The end of an era

I was woken at 0:45 this morning by a message saying "Mandela died tonight". I quickly checked News24 and Facebook and promptly jumped out of bed to check the news channels and there it was. People gathered outside his house and a press conference with the ridiculous man we are supposed to respect as our president confirming the news. It was officially the end of an era and the closing of the final chapter of my childhood as a white South African child.

When I was growing up, in the northern (white) suburbs of Joburg, I had no idea that we were living under an apartheid regime. It didn't occur to me that I never played with black children or that there weren't a lot of black people. I saw them all the time at my house, my granny's house and at nursery school. I'd have long 4 year old conversations with Cain, our gardener, and watch him work while I collected snails. I'd follow Johanna, our maid, around the house getting in her way. Some of my favourite grownups at school were the black ladies who looked after us. I didn't realise that when we drove anywhere they had to sit in the back seat by law, I was just excited to sit in front!

As I grew up, I got the feeling that there was something going on. There were things happening in the world, on the news that my parents watched every night. I saw glimpses of the Berlin Wall coming down, angry Afrikaans men were shouting all sorts of things and shaking their fingers and then we got a new friendlier looking President.

When I was in Standard 5 (Grade 7) things really started to change. As much as a 12 year old can understand apartheid and politics, my father tried to explain it to me. But as it always happens, other people talk and the mixed stories and reactions abound. I heard about how the country would go to the dogs if black people had rights, if they released Mandela (whoever he was!!) and that we (white people) would suffer. On the flipside, I heard about how black people were badly treated and deserved rights. I never heard anything about the human rights abuses or what was really going on in the townships. I saw him being released and how happy and hopeful it made some people.

Time went on and there were stories of fighting and bloodshed between the IFP and ANC and about the general political unrest. We weren’t allowed to go to a leadership camp because it was too dangerous for us – god only knows what would happen to 3 busloads of white teenage girls! I watched the news once in a while and this "New South Africa" process seemed to go on and on... FW de Klerk and Mandela talking, the education system changing, flags and provinces changing and the rest of us trying to keep up. But still, there wasn’t much being shared about what had happened.

And then the 1994 elections were around the corner. My grandmother stockpiled canned food, candles and bottled water (as did a lot of white people!!). My parents hosted a Goodbye Old South Africa fancy dress dinner party where everyone got a copy of the upcoming ballot paper with all 19 parties (including the Soccer Party and KISS party). Times they were a-changing and we were cautiously excited!

I'd watched my parents vote in previous elections and the referendums but for some reason I couldn’t quite fathom this one just seemed bigger and much more important. The historical significance was not lost on me. We watched the live broadcasts that day of the looong voting queues in the rural areas and townships of these millions of South Africans who were voting for the first time. We watched Mandela cast his vote with a huge smile on his face and the faces around him. How could you not love him and feel optimistic?

Almost 20 years later, things have changed so much. We have been privileged to be led by the great man that is Nelson Mandela. Even after his term was over he continued to inspire us and give us hope that things would eventually work out and that we would be one big happy nation. He was the buffer between us and the incompetent people we have had in office, making us feel a bit more optimistic. If the ridiculousness of the SA government got too much, we had a happy place to go to….

But that's gone now. A legend has moved on and we are left with the clowns of parliament. We can only hope that the natural order of the universe sorts it out and recreates the balance that is needed.

Today a country mourns the loss of a remarkable man who guided and urged us on to a better South Africa and a better life. The world mourns a role model who gave them hope that things could change in their countries.

We thank you.

All in the name of beauty – is it worth it?

Three months ago I started taking Oratane, the generic of Roacutane. My doctor was reluctant to put me on it but after much persuasion and a liver test she relented. I don’t have awful skin but I am tired of random break outs at the age of 35. As far as I am concerned, they are for teenagers and I actually had better skin as a teenager.

Once I had my prescription, I started researching the medication – not my usual because I usually research everything beforehand. I wasn’t very happy about what I read. I had been told not to get pregnant, go in the sun and that I would get dry skin. What I read was so much worse. Sure, there was the pregnancy, sun and dry skin warning but along with that there is the possibility of nose bleeds, headaches, peeling palms, dizziness and that they may make you unhappy or depressed. Regardless, I decided to take them because it was only for 3 months. 

