Azurah

What happens in the Bermuda Triangle, stays in the Bermuda Triangle...

2012-01-26T00:22:00.003+02:00

So after we were given the unfortunate news that we would not be able to disembark the ship, I was very disappointed. I told my cousin that the only way they could make it up to me, was if Jack Sparrow pulled a rabbit out of his hat... or pants... whatever. And so we decided to look for alternative forms of entertainment.

When we boarded the ship on the very first day, we all agreed on two things: 1) That we would make the most of the trip which meant no arguing /fighting / fussing and 2) What happens in the Bermuda Triangle, stays in the Bermuda Triangle...a phrase coined by one of my cousins.

There were a number of people who were somewhat instrumental on our little journey into yonder and we named them all for our convenience. There was Jack Sparrow, the cute dancer donning his little pirate hat. There was Megan Fox, the doppelganger who was a part of our little dance crew. As well as Wayne Parnell, Kurt Darren and a few others - not their real names but hey, who has time for real names when daydreaming, lounging and introspection becomes a full time job.

And then there were the men. Lots of men in the form of crew and sailors... Rodrigo, Ricardo, Roberto... the kind of men who inspire poetry. Honestly I think it's the lapels. I can't understand exactly why, but it must be the lapels. Nothing else can explain why we all found this so irresistible:

I reckon that any man can wear this uniform and look good, that's how amazing it is.

Days went by with sporadic call outs from each of us: "Dibs on the Cuban"... "Dibs on the Spaniard"..."Dibs on Wayne Parnell"... even though we weren't really interested in any of them.

Shhh, don't tell my sis she's famous...

And then one day I had an encounter with Lorenzo. See, I was all dressed up for the tropical evening. I wore my silk dress, my hair a damp mass of curls fresh from the shower. I was glowing and lathered in Body Shop's Morrocco Argan Oil and Orange Blossom Body Soufflé (which is French for lotion) with a hint of Dolce and Gabbana's Light Blue. I smelled so good I wanted to lick myself.

So there I was, looking good, smelling great, and as confident as ever. I wanted to go out on deck and watch all the sailors move the deck chairs and tables out of the way in preparation of the evenings festivities (really, it's better than Bingo). So anyway, I got to the door to go out on deck and that's when I saw him. He was fixing something on the door (honestly, I don't know what the hell he was doing, it just looked important) and for a moment I became somewhat mesmerised with it all and my dress caught on a sharp end of one of the hinges.

Still too spellbound to notice, I continued walking away tugging absent-mindedly when I heard something that sounded vaguely like fabric being ripped to shreds. Turned out, it was a significant part of my dress that tore through the side and unbeknownst to me at the time and as Murphy would have it, I had at least 40 pairs of Sailor eyes on me.

Completely MORTIFIED that half of the ship probably saw things I'd rather they hadn't seen (exaggerating, just a few passengers and most of the crew) I made a dash for a change. But my little stint wasn't forgotten (obviously, this is me we're talking about) and I soon found many friendly faces amongst the crowd.

Say Cheese Julian

What was completely surprising about it all was that Lorenzo wasn't even one of the pretty ones. He was an ordinary middle-aged man, greying slightly at the sides and his face looked weathered, as if he'd spent too much of his life working on the ship. For some reason I wanted to talk to him, but since I'm severely allergic to married men and didn't know his status, I was hesitant and decided not to.

See, this is how it is for us sane single folk. In the deserts of life, married men are the cactus with long ass thorns that draw blood. And we're not looking for blood, pain or tears. What we want is an oasis with trees and shade and fresh water with dates and green pastures to snooze on.

Most of the time,"married" means "dead"

But as fate would have it, I eventually did have a conversation with him a day later (and no he's not married) and after days of walking around in a haze either seasick drunk or reflecting in the night sky, I came to the following conclusions about men, my life, and the men in my life:

- I haven't been completely honest with myself and others when it comes to voicing what I want.

- MIL was right when she told Mother that she didn't think we'd get partners within the SA Asian community.

- Mother was probably right when she told MIL that she half expects us to wed white men.

- There's no amount of beauty that can compensate for a good chuckle. I need humour in my life.

- I am drawn to intelligent men.

- Younger men seem to irritate me more and more as I get older - with their immaturity and frivolity (and horrendous manners).

- Older (single) men have officially won me over.

- I'm really not the sharpest tool in the cultural box. Someone said something about Ras Malai and I was like "Whats that?"

- I can no longer entertain meaningless conversations. So Goodbye to Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

- I'm looking for longevity... something substantial and sustainable. Not another Rodrigo that struts around like a peacock, demanding his feathers be admired (even though they're worthy of being admired).

- I finally know what I want.

- I'm finally ready for something more.

- I think I've finally grown up.

Now anyone know where I can buy one of those sailor suits?

On the cruise ship of life, which way is your deck chair facing...

2012-01-22T23:40:00.002+02:00

It all began over a year ago, when we were chatting about the cruising industry and my Uncle's Mother-in-law mentioned that it was something that she always wanted to do but that she never had the chance. Two months later she had a stroke and while recovering, I promised her that the minute she was well enough, we would book a place on one of MSC's ships.

But from there on, it snowballed. My siblings were a part of the package but the MIL insisted that she wanted Mother to tag along. And mother invited her sister who left her karaoke mic at home. And one of their mutual (and absolutely crazy) friends tagged along, as well as one of my cousins etc. etc. Before we knew it, we were reading about the catastrophe that was the Concordia, and receiving several reports of potential cyclones and gale force winds on the east coast of Africa.

And one would think that all the bad news would make us reconsider setting sail off Durban's coastline into the unknown. But no, because we're women living on the edge. And if the worst possible outcome was death then I was prepared to die a happy woman because there are only five things that I really really love in this world, the ocean and sailing being two of them. And I was really looking forward to seeing this:

This was my third cruise... having already been to Barra Lodge in Mozambique 5 years ago and then to the Portuguese & Inhaca Islands a couple of years later... I was looking forward to visiting both Bazaruto and Benguera Islands in the Bazaruto Archipelago just off the coast of Mozambique.

But this trip was to be unlike any other. What I expected from it was completely different from the actual outcome. For one, our previous trips had been all about dancing and partying and I expected much of the same on this one. But alas, as it turned out, most of it revolved around introspection, reflection and men (more on that later).

Secondly, I barely saw the MIL, mother, my aunt, their friend etc. except at dinner time. They were quite content without us and I felt slightly relieved at not having to be completely responsible for them. And so began an epic journey...

In many ways - without anticipating it at all - the trip has changed a large part of me forever. I can't explain it, and I have trouble pinning it down myself, but something has definitely altered because the person I was when I left and the person I am now is significantly different. I had many little apostrophes and epiphanies and generally learnt more about the world and myself along the way...

