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I wish I could dial back the clock and prevent the accident. Go on that safari. But some good came of it.

A friend came to get us as soon as I called her. A four hour drive.

Another friend drove eight hours to reach us.

A friend found a place for me to stay the night while the three were admitted. She even sent some money for the night’s stay.

Family back home did everything they could.

Few work friends help me sort out the insurance.

Everyone gave words of encouragement and asked what they could do.

Even the radiology administrator: Michael. His daughter and I have the same birthday. He volunteers to work every new years and Christmas.  Everyone let me charge my phone off of their desktops. Everyone was kind enough to offer condolences. The guy at the pharmacy backdated the meds because the day I got the prescription, I was too preoccupied to fill them.

All the friends who gave me referrals for the plastic surgeon. The surgeons who spoke to me and answered questions while they were on vacation by the beach.

The parents and boyfriend who offered assistance despite their own malady.

I’m still worried. Giant bottle of anxiety, worry and blame is contained inside. It seeps out and I turn avoidant. I still wish I could have a month off where I can turn off the world and its inhabitants. I wish I could rest.

But for now, I am grateful. I am truly blessed. This too, shall pass. All good things. All bad things. They must come and go.

The car rolled four times. I was the driver on a gravel road. Three injured. Being short has its advantages – I walked away unscathed.  The aftermath, I’d say was even more traumatic than the accident itself for me. I still suffer from bouts of survival guilt, but I have no choice but to trudge on.

Waiting for the ambulance that didn’t come. Handing the key to the wrong tow truck. Burning cash to pay for the x-rays. CTs. Hospital admissions. Worrying about the now. Panicking about the future.

At least everyone is stable now. We’re all breathing on our own, standing on our own two feet. Little things we take for granted. I went to the gym few days ago…how lucky everyone is to have their biggest worry be to lose weight or get strong.

Dad experienced allergic reaction to heavy pain meds. Couldn’t breathe. Cold. Dizzy.

Upon researching causes for neck pain, I grow grateful once again. In South Africa, he didn’t have to wait to get an MRI. As soon as the payment guarantee letter was issued from overseas, they spent an hour doing the MRI, while the expert radiologist was looking through his laptop at home. A neurosurgeon was promptly contacted for further care. The emergency doctors are not specialists, but they had access to the network.

People often ask me why I don’t live in the USA. The same applies for the parents. I always tell them that I prefer the life in South Africa. The people here are so sweet and nice. Their attitude towards life weaves the pleasant culture that permeates in all that we do. Despite the horror of the accident, they are beginning to see why I speak so fondly of this place I call home.

 

About this time last year, I spent full week writing 12 chapters describing the year 2016. This year is a bit different. Why? Car accident. Hospital visits. Survival’s guilt. Gratitude for things and friendships I’ve cultivated. Regrets for how things could have been. Should have been. Moving on. Avoiding things and people. This vicious cycle. The avoidance tactic. The need to tackle things head on. The careful dance between the light and accompanying shadow.

The fear takes over. Hope triumphs. Using this as an opportunity to get to know the two family members. Getting deeper into myself. Getting deeper into the other person. Leaning. Expecting. Taking a step back. Wanting self-preservation.

A big picture, we must be able to see. Except I wish I could wish everything away and let the good moments linger just a bit longer.

 

I spent six hours shopping and taking care of boring yet necessary administration yesterday.

1. Six clothing items brought to the tailor to be fixed or altered.
2. Specialty Korean grocery store.
3. Food from regular grocery store.
4. Pick up mail
5. Shopping for clothes. Upon conducting a cost-benefits analysis, two items will be returned.
6. Bulk purchased consumables to save future shopping time.

At least, I was able to check off Write Revival from the blackboard.

(I say this all the time. Why do I stop writing when it gives me so much joy? Why am I prioritizing someone else whence by doing so, I am killing the thing the very thing that makes me happy? Can you relate?)

I guess it’s like admin. It’s difficult to set aside time, but once it’s done, it’s done, and it feel good. I don’t only need food to sustain myself but also words to feed my parched soul.