I also discovered that I had to really cut down the amount of alcohol I drank. I don’t drink huge amounts all week long, but after a weekend where I'd had a couple drinks, I got pains in my liver (which is surprisingly big and right under your ribs – thanks Google!), so that was the only sign I needed. I hadn’t pieced together that the liver test I'd had before I got the prescription meant something.

The first two weeks were fine. My lips got a bit dry but that was it. After two weeks, I started getting dry patches on my face. I started showering with baby oil and aqueous cream. The dry Joburg winter certainly didn’t help either!

The next few weeks were still bearable though my skin did become very sensitive to anything but aqueous cream. I had to use it as moisturiser because my usual one made my skin burn and left red marks as a result. Six weeks in, the daily nosebleeds started.

The last month was the deal breaker for me. I started feeling 'unhappy' despite the (herbal) happy pills I take. I just thought it was a bit of a slump, an end of year thing. Unfortunately it was not so. The 'unhappiness' they has warned about was kicking my ass!! I became super-sensitive, could cry at the drop of a hat and started thinking very dark thoughts. I over analysed anything anyone said to me (obviously with a very negative slant),  took everything as a personal attack and if someone turned me down, I took it as them saying they wanted nothing to do with me.

Living alone, I often found myself sitting on the couch wondering about why my life was so terrible, what contribution I actually made to the world and what the actual point of life really was. I decided that if I didn't have parents, I would've checked out (I've seen the effect suicide has on a family and wouldn't do that to mine).

I didn’t feel like I could talk to anyone about it, that they'd say I was imagining it, overreacting or being a drama queen. After all, so many people take it and feel perfectly normal!

Not good!!

I spent a month feeling like I was living in the middle of a thick, dark black cloud from which there was no escape. It sucked me down and smothered me. To top it all off, my right arm got super painfully itchy. So itchy that it would wake me up in the middle of the night and end with me in tears of frustration and trying not to scratch holes in my arm (I was not very successful at that). I was ready to literally peel my skin off! I tried baby oil, three different creams and eventually decided to take 2 Celestamines – they would either stop the itching or knock me out, they knocked me out…  

I tried to hold it together, tried to give myself pep talks to snap out of it, work out harder at the gym to get the endorphins going, take extra happy pills but it didn’t help. I felt like I was losing myself and my grip on reality and who I was. After another terrible Friday evening at home that ended in sobs, I forgot to take my pill on the Saturday morning. When I realised by the afternoon, I was already feeling a tiny bit better. So I made the decision to stop. I only had one week left but made the decision that my sanity was just not worth it! I could take a breakout once in a while, but I could not take the consequences if I carried on taking the pills.  

Every day I felt better and within 3 days I felt like I was back to normal. I was smiling, laughing and enjoying what I was doing. I have not shed a tear since. I have finally clawed my way out of that terrible black cloud into the sunshine. I even hear bluebirds tweeting – or would if I was in a Disney movie.

I know a lot of people who have been on Roacutane with varying side effects. My brother took 3 times what I took in high school and seemed pretty normal to me, he just didn’t go in the sun. Other friends have taken it a few times and have nothing bad to say about it – though one did end up with permanent blemishes as a result of spending time in the sun.

The one thing I can say is that I'm glad I never took it as a teenager because I never would've made it out alive – the hidden side of my teenage years were not easy for me. I don’t know how some people manage to take it for long periods.

At the end of all of this, I have decided that a perfect complexion is not worth it, if this is what I have to go through. I would rather keep doing my sneaky little blemish cover ups and keep my sanity and my life.  

The Ugly Truth

My bestie got married a couple months ago. It was an awesome day filled with love and happiness. 

After all the excitement wore off I realised something that shouldn't bother me but does ... I am the only one out of all my close friends (over 30) who hasn't been married.  

It's not really about the wedding and all the surface stuff that goes with it, though I reckon I would plan a kick ass wedding! It's about the fact that in my 20 years of dating, no one has ever wanted to (really) marry me. The reason? Because no one has ever loved me in the way a guy loves a girl enough to never let her go or throw her away.  