1. Seeing that the flight is only 55 minutes long, I realised that it takes longer to drive to the bloody airport and to wait for the flight then it takes to actually get to Durban:

2. I learnt that it doesn't help to be reminded of impending doom. SA's Beeld newspaper headlines "SA couple swim for their lives" with a huge photo of the Costa Concordia that ran aground is displayed at the terminal exit, before boarding the plane:

3. I learnt that a solid 80% of the most dangerous people in the world are probably hungry people. After what felt like forever standing in queues and waiting, we finally boarded the ship in time for lunch:

4. I realised that beauty exists where we least expect it. This time overlooking Durban from one of the decks of the ship:

5. I learnt that people's definition of partying differs from individual to individual, but that all definitions includes hordes of people. Whether you're the life of the party or a wall flower, the more the merrier:

6. I realised that humans can adapt to (and eventually enjoy) anything... even hot, unbearably humid tropical weather and the constant swaying from side to side on the ship:

7. I learnt that I become completely enthralled and exhilarated by the wind and I thrive in the eye of the storm, even when everyone else is bunkering down in their cabins, seasick, and puking their guts out:

8. I learnt that it is quite possible to fall asleep during a Burlesque show, despite how good you may think the dancers are:

9. I realised that I'm no longer 23 years old and that even though I love dancing, clubbing is no longer my scene and I'll most likely be found snoozing in the corner by 12am:

10. I learnt that substance trumps style but that it never hurts to look good:

11. I realised the importance of starting with the salad - which was absolutely delicious for some reason:

12. I learnt that if you say 'no' to dessert, you won't know what you're missing out on:

13. I learnt that it's worth sitting out on deck even on the (hot) rainy, miserable days:

14. I learnt that on a cruise ship, the party never really ends, it's just transferred:

And then we had a solid day of howling winds, rough seas and rain, but that didn't really put a damper on the festivities or our spirits. If anything, we continued as usual. But then the next day, even though the weather was back to normal we weren't allowed to disembark the ship to go to the islands due to the ongoing rough waters and an anticipated storm that was approaching. So I never got to see this:

Or this:

Which left me very disappointed, especially since it was one of the main reasons for the voyage in the first place. The Captain cited passenger safety as their main priority, especially after the Concordia debacle and the global spotlight on safety in the cruising industry. I was like look, I'm willing to die, just take me to shore...

But this was the closest I got:

And this:

So damn close, yet so far. I seriously contemplated jumping into the ocean because I figured one of two things would happen:

a) I'd make it to shore and frolick on the beach to my heart's content while someone would be dispatched to come fetch me and haul my ass back to the ship or,

b) Beautiful Rodrigo would come and save me and the beach would disappear into a distant memory as I gazed into his eyes.

See, win-win situation. But alas, Mother was on board which meant that (being the ex-pro swimmer she is) she would have in all likelihood jumped in too trying to save me, and I couldn't risk having my Mother:

a) in danger (although I doubt it) or,

b) ruin it for me.

15. And that's when I realised that sometimes, there are things in life that we can't control and we just have to accept it for what it is. It's not like we can go and fight with God for giving us bad weather now can we... best to just sit back, relax and be thankful for safety and comfort:

Besides, most of the time there's a light at the end of the tunnel, and life, as well as the party, always goes on:

To be continued...

The Story of Penny...

2012-01-12T22:08:00.004+02:00

Once upon a time, when the Institute was still in it's pimply adolescent phase, a new comprehensive program was introduced to the students. It was called Penny. The program centred around a fictitious character, her life and her family.

But there was one teeny weeny little problem.

Every time one of the teachers would call out instructions regarding Penny, the class would be abuzz with students stifling illicit sniggers. As one teacher recalls:

I'd say "Class, please take out Penny and do the exercises", or "Class let's do Penny" and they'd cackle like teenage girls over the latest gossip and I couldn't figure out what was so funny.

It went on for months until one day Boss-woman called a meeting regarding the curriculum and Penny in particular.

They had discovered that the English word Penis is pronounced as Penny in French - even though the spelling remains the same. So having naive teachers walk around commanding students to whip out their Penny's and do exercises was quite amusing to the class. The program was promptly and aptly renamed Jenny.

Every day is an episode of Mind Your Language...

2012-01-09T22:49:00.004+02:00

When I was much younger, I used to watch a British show called Mind Your Language on one of our local television channels. Back then, I never ever thought I'd be living my very own version of the show on a daily basis.

As it is, my French-speaking students can't pronounce the letter "H". I get this quite often:

Student: Teacher, I'm angry.

Me: Why, what happened?

Student: I'm angry, I want to go to the canteen for lunch.

Me: You mean you're hungry.

Student: Yes, angry.

Me: No, Hungry...

Student: Angry...

Me: Hungry, say it with me Hung-gry.

Student: Ang-gry

Me: HUNGRY... H-Hungry

Student: H-Angry

Me: Never-mind, go for lunch.

And then there are other times when I put my fair share of heart and soul in a lesson, only to be undermined by Commercialism:

Student: Teacher, you told us that we can't express emotion or sentiment when we use the continuous tense.

Me: Yes that's true. For example, I can't say I'm prefering coffee. I'd have to say I prefer coffee.

Student: So why does McDonald's say "I'm loving it"?

Then there are times, when I just can't contain myself, and I end up laughing at them. I laugh. Out loud. At them. Much to their incredulity and bewilderment:

Me: Ok, Manuela, make a sentence using the word "stockings".

Manuela: I put my stockings in the computer.

Me: What is that?

Manuela: The stockings, I put the stockings, the numbers, in the computer.

Me: That is stock-taking. Stockings... panty-hose. Antonio, can you make a sentence using the words "contact lenses".

Antonio: Ok. I sign the contact lenses.

Me: That's a contract, you wear contact lenses.

Antonio: Si.

Suffice to say on most days, I feel like the worst teacher ever. It never lasts long though.

What you do on New Year's Eve, you pay for in the New Year...

2012-01-04T22:43:00.001+02:00

Every New Year's eve, my Aunt and Uncle have a huge party at their house followed by a grand fireworks display around midnight, and everyone who knows the family is usually invited. So I usually spend every New Year's Eve and New Years Day with family. Well most, that's if I'm not travelling.

This year was much the same, only we've had a few additions to the family in the last year so there were two or three extra midgets invited to the party. At some point in the evening, conversation centred around babies (as it would with enamoured parents) and I noticed something quite peculiar about myself.

You know how people talk about their kids in random conversations? Yeah well when they do, I find that I end up talking about my Mother. I guess it's because I have no other point of reference and I can't relate to anything they're saying. So we were like:

Cousin 1: Mika's bottom teeth are coming out.

Cousin 2: Dude, Qanita knows more than 100 words already.

Me: Dude, my Mother knows who's Nicki Minaj.

Cousin 3: I think he needs to be changed.

Cousin 4: She repeats everything you say.

Me: My mother quoted Chris Tucker the other day.

Cousin 5: Really? Hahahahahahaha

I think it's both strange and pathetic that I do that. But most of the time it's really funny. Between Mother and her sisters, we have enough eccentricity to power a small country.

This year, my Aunt (mother's sister and party host) decided to trade the fireworks display for a karaoke contest. I don't know what it is with my family and karaoke, they love it. This meant that between the random conversations, we had to endure my Aunt's tone-deaf rendition of Tom Jones's "What's new Pussycat? whoa whoa whoa" in that earnest mock-serious tone that she sings. And when she was done, she demanded an applause, barking out orders: "Hey! Clap for me!".

They went through all of Tom Jones's tracks as well as Engelbert Humperdinck and The Bee Gees. If anything, it provided us with enough laughs until next year. I can't sing to save my life, so I kept my mouth busy with a bowl of pasta. I didn't think it would do much harm. But I was wrong. Serves me right for bragging about my improved health. This is the result of my little gluten-feast:

Notice the rash and pink spots.

Four days in and I'm sitting at home with a bout of Pharyngitis, courtesy of someone who was more than just a little generous with their sick germs at the party. I'm so not ready to get back into the swing of things.

Coz there's always next year...

2011-12-30T08:32:00.012+02:00

If someone in the future had to ask me what 2011 was like, I wouldn't be able to recall everything off-hand because so much happened in such a short space of time that I'd have to take out my list: Revolutions, Tsunamis, Earthquakes, Anders Breivik went bonkers, Financial Crisis, Royal Weddings, Famine, Protests from here to the moon FOR Democracy & AGAINST Corporate Greed, Poverty, Osama bin Laden bonding with Ariel (still not buying the whole story on that one), Flooding, More Famine, More Revolutions, More Protests, More Financial Crisis...

Wall Street and Tahrir Square became the most sought after real-estate in the world; and somewhere in between all that Elizabeth Taylor, Amy Whinehouse, Steve Jobs and a million other people died.

But even if some of us weren't swimming in the moat of all the shit that was 2011... while the rest of world brewed in chaos, social and political upheaval and natural disasters, most people weren't left unscathed - either being mentally, emotionally, financially or cosmically affected by the goings on in yonder. Why? Well, because we are all connected, as everyone from Einstein to Coelho will tell you.

