I do not fear the past. I fear the loss of time to do nice things before the scheduled departure.

The way I give. The way I hesitate. The way I hold on. The way I finally let go. This is the way I love. This is me. I have grown with yearning for her love and longing for the departed. Every parting reminds me of the too soon and too abrupt. So why am I surprised to hold on too tight and way too soon?

What I thought was extinguished is burning inside the very same person shivering from the cold. The flame glows inside of her own beating heart.

And so, perhaps and quite possibly, her love had not ended the way I thought. It continues inside. It lives on. I pick myself up to take a small step forward to light the way.

Just read the 21 pages of what I wrote this past year. A majority of them connects me to my younger self. The professional stuff does not resonate.

In the blue notebook, I unearth forgotten words from seven months ago. It didn’t make sense then, and it still doesn’t. At least it isn’t as rubbish as I once thought it was.

The blue dancer flickers to steady itself as the orange flame tries to escape the black ink. Why are you trying so hard to part ways? You can’t survive without the wick dipped in wax, you wicked flame! 

The moon is cradling the ball tonight, and I wonder what you are up to. I just want to see you momentarily. For a kiss and a hug. To feel you next to my skin, but only briefly before it consumes me and extinguishes time. Time, time, time, time. The giver of life. The father of ions, sorrows, beginnings and all ends. 

My freedom is not the same as yours.

Seven days for, with, and by myself. No distractions. No friends. No family. No boyfriend. Reality called work interferes, but I’ve learned to compartmentalize this sacred process.

The mind tries the usual escape route of consumption. Not this time! I’ve been on a digital diet for a month already. I had already primed myself for this cleansing process. This time, I consume my words and nothing else.

After furious typing, 7000 words appear. After relentless handwriting, I fill ten pages. After careful conversations with myself, I can hear myself think again.

Have I been here before?

Yes, you have, replies the younger me from two years ago living in the small notebook covered in blue. And I’m proud of your progress. At least your recordings of the past allows you to draw the intersection with your present.

My writing serves as a mental compass to guide myself back to the deepest part of me. I am grateful for the gift of words.

The sun is out. Never ending waves wipe away the beads of sweat. No respite in site, I close my eyes to ride out the waves. Except the waves won’t stop, and the pent-up frustration won’t subside. I must stop playing this silly game of pretending that everything is fine, because I cannot live in this sea of mediocrity.

I grow despondent.

Except there is a time and place for everything. I must endure this phase. All things will pass, and so, I must learn to enjoy the now.

I grow hopeful.

One candidate did well on the case study and the panel interview. A compulsory background check revealed that he never finished his degree. He says he couldn’t afford the tuition and sent us a proof of registration. He does not meet the minimum requirement. He is automatically disqualified.

Is it like sending one’s birth certificate to claim eminence of chosen field?

I wonder if that’s what we do in life. Claim to be something. Promise the world. Talk the talk but haven’t walked the walk long enough to accomplish something worthwhile. Perhaps we always take the first step but fizzle out before crossing the finish line. Having spent all that time with nothing to show for one’s time and effort. How depressing. How interesting (not really).

As great as it is to start, finishing is how we’re measured at the end of the day.

I’m shopping for a used car. It may be cheaper to buy a new one. The first dealer I went to charged more for the used car, when comparing it to the brand new model.

I didn’t know any better. Except I know best to ask the experts working for VW. They were shocked and told me so.

I’m not sure if I should spend another $1000 to buy a “better” car. Or, go down and save about the same amount. Because at the end of the day, both will be covered by the manufacturer warranty.

Some may say I’m splitting hairs. They may have a point. But I wonder, what else could I get for that $1000. A month’s mortgage payment. Two weekend trips to a friend’s wedding. 10 Fancy dinners for two. 10 awesome outfits. When I assign the value of experience, the $1000 seems like a lot. But in absolute terms, it’s only $1000.

The car I drive doesn’t define me. It must get me from point A to B safely and economically. And so, I guess I’m leaning towards saving money. Purchase a used car with fewer than 20,000 kilometers less than R160,000. That’s about $15,000.

 

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.