Granted a few of those friends are now divorced, but they were still loved enough to be chosen and asked at some stage by someone. 

I regularly question why it is that people feel the need to be part of a couple until death do we part and why monogamy is the norm. And as much as I would like to think that I am happy to be on my own and not need someone to add value, I'm beginning to think that's not the case. 

After (blindly) being part of a couple for a while earlier this year I've realised that I quite like being a part of something. I felt like I belonged somewhere and that I was chosen. It's not the same as belonging with family and friends. Being part of a couple seems to satisfy some primal need, the need to be part of a bigger whole and bring what you can to that whole. Maybe it was the possibility of a light at the end of this particular life tunnel.  

But it was not to be. I was destined yet again to be the last man standing... Alone. And I'm angry about it!! He obviously wasn't meant to be but the fact that I was taken in by the right words and believed he was as sincere as me makes me angry! I was optimistic and thought the best of him and the situation only to have it bite me in the ass. It's also left me with a stronger need to couple up, which had not been the case before.  

I'm angry that I wasted my 'good space' on someone who didn't deserve it… angry that I have been forced to go a step backwards and have to start again… And angry (and a bit hurt) because it looks like it didn’t even register on his radar or have the slightest effect on his life, like I was just a passing mist.

But most of all, I'm angry that I now have this need I want to fulfil but it feels like the impossible! 

I don't know why, but we girls 'learn' that we shouldn't need a man and definitely shouldn't make it known. It makes us look desperate and chases men away. They don't want those kinds of girls. But seriously, it's what most people want (or say they do). So what's the problem?  

There are double standards. We shouldn’t need a man but should have one by the time we get to our 30's otherwise we're on the shelf (to coin an old fashioned phrase). So how does one avoid the dreaded shelf without needing a man (who probably put the shelf up)? Does being in your mid 30's automatically make you an undesirable? Does this mean that my window has closed? Or is 40 really the new 30 and I still actually have another 5 years to go before I pull out my step ladder to shelfdom?  

I really wish I wasn’t in this particular space at the moment. I guess it's back to square one where I start regrouping and recalibrating so that I can get on with things, alone or not. And who knows, maybe I'll get lucky and find someone to love (and keep) me in the process, without the bullshit! If not, I have my cat. And wine.

Break ups aren’t what they used to be

I don't even know how many years I have been single. And I mean properly single, not seriously dating anyone exclusively where I thought perhaps this could be the final one. It must be close on 10 years.

Don't get me wrong, there have been guys I've dated but only briefly. My dad always said I never gave them enough of a chance but to be honest, I reckon if you know it's not right why stick around?

I have been the problem a number of times... I have high standards. Obviously, otherwise I probably wouldn't be single. I prefer my partner to be similar to me in areas like lifestyle, intelligence (not necessarily academic just able to hold a decent conversation), similar values (family, honesty and a good heart), a connection and chemistry.

After a very bad patch and some bad decisions, I got myself sorted out. As they say, you meet someone when you're not looking. And I guess it's true. I was happy with myself and how my life was going. Unexpectedly I met someone. Someone I felt comfortable with and who I clicked with. All was good and happy!

But as often happens, it turns out we were in different places. It just wasn't as obvious as it had been in past relationships. And so I found out the hard way... by surprise and left heartbroken. Not a good combo. It was also a few days before I left for the US for 3 weeks.

As expected, I was initially pissed off, confused, crying and just a mess. But there was good that came out of it too. I was reminded of what awesome friends I have! They all threatened to kill him (of course!) and they all gave me so much support… super rich chocolate break-up cake, roses, company and hugs and messages. It made it easier to deal with.

Now that I'm back from 3 weeks on (literally) the other side of the world and back into the swing of the real world and old routines, I've realised that it feels like it never happened or at least happened ages ago. It's really strange! I think the holiday helped by removing me from the situation and letting me deal without other people going on about it. At least he didn’t leave it until after I got back! I would've worried that I hadn’t heard from him (I wouldn't have because his heart wasn’t in it), I would've obsessed about every little thing and not been able to just have fun and just be.