Personally, this year brought about many wanted and unwanted changes to my life. I moved from my comfy spacious house in the suburbs to a smaller space near the city. After much internal dialogue, discussion and debate, I took a huge leap of faith and decided to dive in head first into a new career. I made new friends, lost some and got re-acquainted with old ones.

I also failed in some areas of my life too. I regret not doing everything I had set out to do in 2011 despite my numerous attempts. Specifically with regard to travel. But life got in the way and there was work as well as other commitments and circumstances beyond my control that kept me behind.

Generally, I don't like hope. In my experience, hope only ever leads to expectation. And expectations are never good because they tend to cloud ones judgement. In this instance, I did not only fail myself but others too and there's not much I can do about it except apologise. But sometimes apologies aren't enough. And even though they've failed me too, I won't hold it against them... c'est la vie. I won't beat myself up about it but I definitely won't be making the same mistakes again.

On a somewhat brighter note, I discovered an amazing Doctor. Not that Doctor. I'm talking about this one:

His intelligent dialogue, quick wit and sarcastic humour has me captivated. Never before has a middle aged British man masquerading as an American seemed so appealing. Props to Hugh Laurie.

Perhaps the biggest challenge I had to face in 2011 was my health - or lack thereof. For about two years straight I had been suffering with various health problems. I'd been to doctor after doctor, spending thousands on incompetent "professionals" who were not interested in helping me as much as they were interested in helping themselves to my money and not really doing anything for me at all. By March/ April this year, the symptoms were so severe that we were convinced it was cancer. I was so freaked out and stressed about it, I even mentioned it to my blogger friend Irfaan. It wasn't the dying I was afraid of. Dying I can do. It's living without knowing what the hell is going on that was killing me slowly.

I began to ~~hate~~... no scratch that, fucking HATE doctors and refused to see another one. Alternative treatments and holistic healing helped a bit, but it still wasn't pinning down the ongoing problem. Every week was a new thing... the worst was the violent mood swings. I was like a Schizophrenic Bitch from Wonkytown - irrational and irritable most of the time while my endocrine, immune and nervous systems decided to vacation on the Isla de Muerta with witty Jack and his crew of miscreants.

But then one day in early October, all that changed. Strolling in with the fresh spring breeze, was my knight in shining Mercedes. Or BMW. Whatever - I can't remember. These things aren't important to me. I just remember it was black, new, shiny and freaking expensive. And beautiful. And he was beautiful. And he just took one look at me and told me EXACTLY what I had been waiting to hear for so long. And that's what made Mother's Doctor so fucking awesome. He single-handedly put an end to my two-year ongoing misery with just one sentence... and he didn't charge me a cent for it.

Turned out, I'm allergic to Gluten. So since October I've had to say goodbye to Bread, Cake, Biscuits, Burgers, Pizza, Baguettes, Pastries, basically everything made or derived from flour, wheat, rye, oats, barley - and since 90% of everything found in stores contain either - that's almost every single delicious thing under the sun. For at least 3 years. Sucks ass I tell you. But the good news is that all my symptoms have disappeared. And it's a bonafide diagnosis. I'm so grateful for that.

Anyways, so what is there is look forward to in 2012? Well for one, the world's ending. That should be fun. Then there are some major developments at work and having just been promoted, I will only be teaching part-time. The other half of the time will be spent on some interesting projects and initiatives. We're going Global.

Other than that, I don't really know. I'll just be winging it with the rest of humanity - praying for the best. I do hope to actually DO some of the things I haven't had time for in the last year... I want to read more (books). I want to travel more. I want to take better care of myself.

Every year we wait in vain, hoping that the next year will be better. I don't lament seeing the end of 2011, but I honestly don't see things being any different in 2012. If anything, it will be more of the same and it might even become worse. Not to be the bearer of doom and gloom.

In the past I've advocated LIVING life numerous times on this blog, and not just existing or becoming a spectator in it. However, I've found that it doesn't help much to do your living in the past or the future - something so many of us are accustomed to doing - to our own detriment. So this year I aim to not only live, but to LIVE IN THE MOMENT. Seize the day.

Happy New Year Everyone. And if all else fails, we can just start again in 2013. Right, as you were.

Coz this is how the other half lives: Xmas around the world...

2011-12-27T14:14:00.003+02:00

Only in South Africa can you complain that you don't have enough holidays. It was so unfair that Christmas fell on a Sunday that the Federation of Unions of South Africa (Fedusa) asked Deputy President Kgalema Motlanthe to give us an extra holiday. And he said yes. So in addition to yesterday's "Boxing Day" public holiday, today is a public holiday too which is great stuff for us. You gotta love it.

So after some serious blogger discussions on chocolate varieties a few weeks ago, I received this in the post on Christmas eve:

Thanks to Dean at Left Coast Guy who went to extraordinary lengths to get this particular brand of chocolate to me. I really appreciate the effort! The Chocolate with the Caramel centre is my favourite and half the bag is empty already lol.

For the most part, my Christmas was the same as it is every year no matter where I am. In one word: quiet. But this year, some friends felt it apt to make me their designated babysitter for the day, so I was stuck with this for the whole day:

Two year olds can kill you. They're cute, but they can kill you.

Now for most people in the Northern Hemisphere, Christmas usually looks like this:

But for all of us here in the Southern Hemisphere, Christmas usually looks like this:

Here's what Christmas looked like in other parts of the world (click on images for larger visuals):

Iraqi Christmas is blessed for its inter-communal celebrations. Muslims light candles at Church, wishing their Christian neighbours 'Kul Aam Wa Inta Bikheir' (wellness all year) - the greeting adopted for Muslim & Christian holiday alike:

A Christmas tree stands on Bondi Beach as Australians enjoy their summer in Sydney, Australia:

A Christmas tree lights up the gloomy skyline in La Paz, Bolivia:

Pope Benedict XVI delivers his "Urbi et Orbi" (to the City and to the World) speech from the central loggia of St. Peter's Basilica at the Vatican on Dec. 25, 2011. Benedict XVI called for an end to the bloodshed in Syria and the resumption of Israeli-Palestinian peace talks in his Christmas message:

Arab Christians in Baghdad, Iraq attend mass at the Virgin Mary Chaldean Christian Church with Bishop Shlemon Warduni:

Athletes dressed as Santa Claus jump in the Mediterranean Sea as they take part in the Copa Nadal in the northern Spanish port of Barcelona. The Copa Nadal (Christmas Cup) is a traditional swimming competition that takes place in Barcelona every Christmas, where participants swim 200 meters in the open sea in the port of Barcelona:

Dubai indulges in the commercial side of Christmas, displaying shiny, decorated trees. A star or an angel makes it to the dizzy heights atop the tree, with the 'cave' at the bottom, in more traditional households in the Middle East:

Pakistani Christians make final adjustments to decorations on a Christmas tree at St. John’s Cathedral, during preparations for Christmas celebrations in Peshawar, Pakistan:

Manger Square, Bethlehem, West Bank of Palestine. The traditional birthplace of Christ attracts pilgrims and indigenous Arab Christians alike for public Christmas celebrations. In private, the whole family gathers in the house of the eldest male member, be it grandfather or the eldest son, and enjoys a meal rich in meat, fruits and vegetables:

Photographer Johan Caslin waits for customers next to a Christmas tree at an amusement park in Managua, Nicaragua:

Indian Christians pray at the St. Francis Catholic Church in Amritsar, India:

People walk by a Christmas tree and other trees decorated for illuminations in Tokyo, Japan:

A Syrian man dressed as Santa Claus plays with orphans in a Christian neighbourhood in Syria:

Arab Christians living in Jordan attend mass:

Mountaineers wear Santa Claus costumes while rock-climbing on Ansan mountain near Seoul, South Korea:

A father carries his son with a Santa Claus mask while watching the illuminated Sacred Heart's Cathedral on Christmas Day in New Delhi, India:

People dressed as Santa Claus take part in the traditional Christmas race in downtown Belgrade, Serbia:

Palestinian girls outside the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem. The church is built over the site where Christians believe Mary gave birth to Jesus:

An Indonesian girl lights a candle during a Christmas mass in Jakarta, Indonesia. Christians in Indonesia - the biggest Muslim country - celebrated Christmas along with the rest of the world on December 25, locally called 'Hari Natal':

A Christmas tree and lights decorate Bolivar square in Bogota, Colombia:

Arab Christians arrive to attend Christmas Eve mass at St Therese Christian Armenian church in Cairo, Egypt:

A Palestinian Christian man places the name of the owner of a destroyed house on the rubble of the Palestinian village of Iqrit during a visit on occasion of Christmas. The several hundred Christian residents living in the hilltop Iqrit village near the Lebanon border were ordered out of their homes in October 1948 amid ongoing fighting of the first Israeli-Arab war, in what the Israeli army said was a temporary measure and the villagers have continued their fight to return, but to no avail:

All images from Getty Images, Associated Press, Reuters & various media outlets.

Coz if you've ever wondered what my mornings are like...

2011-12-21T22:08:00.004+02:00

07:11am at the kitchen table drinking coffee with the sibling...

Me: I can't believe that I have to go to work today while everyone else is at home, probably still sleeping.

Sis: Tell me about it. I just want to sit here like this for the rest of the day.

Me: Yes, it's a good day to just sit here, like this...

Sis: Well actually I just want to go to London, go have a coffee at Starbucks, walk around Oxford Street, go to H&M, buy some stuff at Lillywhites, eat a donut, sit in Leicester Square and think: this is so much better than New York.

Me: haha. I'm biased. It's funny because you don't actually realise how "British" we are until you go there. Come to think of it, you don't realise how "Dutch" we are either... until you go to Dutch-land.

Sis: Hmmm, that's so true. Colonialists.

Me: But we're quite Americanized in some of our social habits.

Sis: Yeah. Funny thing, I found Americans to be very nice. Which was a bit of a shock to me because we're always hearing about how rude and arrogant they are on TV and in the movies. So I was quite surprised to find that they are actually quite friendly, polite and warm - I had all kinds of people, complete strangers, greeting me and smiling. In some ways they're even better than us! I'm sure you'll find a few racist prejudicial people, they are in every country, but for the most part they're really nice and polite... and that was a pleasant surprise.

Me: I blame the media. The media dictates how we perceive each other... it's the negative media on our side of the world, and the negative media on their side of the world, that influences the way we see each other. But it's hardly fair for everyone on the outside to judge, and in some cases punish, over 300 million people for the views and actions adopted by their government. It's not fair to judge anyone on where they come from and the views of their government. People are different and have their own beliefs and opinions on most things.

Sis: Yep. We should go to America. I'm sure it would be a lot of fun if we went together. We could go to San Francisco, Seattle, LA, Florida and New York...

Me: Yeah we should go! We should go everywhere they tell us not to go. We should go to America and Iran and Colombia and North Korea... and if we die in any of those places, then at least we can say that we died on holiday. It would be better than dying in a hospital bed surrounded by sad, depressing people.

Sis: Yeah. That would be great... it's 07:28am. Do you want to go?

Me: Just one more minute. I just want to savour this moment, before I start running around like a headless chicken for the rest of the day...

Coz I dream of a world where the chicken can cross the road without having its motives questioned...

2011-12-19T22:31:00.002+02:00

So I've gone from the role of Teacher to Web Developer/ Programmer/ Online Content Manager seemingly overnight. I'm obviously oozing mad skills and talent that apparently, I didn't even know I had. Last week marked the end of a hectic month (I teach month-long courses) and the end of the academic/work year at the institute. But The Boss had other things in mind for me and following a couple of days of training, I found myself being thrown in the deep end, followed by a whole lot of oh-shits.

On the other end of the spectrum that is my life... it's that time of the year again when I have to explain to my 6 year old second cousin Caitlin why she has a huge Christmas tree in her lounge and we don't; or why our cousin Layla's blonde hair and blue eyes doesn't automatically mean that she's Christian; or why Uncle Johnny's shoes are in the street while he's passed out under the kitchen table again. Hey, I never said my family is perfect.

And it's the same answer every year... just because we are different and we have different beliefs and practices, it doesn't mean that we don't love each other any less. What it does mean is that we love each other enough to respect the differences and accept each other for who we are.

So I come from a family that is more than just diverse, on a scale and magnitude that is both intimidating and overwhelming to many pure breeds. Try explaining those family dynamics to a potential mate from the normal gene pool - never mind the traditional folk - and things are complicated by default. Where I come from, normal just doesn't fly.

In any case, working with foreign nationals on a daily basis has made me more than just grateful for my fruit-salad-family. For one, I've taken it to heart that at least I have a family, since a staggering number of my students are displaced from their families and a solid 95% of them have various members of their immediate families scattered all over the world. Most of them have fled from wars or political, social or economic instability.

It's not uncommon to find a student who for instance, has one parent in Australia and the other parent in London or New York, and a sibling in Canada or Portugal and they are here either all by their lonesome or with an aunt or uncle. Most of them are Professionals and some even come from privledged backgrounds, but they're all equally lonely and yearning for a piece of home.

For many of us, this is something that we tend to take for granted. And it's only when I come across someone who is without their family that I realise how grateful I am for mine. We may not share the same culture, practices or beliefs, but we can still appreciate each other for who we are. And that is what Caitlin is going to have to learn one day.

I'd like to wish my Christian family, friends, blogger friends and readers a happy Christmas. And to everyone else, have a great festive season!

Coz absence makes the heart grow fonder, of someone else...

2011-12-12T22:13:00.002+02:00

There was a time, not so long ago, when I actually looked forward to getting married and having 6 kids. It was on my list of things to do. And then something changed and I no longer wanted a half-dozen kids. And then something broke and I woke up one day no longer wanting to get married. It's not that I'm ruling out marriage forever - if I met the right person tomorrow, it would surely happen. It's just that it's no longer something I actively want. Seeing how miserable most people are in their marriages doesn't exactly champion the cause.

Mother did not take this news well. Firstly, it seriously fucks up her hopes and aspirations for grandkids. And I'm no promiscuous singleton so no friends-with-benefits-or-any-other-shit-like-that-unless-he's-Damon-fucking-Salvatore-ok. Illegitimate offspring are definitely not on the agenda (I can barely stand the legitimate ones, lets not go to the other side of the tracks ok, I know, I'm a bitch like that). And ever since then, I have endured all sorts of lectures on the natural procession of life... about how it's different when the kids are your own blah blah blah.

In the meantime, I find myself in all sorts of precarious situations with various members of the opposite sex - again, not helping any cause here. The latest one confuses the shit out of me. Let's call him Sunday because that's the day he features prominently in my life. However, if it continues like this he's going to become Tuesday, the most boring ~~guy in my life~~ day of my week.

Anyways, Sunday is a workaholic. To his defence, he doesn't have much choice in the matter and long hours at the office are an unfortunate norm. What this means for me is that I'm usually relegated to the end of his list of priorities - and I'm totally fine with that, it's not like we're dating or anything like that. We're just in the preliminary rounds of a somewhat important friendship of sorts.

So Sunday sends me a message at 11:30pm on Friday night. He had a hectic day and really wanted a cup of coffee. Specifically, he wanted me to make him a cup of coffee, at 11:30pm. Now three things bothered me about this. Firstly, I don't appreciate last minute meetings or invitations. Secondly, I wasn't keen on having him over at my place at that hour (even though I knew he had just left his office). And thirdly, it was a long hectic day and I had taken two painkillers earlier in the evening so even if I did acquiesce to his request, I was way too drowsy to entertain anyone.