Goal compromised. Broken promise to the most important person: myself. The self doesn’t go quietly, however. Causing turbulence to make itself be heard. The heart and soul aches and longs for these quiet moments of respite from the outside.

And so, here I am. It is 12^th of November with 50 days left of 2017.

What have I been up to during the past ~75 days?

• Doing two roles in separate business units.
• Getting to know two really special people. Myself and the catalyst.
• Too many events. Attending and planning close friends’ weddings.
• Getting sick. Recovering. Getting sick again. Recovering still.

Too many people. Especially having them in my own home – it would have been fine if it weren’t for all the social events. Wedding ceremonies the entire weekend. Monday through Saturday: Two people staying over. A game on Monday. A dinner on Tuesday. Another dinner on Wednesday. Making dinner for 3 on Thursday. Going out on Friday. Going out on Saturday.

The body said no and shut down once again. I am grateful for this body that self-regulates. It keeps me alive.

It’s been 15 days since, and I’m at 85%. It’ll take another full week before I reach 100% and my sneezing stops and the haze clears.

It does not matter what they said. What I write is not to seek gratitude nor validation. It is from my heart, sparked from the heart far and near as the two hearts play along to the soulful sing-song of the deepest sorrows and deepest joys.

I want to live. As if I’m at the end of my days. Not to be reckless and careless, but extract the most of this life. The miracle of every blink of an eye. The miracle of everyday rising of the sun. The surprising setting of the sun as it explodes across the sky, before welcoming the darkness guided by the gentleness of the moonlight.

I want to live unbounded by today’s conventional and untrue ways. To not be too far from the soil from which we’re born and extinguished. Not too far from the truth that once held our tribes together, bound by character and trust now long lost and longed for.

When the world can no longer hold back the beloved from reaping his lifelong harvest, he receives an invitation to lay atop bountiful blossom. Transported within soft embrace of all those he’s loved, he is propelled by the hopes and dreams sprouting from his seeds planted and nurtured in our hearts.

During his ascent, his flame dances and grows across the tinder of his offspring, before it dwindles and extinguishes by the tears mourning his loss, finalizing his departure to the other side. Overcome with grief, the offspring are yet unable to recognize their own emboldened spirit, lit by the torch of the departed, to be sustained by the fuel of their own brilliance.

Until one day, we stare into the mirror to find the departed smiling through the twinkle of our own eyes. Our dreams lift off, carrying our spirits higher within the core, lighting the sky as shooting stars, trying their best to reach the ones we miss the most. The luminosity increases as they reach the grateful recipient, the gardener to whom we owe our existence.

He will always be missed. This is by design, don’t you see? The gap is too big and wide to fill. The gap is the new soil to be tilled and tended to plant our own garden. To reap the joys of our sweat and tears before embarking on our own journey before being propelled to the other side like all the others who came before us.

I interview three candidates today. Pressure is on.

Two of them cannot calculate 20% of $30billion and I’m flabbergasted.

The importance of education and basic numeracy… something I had taken for granted but something I cannot live without… I have only one qualified candidate to choose from. The one with the shiny CV is not qualified. I am reminded of the importance of case study which is one step beyond someone putting together a pretty storyline to get hired.

The more we hold on, the faster it escapes. It’s like holding onto water flowing between our fingers.

During the best of times, we will it to stand still. During the worst of the times, we pray it to race past us. Time is constant. Time is an everyday and immediate reminder to make the most of the things staring right at our faces.

The chamber of our playground is a cocoon shielding us from the outside, even if it’s for a brief moment. For few days at a time, we are immersed in each other, away from everyday demands and promises of the world that won’t stop talking. My eyes capture and file away your beauty. My ears perk up to take in the ridiculous narratives of your insane mind. Crazy and beautiful. You are a free spirit. You strike the perfect balance that more often eludes me. And throughout it all, I find myself opening myself up to who I have always been, but too afraid to let it all hang out. The fear dissipates. The fear melts away. The fear transforms into something else.

I grow grateful for the things I’ve always been but too blind to see. I grow hopeful for the things that will come.

I write a love poem to someone special. So special it doesn’t belong here but only in my heart. I invite you to write your own to the one who’s closest to your heart. I dare you. Do it!