What has surprised me about myself is that I haven't reacted as I usually would. I'm not angry. I'm not plotting some sort of revenge. I'm not cringing or avoiding things that remind me of him (I'm actually embracing them!!). I'm not bad mouthing him and using my extensive insult vocabulary. My friends have taken care of that! I'm just keeping on and actually not feeling much about it at all. I think that this might be because I am a better, more settled person who is at ease and happy with myself. I think that because I was in such a good place to start, it hasn’t affected me nearly as much as it would’ve a year ago.

Another plus is that I probably won't see him again. We don't run in the same social circles, live in the same neighbourhood or go to the same places. We really have nothing much in common that would create that awkward, I want to throw up, see you for the first time situation.

A close friend commented yesterday about how happy and ok I look (she saw me at my worst straight after the break up), all things considered. And it's true! I am happy and I can't even give happy pills credit for it! I even had an urge to send him a very nice, polite message to say thank you for having great timing! Imagine!!

Dating in the 'olden days'

I recently turned 35. That means I've been dating for more than half my life. I was thinking back to what feels like the dark ages and how much things have changed. I suppose the change was inevitable considering the advances mankind has made in terms of technology and the way we live.

Of course it was before cellphones, smartphones, the internet and social networking. The boy who was interested in you or who was dating you used to phone you on the landline. You used to talk for ages until your mother threatened you. I remember lying on my parent's bed, talking crap, sometimes paging through a magazine. Now, if your man does call you, you can be doing any number of things…. driving, training at gym, grocery/clothes shopping, cooking dinner, working on your laptop or shaving your legs.

There was also no texting. If someone was late for a date, they couldn’t tell you. You had to wait or leave, depending on who you were waiting for and what you were doing. You also couldn’t keep track of anyone or see when they were ignoring you according to the "D" or "R" or ticks on a message and you couldn’t see what time they'd been online or what they'd been up through status updates. Although, I do remember the days waiting for the phone to ring because he said he would. It was agonising! And you also couldn’t double check his excuse for not calling. :)

Back then, when you met someone, you actually had to make an effort to get to know them. One of my worst habits these days is Googling people I meet if I'm interested in them. It's just so easy to find out things about people online (unless their Facebook privacy settings are really high) and then pre-judge them or come up with things to talk about that are of interest to them (within reason, I just can't bring myself to talk about collecting Japanese comic figurines). Now your entire life (or at least the last 6 years of it) is potentially plastered all over the internet. Where you've been, who you've been with, what you got up to and all with photos to add to the information.

Looking back, it also feels like dating was simpler, at least at a co-ed school. You started talking to someone at school, you exchanged phone numbers, you went out. If all went well, he asked you to be his girlfriend or if you would go out with him. You said yes or no and that was that. If you said yes, you were spoken for. You spoke every day, went out on weekends, referred to each other as your boyfriend/girlfriend and things were great. When you broke up, you broke up and that was it. Ok, sometimes you got back together every few months, but generally outgrew it.

These days, you 'chat', you 'research' each other, you go out and things move quickly from one stage to the next without anyone actually saying much about it. It confuses me. These days, you can't assume anything because there is so much going on and so much to keep track of that the chances of misreading a situation or gesture are bigger than before. Society has created so many different relationship definitions like friends with benefits, fuck buddy's, Mr Right for Now, and if you're lucky, the good old-fashioned boyfriend/girlfriend. To be honest I can't even remember when last I was called a girlfriend!  

Wouldn't it be nice if once in a while we could slow down and go back to the olden days where things were simple and you knew what was what?

Surf's up baby!!

I finally learnt to surf! This has been a long time coming and a dream of mine for ages! It all goes back to the days of the Gunston 500, Kelly Slater, Seth Hulley and Sunny Garcia. I used to watch surfing whenever it was on TV and had posters up in my room.

In 1996, while visiting my bestie Thelma in Sodwana, I tried my hand at surfing. Because if Thelma could do it, I could do it! I couldn’t. I ran in with the board and somehow got a teeny cut on my pinky finger from the leash. That was that, I threw in the towel and decided to rather sit on the beach and watch with a drink in hand. 