And so I told him that I wasn't feeling too good and asked him if we couldn't reschedule for another day or evening. He said it was fine, but something felt off. Like he was angry with me or something. I sent him another message the following day suggesting a time when we could have coffee together and received no response. I sent another one a few hours later (y'know, in case for some reason he didn't receive it) and... nothing. At this point I was annoyed, but still polite enough to text him and ask him if he's angry with me. Still, nothing.

By then I felt bad because I'm a considerate and sensitive asshole-masochist like that. So I made him an entire pot of coffee and bought some cake at the local bakery and delivered it to his place where it was welcomed by one of his house-mates. And then still... no answer from him.

Irritated, I thought to myself, "Fuck him" and responded to an invitation from Thursday (another guy). And then, almost a day later, while I was chatting to Monday via telephone, Sunday messages me to say that he's been swamped with work and that he's not angry with me. And I was like WTF? It took him an entire day just to send that teeny tiny response? Am I missing something? Or maybe he really was very busy - too busy to respond. But I can't help feeling that not even suave Mr. Friday would have done that to me.

I'm not equipped to play these games. I don't know what he wants. In fact, I don't know what any man wants. And I can't be bothered to put the effort into finding out anymore. Can anyone seriously blame me for not wanting to make this kind of childish behaviour a permanent fixture in my life? Oh man, I have stories, I could write a book...

Coz sometimes we need to laugh...

2011-12-05T23:20:00.000+02:00

I had an awesome weekend with my girls. Any moment spent with them are guaranteed to be filled with mega-LOL's. We had lunch at Doppio Zero in Greenside. And we laughed. Man did we laugh. I know some of the funniest ladies.

So we got talking about dates-gone-wrong and one of my cousins was relaying the disaster that was her date the night before. She kept on falling throughout the night. At one point she slipped down the stairs and he tried to catch her but she landed on her bum at the bottom of the stairs. They were on their way to pay for the parking ticket and she just sat there on the floor and told him to go ahead, that she'd wait for him (sitting on the floor).

Man did we laugh. I recalled some of my disastrous dates. The weirdest "relationship" being one via text message. Yeah, I had an entire "relationship" on my mobile/ cell phone. Every time he saw me, he'd run away and pretend he didn't know me. But on sms, things were amazing. It was probably the most fruitful relationship that never was.

I've mentioned this before, but the funniest dating disaster I've ever heard of was from one of my closest friends. She was in love with this guy for like forever... and then one day, he eventually asked her out to dinner. She was so excited and nervous that she wasn't thinking straight. She ordered pasta. As the evening wore on and her food arrived, she proceeded to slurp a strand of Spaghetti into her mouth and was met with shock and horror when some of the marinara sauce splattered all over her face.

Thinking it was just a fluke, she did it again, and got some marinara on her eyelashes and on his shirt. Then at one point, she realised that she was on a date with him... the same him that she'd spent hours dreaming of... and she became so overwhelmed that she started crying. Crying! And he was wiping away her tears, telling her not to cry. And of course, she wanted to DIE the very next day.

Oi, we can be such idiots. I should know. There was that one time, on that one date, when I accidentally set myself on fire. I happened to be wearing a long black dress and fortunately, the only visible damage was from a few sparks that had burnt tiny holes on the bottom half of the dress. Thanks to the Lord it turned out to be minor and the only injury I incurred was a bruised ego and wounded dignity.

And so we laughed. Recalling old tales and telling new ones. Some of them too PG-ish to divulge here. In fact, we laughed from about 1pm until around 7pm. And we racked up a hell-of-a bill. After contemplating how many dishes we'd have to do versus how much jail time if we forfeited on the bill, we paid and were on our merry way... laughing all the way home.

Coz here are 5 ridiculous things you probably believe about Islam - regurgitated...

2011-12-01T21:16:00.004+02:00

I quite enjoy spending most of my time with foreigners. But with the diversity come a lot of questions about me and my beliefs. I could never ever encapsulate everything I believe in one single conversation or post... but I can try by debunking a few myths. And so, as it happened, I stumbled across this old post by Jacopo della Quercia and it's done so well, that I feel no need to change anything.

A conservative commentator recently made headlines by claiming 10 percent of all of the world's Muslims are terrorists. An amazing claim, considering that equals 150 million terrorists and if each were to pull off an attack killing just 40 people, they could exterminate all non-Muslim life on earth.

Either they're not all that dedicated to terrorism, or the claim is utter insanity.

Well, if there's one thing everyone thinks of when they hear "Cracked.com" it's "friend of Islam." Which is why we feel compelled to clarify a few misconceptions for our readers. Also, there is no way this article will ever come back to haunt us in any way.

#5. If You're a Muslim Woman, You Have to Wear the Veil

For millions of people in the West, when you say "Islam," the first mental image that pops into mind is this:

A two-person Scotch-garded version would sell like hotcakes.

A woman covered head to toe in a burqa. The truth is, if you could suddenly gather all of the Muslim women on the planet into one giant room and had to throw a football to someone wearing a burqa, it'd be next to impossible to complete that pass.

But the whole hide-them-under-a-veil thing must be pretty big among Muslim communities, otherwise Europe wouldn't be all in in a dither over the things, pushing for bans and whatnot. Right?

Look at them there, plotting new ways to drive super-slow in the HOV lane.

After all, we all know that Islam hates women -- the fact that Saudi Arabia is the only country in the world that actually prohibits women from driving, or that only predominantly Muslim countries still use death by stoning as a punishment for adultery, proves it, right?

But Actually...

Thinking that all Muslim women have to dress like this...

...is like thinking that all Christian women have to dress like this:

That photo is from one of several small Christian sects that require women to dress like it's Little House on the Prairie.

So for instance, in France they have about 3 million Muslim women. French police decided to figure out how many of them wore burqas and/or niqabs and found the number to be ... 367.

Then again, these were French police.

Not 367,000, but 367, a number so small that from a statistical point of view, it's barely enough to register as a margin of error. As for the rest of Europe, the numbers are even more disastrous for the burqa business (for instance, Belgium has 500,000 Muslims, a couple dozen wear the burqa).

Yes, there are Middle Eastern countries where the veils are required by law (namely Iran and Saudi Arabia) and combined those countries have less than 5 percent of the world's Muslims. There are actually more Muslim countries that outright ban the wearing of the veils than there are that require them. They can do that because wearing a veil is not required in Islam but is more of a custom, depending on where you live and who's in charge.

Much like hot pants.

Hey, speaking of which, try this number on for size: Of the five most populous Muslim-majority nations, four of them have elected female heads of state.

So there's a fantastic chance that in 2012, Sarah Palin will be campaigning for an achievement that Muslim ladies have already accomplished.

We bet Megawati Sukarnoputri knows the United States doesn't have a Department of Law.

#4. Our Founding Fathers Would Never Have Tolerated This Muslim Nonsense!

It's easy to stand on a soapbox and publicly bluster about what you think the Founding Fathers would think about the godless, multicultural United States today. After all, these were Christian, God-fearing men, damn it. They certainly wouldn't put up with all this tolerance for these terrorist religions.

Thomas Jefferson, moments before leaping into the air on a giant eagle and drop-kicking Saladin.

It's a good thing some Americans are standing up for good old-fashioned American values and passing laws to prohibit Islamic law from taking over the U.S., because that's totally around the corner! Somewhere, Thomas Jefferson is smiling in his grave!

But actually...

Even if they were staunch Christians (or deists, whatever), plenty of the Founding Fathers had a healthy admiration for the Muslim faith. Thomas Jefferson, for example, taught himself Arabic using his own copy of the Quran and hosted the first White House Iftar during Ramadan.

Jefferson believed in celebrating the deliciousness of all world religions.

