much out of life too soon. Thinking back right now, I couldn’t possible tell you, but all I know is that back then I wasn’t happy and I wanted more from life than what I was reaping at that very moment. All the things I wanted to achieve for that time in my life, I wasn’t even dangerously close to achieving and that deeply concerned me.

I was 22 working for a great company with great staff and a lovely manager who later became a very valued friend in my life, I was helping out like an adult at home, my responsibilities had become neck high but I enjoyed it. I had great friends and a supportive family structure it looked like things could go on forever on this pace and it would all be ok.

Some how, for some reason it all just started seeming very mundane to me. All I remember thinking before I took action was that I finished high school at 17, I went to varsity and know I’m working, and then I will work some more, finish studying, then buy a car and do my bit for society and my family, buy a house, study some more, then work some more, then start a family then work a little bit more, go on a few holidays then retire and work a little more ( because lets face it your pension is a joke unless you’re Irene Rosenfeld). Then dutifully daisies will start smelling so much clearer during those years, then I would probably start having dreams of tunnels with bright lights then trumpets will sound and my good Lord will whisk me away to a real first class, five-star V.I.P. party.

You see? I’m hoping you agree that the way that last paragraph looks is not slightly appetizing and I definitely didn’t sign up for it (though truthfully I don’t remember ever being given an option and the sequence of events doesn’t really go the way I described it but you get the point ok!). However I sat at home and weighed my options and thankfully there had come an opportunity for me to travel through a friend of mine, and though it wasn’t how I envisioned I would travel I just literally went for it without even thinking about it.

And there ladies and sort of gentlemen (times have changed no one opens doors these days) My First Time travelling alone abroad came.

Taking the step to move to England was not even a concern, I was so excited, I hadn’t planned much besides the necessities of what I was really going to do there and everything seemed to have been organized for me already by the family I was going to stay with. It took a matter of months or weeks really to plan and notify people who I was going to be m.i.a in the motherland for a bit and some people couldn’t even believe it was happening until I landed at Heathrow (my mother included).

And boy did I feel grown up, I won’t bore you by mentioning the itty bitty details of boarding the flight but I can tell you something, although it was almost half a day travelling, it was the most memorable time of my life. Not the actual flight but the possibility and hope that was attached to it. I know understand why some people think it’s best to leave a place. Whether it be from a broken heart, some embarrassing situation you found yourself in if your life is public to others or merely just to travel and see Gods beautiful playground, it’s not so much the place you are going to, although that counts for 80% of the reason as to why your African posterior is being flattened for 11 hours by a supposedly luxuriously cushioned seat but it’s that feeling of renewal and new hope.

It’s almost like being baptized again, you have that chance to redo, to explore. The stars are definitely in your eyes again, you definitely are a little girl in a big world with a suitcase and a teddy looking googly-eyed and hoping to conquer in your own way. And all the rough rides and knocks you were scarred with while growing up are somehow dismantled because at that moment you are your own Christopher Columbus. The thought of a new place, new people, new scenery and finding your own way in that little society and making your own life even if it means eating canned water (if there is such a thing) for the rest of your days is a MasterCard moment. It’s so priceless and rewarding it sends butterflies in your tummy that metamorphose into dancing fairies.

That was me in August 2009 sitting on Virgin airways just thinking and thinking and thanking and thanking God.

I look back now almost 2 years later back in South Africa. And although things didn’t go according to plan as they never always do with a life that we don’t control, I’m back where I was in an office desk, 9 to 5 scenario, composing this. And you know what? it’s ok because I couldn’t have it any other way. My life is at a place where it’s meant to be, I’m planning my work schedule for the next week and researching courses to study some more and I’m not entirely happy but that’s somewhat a bit overrated sometimes. (The truth is, my little kiddies, is there are bills to pay that don’t even make sence on your pay slip, for all you know under the UIF fee that you pay and may not fully utilize is your bosses golfing lessons named special deductions or skill development fee that you’re too scared to ask about hence why you’ll never be fully happy) I have lived although not fully, I have loved although not wholly I have seen although not clearly, I have conquered although not entirely but I have experienced and that’s been the best moment of my life not the travel or the work or the money or the status but the experience and every fulfilling decision and mistake I have made have been worth it because they are apart of that experience which makes me know as I am and will continue to make my many first times to come.

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The First Time My Vagina Reminded Me of Sisterhood

Women always talk about the strength a sisterhood has but I have always wondered how true this is. I’ve never really been a person involved in big groups of friends; I always had one friend, they would always become my best and close friend until unforeseen circumstances changed that and then I would be forced to find another good friend.