Fast forward to 2012… On Christmas day, my parents gave me the most amazing present of a trip to Hawaii!! My aunt lives there and they were there a few years back and mumsy decided that it is the most perfect place in the world for me. As I am the most financially challenged member of the family, they decided to send me this year. So once the tears (of shock, love and excitement) had cleared I started thinking…. H-A-W-A-I-I… WOOOHOOOO!!! And what is one thing Hawaii is famous for? SURFING!! *Insert butt wiggle dance of joy*

At first I thought I should just take a lesson or two when I arrived. Daddles suggested I ask my uncle to teach me. And then it hit me… I was about to go to Cape Town and stay with Thelma, in Muizenberg, right near the beach. So, I asked Thel to teach me since she is patient (partly due to the fact that she's a mom), would know the tricks and the simple way to explain it. I was SO right. Turns out all the practicing the learner surfers were doing on the beach is a waste of time. According to Thelma, the only rule is this… "when you get into the water, just keep paddling until you get to back line." And for extra emphasis, she screamed "JUST KEEP PADDLING!!"

So we walked down to the beach in our wetsuits (because the water is a bit chilly) and boards under our arms, feeling like we was in a 70's surf movie. To be honest, I don't think Thel was feeling that but I was, as a surfing virgin with a sometimes overactive imagination. The walk wasn’t as awesome as it sounds, I had a long board and it was a bit windy so I was trying not to get blown over.

Anyway, we got to the beach, (wet)suited up and I was good to go. After wading into the water to about waist level, I vaulted onto the board and got ready to paddle. Now, I train at gym almost every day but it means nothing since I don’t paddle at the gym. It was exhausting and I was stiff for days afterwards! Anyway, I eventually got myself out to back line and sat myself astride the board. It was everything I imagined it would be! That’s what I actually wanted to do, rather than learn any fancy moves. It was peaceful and quiet and awesome! Well worth the paddle!

But what goes out must come back in and I was there to surf! So, I tried… I first caught a wave like a body boarder (I used to body board so it came naturally), then paddled out again (but not all the way out) and kept catching waves and just generally having a fun time on the board (that I must mention really IS your best friend out there!). I laughed at myself when I face planted off the board when I stood too far forward. I accepted the knowing looks from seasoned surfers (the one's that said, "Oh bless! She's a surfing virgin!"). I also watched some of the learner surfers and stole some ideas from them. And it almost happened that day… I almost stood all the way up! I got onto my haunches and wobbled up into a half stand. Then I fell off. But it was great! And Thelma cheered me on, so it felt event better than I'm sure it looked.

The next day I could hardly move my arms, my abs were stiff and I had bruises on my front hip bones (I keep forgetting they stick out now!) from lying on the board. I quite enjoy saying I'm stiff and bruised from surfing rather than gym or cleaning the house. It sounds SO much cooler!

On my last day, actually the day I left Cape Town to fly home to Joburg, we got another quick surf in, just to cement the muscle memory. So we went with Thel's husband and hit the waves. It was a bit choppier than the first time and I must admit I was a little nervous. But we got out and I sat on that board taking it all in… the swells were very soothing that day! After a wave, Thel screamed at me to catch a wave and eventually I did (she is almost as scary as a Great White sometimes!). She had warned me that it's hard to get back out if you go too shallow and I found this out the hard way. So I decided to stay where I could stand and just perfect the craft there.

I splashed around in the waves, regularly flung myself onto the board (causing new bruises) and just had so much fun! But then, IT HAPPENED!!! I stood all the way up! It was amazing! I really don’t remember when I was that excited to stand! But stand I did! And I woohoo'ed and I wooohoo'ed loud and proud!! And I'm sure there was a crowd cheering behind me, but I can’t be sure… I was also privileged to see Thelma catch and ride an awesome wave… made me so proud to be her friend!

And so, I can surf. I won't be winning any competitions, unless there's a participation/sympathy prize, but I have done it and I can keep on doing it. When I'm at the coast, obviously. I can now hit the Hawaiian waves and tell them that "Yes, I have surfed before."

So in about 4 months, bring it!! And bring it hard!! But not too big, I'm still scared of big waves and head injuries…