John Adams hailed the Islamic prophet Muhammad as one of the great "inquirers after truth." Benjamin Rush, who was so Christian he wanted a Bible in every school, also said he would rather see the opinions of Confucius or Mohammad "inculcated upon our youth" than see them grow deprived "of a system of religious principles." Benjamin Franklin once declared: "Even if the Mufti of Constantinople were to send a missionary to preach Mohammedanism to us, he would find a pulpit at his service." Even George fucking Washington personally welcomed Muslims to come work for him at Mount Vernon.

So, why all this Founding Father/Muslim love? Probably because Sultan Mohammed ben Abdallah of Morocco was the first world figure to recognize the independence of the United States of America from Great Britain in 1777. Another reason was that the Founding Fathers were smart enough to distinguish between terrorists and everybody else on the whole damn planet, as demonstrated in the Treaty of Tripoli in 1797. It was in this agreement that the U.S. declared: "The government of the United States of America is not, in any sense, founded on the Christian Religion, as it has in itself no character of enmity against the laws, religion or tranquility of Mussulmen [Moslems]."

Another possible translation.

#3. "Muslim" Equals "Arab"

Remember that crazy lady with the Einstein hair who asked John McCain if Barack Obama was an Arab? No? Well, let us refresh your memory:

The instant John McCain realized that he would never, ever be president.

We're willing to bet there's more than a 20 percent chance this woman meant to say "Muslim" but accidentally said "Arab" because same thing, right? And even if you're not in the tea party camp, where you're convinced "Arab" and "Muslim" are interchangeable, you've probably operated under a similar assumption: that non-Jewish Middle Eastern people are Muslim and that most Muslims live in the Middle East.

But actually...

Only about 20 percent of the entire world's Muslim population is Arab or North African. For comparison, about 22 percent of the global Christian population is African, yet when somebody says "Christian," you don't immediately picture a dude from Africa. Equating "Muslim" with "Arab" makes just as much sense.

That'd be like associating "Kansas" with "hate-filled douchebags".

While we in the West have been conditioned to associate Islam with the Middle East, a whopping 61.9 percent of all Muslims -- aka a supermajority -- don't live in the Middle East at all; most Muslims live in the Asia-Pacific region. Indonesia alone is home to more than 200 million Muslims, and the Indian subcontinent has roughly a half-billion Muslims.

It works the other way, too. For example, if you think being Arab guarantees you being Muslim these days, well, we are sorry to disappoint. As much as 10 percent of the world's Arab population is Christian (that's more than 14 million people). That means there are 1 million more Arab Christians than, oh, we don't know ... the world's entire Jewish population.

#2. Western Cultures Are Far More Humane Than the Bloodthirsty Muslims

Even before the whole terrorism thing, Islam had a reputation in the West for violence. Part of it has to do with how abruptly Islam was all up in everyone's face. For instance, while Hinduism took about 1,000 years to spread through India, and Christianity took about 400 years to go from persecuted cult to the state religion of the Roman Empire, Islam went from one guy's epiphany to the dominant political and religious force in the Middle East and North Africa in about 100 years.

So a lot of people have reached the conclusion that the religion spread like holy wildfire for one reason: the sword. The next logical leap from this viewpoint is that as a people, Muslims must be violent and barbaric conquerors. Even before 9/11, you saw this portrayal in popular culture all the time:

But actually...

Muhammad laid out some pretty progressive rules of warfare, and medieval Muslims out-niced the Christians in battle by a landslide. Especially since Muhammad personally issued "a distinct code of conduct among Islamic warriors" that included:

No killing of women, children or innocents -- these might include hermits, monks or other religious leaders who were deemed non-combatants;

No wanton killing of livestock or other animals;
No burning or destruction of trees and orchards; and
No destruction of wells.

And no kicking with cleats on, Jeremy.

In short, Muhammad wanted his armies to fight like freaking hippies. During the fucking Dark Ages.And they did.

But the biggest territorial gains were made after Muhammad's death, right? Maybe that was when Islam earned its bloodthirsty reputation? Not exactly. His successor codified the existing rules and made them the standard for his army. Which probably explains why the Muslim army conquering Europe "exhibited a degree of toleration which puts many Christian nations to shame," in the words of one expert.

Plus, they built all sorts of nifty buildings.

So while Christian crusaders were beheading enemies and tossing their heads like oversized hacky sacks, their Muslim counterparts had a whole honor code that led them to feed the armies of their defeated enemies.

#1. Islam Is Stuck in the Dark Ages

There are really three big negative stereotypes about Islam -- that it hates women, that it's violent and that it hates any kind of scientific progress. We've covered the first two already, but how can you argue against the third? Their governments are based on ancient religious texts! And what diseases has Iran cured?

You guys could at least take out herpes or something.

But actually...

In the same way that not all Christians are Young Earth Creationists, plenty of modern Muslims see room for interpretation in the Quran. In fact, 45 percent of American Muslims in one poll said they see evolution as "the best explanation for the origin of human life on Earth," which isn't so shabby, considering only 24 percent of evangelical Christians believed the same. The percentage of Muslims embracing the scientific explanation for the origin of life was about the same as Americans as a whole (48 percent).

If they only knew how to communicate their views like we do ...

And historically, they have a hell of a track record. Science and math as we know it wouldn't even exist without Islam. The Islamic Golden Age caused a revolution in virtually every field of human thought, during which they fucking invented algebra -- and advanced everything from geography and exploration to the arts, architecture, philosophy, urban development, medicine and health.

The Muslims actually came pretty damn close to sharing all this brilliance with the truly ass-backward kingdoms of Christian Europe, since the Islamic caliphates blanketed every country they conquered with schools, libraries, public works and the most comprehensive system of social welfare on the planet. In fact, the case has been made that if the caliphates succeeded in conquering all of Europe an Italian Renaissance would have been unnecessary.

It would have saved us all a lot of dong-staring, too.

So, there's that.

Coz apparently I'm a woman. On a horse. With a sword...

2011-11-28T21:30:00.003+02:00

I honestly believe that every person is exactly where they should be at any given moment in time. We are where we are supposed to be and every person we encounter and every situation we experience teaches us something new about the world and ourselves too. All we have to do is be open to learning the lessons and living consciously.

If I ever found myself doubting that or my place in my current vocation, my fears would have been laid firmly to rest over the past week. One of the things I like about working at the institute is the open door communication policy. I love to communicate. I'm a communicator.

Anyways, on this particular day I had a lot on my mind... ideas, some suggestions and recommendations... I'm full of them. I should have been a business analyst.

So I stepped into The Boss's office and all of these ideas, suggestions and recommendations just came pouring out of my mouth - like word vomit. And then we got talking. And before I knew it, I heard her say:

"I love these ideas. I believe that we can do this. You can do this. *eyes-squinting-contemplatively-in-crystal-ball-oracle-conjuring-way*
I mean, with a name like Azra... I see a woman. A woman on a horse. With a sword."

And I thought to myself, "yep... this chick is exactly my kind of crazy". And that's when I knew. I knew that I may not be here forever, I may not even be here in the next year... but right now, this is exactly where I am supposed to be.

Still, there are those moments when frustration sets in - days that everyone has as some point in time no matter how great your job is. Days when I'd rather be in bed the entire day than face the world. And the only thing that keeps me going is a sense of humour:

Pic courtesy Prixie :)

I often wonder how everyone else gets through their days...

Coz I'm a soldier to my own emptiness, I am a winner...

2011-11-23T23:01:00.004+02:00

Adele's "Someone like you" makes me want to dig out my cochleas with a spoon and donate them to the nearest implant centre. Not that it isn't a good song. I just have a minor problem with the whole wrist slitting sentiment it elicits.