My cycle of friend hopping changed when I went to university and I met a friend who had a friend who had a friend who eventually became my friend, in the end a huge network of friends was woven and when we met our res rooms would be filled with young women literally on top of each other enjoying each other’s company. I had never felt such a strong bond with so many women- we would wait for each other before we ate, we had our own table, on Sundays we would go to church together and discuss the sermon afterwards and we even developed our own secret language.

I always wondered how far my friends would go for me, I always wondered if what we kindled was a true friendship or a hobby to pass by the time. We shared our secrets, what hurt us most and what our real problems were; for such a huge group our secrets amazingly stayed well within the web. We would buy food, tampons or medicationsfor each other. We knew who had asthma, who was allergic to what, and who had never used a tampon before. We had immense knowledge of each other and our love had no bounds.

One day my friends and I were talking about private parts; which looked better between the vagina and the penis, and of course the vagina won. My one friend recalled a funny incident were her friend had called her in a frantic state asking her to come over to her house. When my friend got there her friend asked her to look at her vagina, my friend was shocked and asked why, her friend replied said that it looked weird that some hanging bits weren’t supposed to be there. My friend being the good sister she was inspected it and assured her friend it was in a normal state. I laughed when I heard the story but then I realised I really did not know what my vagina looked like, not shaving made my problem worse and I really did not know how my vagina looked like.

I felt a sense of loss, not knowing the most intimate part of me was sad and suddenly I understood what my friend’s friend must have felt like. I looked at my friend in a different light from there on, she was truly a good friend, and she went into uncharted territory not out of curiosity but out of kindness and care for her friend who was really worried. I mean how many friends would inspect your vagina for you?

Image from goodmorningandgoodnight.com

I looked at my friends in a different light from there on. There were with me when I could no longer go on with my studies, they supported me when my faith was at its thinnest, they prayed for me and asked for God’s favour to fall upon my life. They are still with me in my heart and of course on Facebook; our bond surpasses all kinds of matter. It turns out it was a true friendship I was kindling and still kindling, it wasn’t something to pass the time, it was something to contain time. I discovered true sisterhoods do exist- I am reminded of this every time I look at my vagina.

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My First Time With Cancer

I have two daughters and since their birth I have been very very health conscious.

We ate veggies, stayed away from sugars and fats. We exercised and did everything right. So I thought. As young adults, they moved to Cape town.  I divorced and decided to move to Cape Town too. Very excited at the prospect of a new life I went all out to prove myself.

I bought a flat, a new car, and worked really hard at my job. I am a psychiatrist. One fine day, or windy day, or rainy day that Cape Town always experiences I got up and literally said aloud to no one in particular (as I was alone) “I hate what I am doing” I was 58 and successful and earning good money. I was independent.  I loved Cape Town. I loved the amazing dance workshops and programmes that I attended.

Yet I hated the work that I did. I was competent and excellent in what I did. But I hated getting up every morning, driving in the Cape Town traffic and getting to work.  I hated the concept of the  psychiatry that was the prevailing paradigm. My training and the prevailing paradigm was based on Newtonian mechanisms and biological treatments.

There was no soul or spirit in it. My soul and spirit yearned for the spirituality and soul that for me was the underlying process in many people who suffered from “psychiatric ” illnesses.

I felt trapped as I was unable to see a way out. I had spent money in training as a medical doctor and then specializing as a psychiatrist. I didn’t want to be a burden on anyone. I had to still earn a living.  These thoughts kept going on and on in my head. I spoke to my children and they kept saying  “you are earning so well”, so why rock the boat. In my heart I kept feeling that I could not justify  the huge flaws that I saw in conventional psychiatric methodology. One of which was prescribing medications that inevitably caused side effects

Over the months I began having weird symptoms and tiredness. I chalked it down to stress.  Then the bleeding began. With it the rounds of tests, and investigations and Doctors. One doctor after doing his tests informed me that I had nothing to worry about.  The gyaenacologist however was a different matter. She phoned and said  “I am sorry to say…….”

So I being a doctor myself got my results.  I checked them, and my first thought was —– Yippee  I do not have to do psychiatry any more !!!!!    I have a very legitimate way out.  I knew that I had to take care of the cancer and sort it out. But I also knew that I would be ok. It’s as if my soul did the only thing it could, to get me out and protect me.

I went back to my home town, and had the surgery. I didn’t need any thing else. No medications, no chemotherapy. It is nearly a year now after the incident.  I am healthy, and very active. New vistas have opened for me, involving alternative healing modalities.  I have always been very alternative, and now it’s as if I have been given permission to revel in it without any censure.

Thus I believe that my cancer diagnosis was a friend and a wakeup call to “BE THE CHANGE I WANT TO SEE IN THIS WORLD”

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