I'd rather spend my time fantasizing about driving a car with the top down looking out at the ocean with the wind in my hair and a balmy breeze caressing my face, listening to Goodluck taking it easy or even listening to this:

Lady Gaga ~ Marry The Night (Live)

Anyways, if you've been living under a rock or if you're not from SA, we've had some major changes over the last few days which may inadvertently affect the future of this country on some level. Maybe if I cared more, I'd be bothered to go into detail but I've been disillusioned with life in SA for the longest time. I blame London and the UK for that - those bastards colonized my mind in the two years I was there. They just can't help themselves can they? So for now I'll copy and paste a friend's Facebook status:

October 19 1977 - South Africa's Apartheid government bans several local newspapers for publishing news articles about the beating and murder of Steve Biko at the hands of the police... the ANC protested this violently.

Fast Forward...

November 22 2011 - South Africa's ANC government passes the Protection of Information Bill allowing the incarceration (for up to 25 years) and banning of any journalist or entity that makes public information about the corrupt nature or actions of members of government.

Now everyone knows I'm not a huge fan of the media, especially those behind reckless and irresponsible reporting - but to have your notoriously corrupt government pull the plug on the open / transparent information act so that they can hide all the shit they get up to - well even I can see something heinously wrong with that.

It's just contributed to my belief that we're regressing as a nation. And it's become reason #37 to leave for good and never come back. Reason #3 is Eskom - the nation's infamous power supplier that sporadically plays spin-the-bottle with the country's power supply and conveniently runs out of money / capacity to supply the nation with power, while all its fat-cats sit with Millions in self-allocated bonuses firmly ensconced in their pockets. But that won't be our problem anymore... not if the Protection of Information Bill has anything to do with it.

On the brighter side, I don't know what's funnier - the fact that someone edited the ANC's Wikipedia page under the Criticism banner (click on image for larger visual):

Or the fact that Nando's never fails to cash in on any piece of controversial news:

South African's can laugh at just about ANYTHING. That's the #1 reason to stay.

In other news... Happy Thanksgiving to those celebrating!

Coz we're taking it easy...

2011-11-22T22:00:00.006+02:00

I love this song. It's been my anthem-of-sorts for most of the year. Some things will remain Proudly South African... even if it seems like this country is going to shit:

You can also watch it here.

Coz there were better times...

2011-11-17T23:17:00.001+02:00

So a couple of days ago, I stumbled upon the The Commons, a visual effort dedicated to showcasing hidden treasures in the world's public photography archives. The site offers a rare glimpse into ancient photographs from all over the world at varying points in time.

Now I've mentioned before, my utter fascination with history and old photographs. I love history for so many reasons but mostly because I believe that while life was very difficult for most people back then, there was a quality and a beauty in the simplicity of life that the world has lost forever and we are worse off for it. I love old photographs for a similar reason - those timeless moments captured forever in print.

I could quite literally get lost in a never ending reverie, so this site really kept me completely occupied for quite a while. I found the colour photos particularly intriguing. It's a weird thing we do when we imagine the past. The what-once-was of life often emerges our consciousness in hazy depictions, faded black and white images.

It's almost like we unconciously envisage and perceive the past to have existed on another plane or dimension - one completely alien and foreign to our own realities. So looking at the colour photos was a bit of a shock. The reality of the past was so real. Maybe we've watched too many Hollywood movies depicting a certain animated perfection that we've created these false realities in our minds. After all, not everyone's hair was perfectly slicked into place. The photos look like they could have been taken in the present and the people in them look like they were playing dress-up:

Vermont State Fair, USA ~ 1939

A student at Polytechnic High School, Los Angeles, California ~ September 1942

Rockefeller Plaza, New York ~ March 1943

Karnak, Egypt ~ 1900

Perhaps our ideas of the past are more flawed than we ever cared to realise. Here are a few of my favourite photos - in that clichéd hazy, faded black and white veneer:

Painter in Dublin ~ June 1932

Chicago ~ 1893

Two Dillon sisters & one Crofton brother in the garden of Clonbrock House, Galway ~ 1 November 1864

Quinta de Manhufe, Amarante, Portugal ~ 1918

Workmen on a girder at the Rockefeller Centre ~ 1932

New York ~ 1927

Soldiers ~ 1941

People on the streets celebrated at the news of the end of World War 2, VJ Day ~ 14 August 1945

I often wonder, if they could see us now what would they think? Would the state that the world is currently in come as a tremendous shock to our ancestors? I'm sure every generation, at some point in time thought it was "The End" for them, so to speak. So I can just imagine the relief felt by all in the last pic... the announcement that the war (WWII) was over, that life could return to normal, that there was renewed hope and that better times awaited - after what was certainly a horrific time for most of the world. And I wonder if the world will ever feel that kind of relief and hope ever again...

Coz I tread between nostalgia and indigestion...

2011-11-14T23:04:00.001+02:00

So one of my chronic photo-taking stalker students is a twenty-something year old professional soccer player from Brazil who plays for a club in Europe, when he's not learning about Present Perfect Tense with me. What I find so strange about this guy is that he's NEVER on time because of his training schedule. He NEVER does any of the homework I give him. He NEVER pays attention in any lesson and when he' not taking photos of me, he's like a pseudo-pimp with girls constantly draped all over him... it's annoying. Most times, he's annoying.

And yet, this is the same guy that hates to see me upset and when I'm shouting him like a little kid, he will apologise until the cows come home and beg me to be happy. This is also the same guy that will attend my other classes - classes he's not registered for - in his spare time. It's the strangest thing. No one ever willingly attends classes that they're not registered for, particularly at the institute.

For some reason, I've been particularly nostalgic over the past week, reminiscing and cringing simultaneously. The journey to this particular point in my life has been somewhat surreal. A quick re-con:

There were all those years I spent working for Private Investigators as a student, paying my way through Varsity by delving into Industrial Sabotage, hiding in bushes taking photos of suspects, listening in and translating countless telephone conversations as well as taking Affidavits, handing out search warrants like sweets on Halloween and working with Interpol on numerous criminal cases.

Overall Work Rating: 8 out of 10. It would have been the ideal job if we didn't have to negotiate with twelve heavily armed men from the Nigerian Mafia as well as the SWAT team. Life should never imitate an action movie. Minus two points for the stress.

Perhaps, the most surprising of all the work I'd done over the years, was my stint in the world of acting. As an improv actress and professional extra, I SUCKED ass big time because I can't lie to save my life - which is a big part of an actor's job. But I didn't suck enough for the Director to tell me to fuck off. And then suddenly, I found myself having long conversations with actors while waiting behind the scenes and even today, I recognise, worked with or have spoken to almost every face on SA television at some point in time.

Overall Work Rating: 7 out of 10. Props for getting paid buckets for running around on set like a monkey. Minus 3 points for the countless takes and damn DB not remembering any of his lines!

Then there was a contract at the world's largest soft-drink company, along with the Germans. I've never met a German I didn't like, so we worked together fabulously. Plus we got free gourmet lunch every day... and unlimited soft-drinks and a private concert with The Black Eyed Peas as a present for all the hard work and hours put in.

Overall Work Rating: 9 out of 10. Best company to work for, EVER!

One of the worst would have to be a certain *ahem* reputable and very well known Financial Institution and Auditing Firm. Beneath the seemingly flawless porcelain veneer was all the cracks in the form of poor employer/employee communication, utter chaos, bigotry, nepotism, no cohesion and an organisational culture stuck in the 1800's.

Overall Work Rating: 2 out of 10. Bitches. At least I got to meet a wonderful friend at that horrid hell hole.

Working for Shirley at an Events Management company comes a close second on the suck-o-meter. Between Elton John's AIDS benefit ball and Jennifer Lopez's Thanksgiving Dinner, I was so stressed out I nearly went bald.
Overall Work Rating: 3 out of 10. Anal passive-aggressive people are the worst, especially if you have to work for them.

The British Council in London was by far one of the highlights of my career. As a Quality Control Officer, my job was to mediate between Members of Parliament, Councillors and their Constituents. It sure was something else and I loved going to work everyday. Even after the 7/7 bombings when one of the District Officials enquired if I'd be at work the next day, I was like Bitch please, I come from Johannesburg. This is nothing.

Overall Work Rating: 10 out of 10.

The best part of the job was being granted access as an employee to every film location in London to ensure the regulation of certain processes. This was both the best and worst time of my life. It was the best because it was very interesting and I got to meet my favourite actress Juliette Binoche as well as attend several movie Premieres. It was the worst because of one particular person. Jude-freaking-Law. Living around the around the corner from the somewhat controversial actor meant that he was EVERYWHERE. I was subjected to his presence in the street, at the local Tescos, at the Lebanese restaurant around the corner, at work on the movie set... at one point I seriously wanted to tell him to stop following me. But I didn't because he wasn't. He was just being an emo actor with girlfriend issues. I ended up hating him. Sometimes I still do.

And those are just the highlights folks. Here am I, a solid 10 years and 27 contracts later, and I'm stuck with a Lebanese guy who refuses to pass any of his English courses because he's simply too comfortable where he is at the moment and passing means that he would graduate and eventually leave. And he doesn't want to leave. Sometimes I wonder if I've regressed in my evolution.

Coz the only thing worse than public displays of affection are public displays of adoration...

2011-11-09T22:01:00.000+02:00

So I have a teeny tiny problem with my students. It seems like they love taking photos. Specifically, they love taking photos of me while I'm teaching or when they think I'm not looking.

Thing is, camera's and mobile phones are not allowed during lessons at the institute. But people bring them anyway. The result is that every now and then I catch one or two sly bastards sneaking pics of me with their cellphone cameras. And when I reprimand them, they pretend to know nothing and then continue with their sneaky photography sessions.

Now, I'm the Queen of Kook, but even this is beyond me. I find it quite odd. Is this normal? This can't be normal. I get the whole being enamoured with your teacher thing... wondering what they're like as people, outside the class. I've been there, done that and got the stalker trail to prove it. But this is a whole new level of quirk. I don't think I have the user manual for this kind of freaky.

And forget about leaving my hair hanging loose or wearing earrings. It's like everyone wants to touch me or my hair - and being aware of the very stringent laws against flirting with students and vice versa, I ensure I have absolutely NO physical contact with any of them. Even the females. I don't even respond to any of the adoring "my teacher" comments.

I'm thinking if it continues like this, I may need to look for another job.

Anyways. So it must have been one hell of a party the other night because the following morning on the way to my car (to go to work), I found a note neatly folded and taped to the windscreen. It said "Please send me a message, if you don't mind. Just a message, nothing else. Here's my number:" I'm guessing it's one of the neighbours. I've been tempted to call the number but at the same time I don't want to open up a can of worms. To message/call or not to message/call... that is the question. WWYD?

Coz I'm looking for the nearest exit...

2011-11-07T22:51:00.003+02:00

It should be illegal to be this tired. I'm guessing there must be something wrong here - either a serious health issue or maybe it's just that time of the year. I'm guessing it could be a little of both.

I haven't had a decent break this year - it's been all work and no play all the way. It's very unlike me because I'm usually all play and more play. My bank manager seems to agree, being the second person (in as many weeks) to suggest I have my own reality show. Twenty more requests and I may consider thinking about it. That not grammatically correct? I don't give a shit. There are more important things to worry about then syntax.

Like Facebook. Ever since they tweaked the site and had everyone from yonder exclaim how wonderful it was, all it's become is one big YAWN. Seriously. Never been so bored on FB before in my life EVER (actually, the last 5 years is more like it). Boring. Just talking about it makes me want to ZzZzZz...

And then this evening, I put on the telly hoping to escape into something funny and interesting (like our usual Monday night comedy line-up) and what do I see? Horses. Yes, a show about HORSES! It's not the first time, I saw it last week and thought it was a practical joke. But no, tonight again with the HORSES. That's the kind of viewing that's usually reserved for 5pm on Sunday afternoons, just before one of those National Geographic specials on the mating rituals of gecko's versus lizards or something like that.

SABC is the WORST broadcaster in the ENTIRE universe and you can tell them I said so. They probably hire drunk gatte who play spin the bottle with our programming schedules. Whoever decided that Outsourced should be moved from Prime Time on Monday night to 06:30pm on Tuesday should be shot - execution style.

For some reason, I've been getting a lot of visitors over the past week who come here searching for "the end" or "the end is nigh". Yes I'm all apocalyptic sometimes because I cannot ignore the signs, but I find that very strange. Guess Greece and Oklahoma and all it's fellow occupied cities have people freaked out. No doubt about it (mainly due to the ever-increasing fuel price) the situation in Greece really bothers me. Probably more than global warming bothers me. But much less than a bad hair day bothers me. And significantly less than not being able to recall the name of the new posthumous Michael Jackson song that played on the radio two months ago bothers me. I'm almost positive the DJ said it's "who's loving you now" but alas it isn't or I can't find any record of it and I've been going bonkers over it ever since.

The neighbours are having a party tonight. Specifically those four guys next door, along with twelve other guys, so really it's like a guy's night in and therefore no invitation. But I did get a plate overflowing with lamb chops fresh off the grill. And it's well done, just how I like it. It's a good thing that it's just meat. I've been living la vida Gluten Free for the past month so that means NO bread, or bread products, or anything that looks like, smells like or even resembles wheat, yeast and any of it's derivatives. No bread since like forever... no wonder I'm so cranky.

I do need some sleep. A lot of sleep. Any sleep really. I feel mentally, emotionally and physically spent. I could do with a snooze on Iker's comfy bed. His duvet looks like a marshmallow. It calls my name. Ok, it doesn't really, lest someone be tempted to call the nutty police.

Spanish footballer Iker Casillas teases us with his snoozing skills.

Coz I may have changed my mind...

2011-10-31T22:17:00.001+02:00

I have to apologise. For some reason, my previous post came off more maudlin that I had intended. See, I wasn't complaining about being single, I'm actually happier than I've ever been - being single! I was merely thinking aloud with that self-analysis-behaviour-modification thing I do. I ardently believe in Divine Will so I don't fret about anything I don't have - with the knowledge that things will come as they're meant to, at the right time.

And timing is everything.

It's a funny thing. Life. I can remember a time when (barely a year ago) my ovaries were pining ferociously for offspring. Six kids if anyone recalls. That was always the plan. But now? I'm not so sure.

I don't know exactly what changed my mind. All I know is that one minute I was helping my cousin move from Mayfair (central Johannesburg) to Florida Hills (west of Johannesburg) with her 18 month old toddler... and then the next minute, said ovaries were like "ok thanks, we've had enough".

What really drove the point home was spending the weekend at her new place (coz her hubby had to go to Manchester/UK on business). Now I'm no amateur. I always knew that having kids was not easy and I was really not naive or idealistic about this. And I've taken care of my fair share of babies from babysitting for a day to a couple of weeks! But nothing, NOTHING, could have prepared me for a weekend with a hyper-active, super-sensitive, intelligent and rebellious 18 month-old.

Firstly, this kid can talk... like entire sentences... at only 18 months. That's one year and 6 months for those who need to count. Yeah I know, I asked my cousin what she was feeding him too. The fact that he's so intelligent doesn't help. Intelligence + rebellious is NOT a good combination. See, with any other kid, you can just sprout any shit and they'll believe you. Not this kid. He puts on his "who-the-f@#$-do-you-think-you're-lying-to" face and does what he wants to anyway.

Sunday morning rolled around and he woke up next to me and his mother on the bed. He rolled over, smiled lazily and said "Hi Azra". Then he told his mother he needs to be changed - not in so many words - the kid may be intelligent but he isn't Jesus ok. It didn't take him long to get his bearings and head for destruction. The kitchen was first and when he was done unpacking every cupboard he could open, he headed for the lounge and the DVD stack.

The entire weekend was EXHAUSTING! And I wasn't even the one doing most of the yelling and reprimanding. At one point he fell asleep, woke up in my arms and proceeded to scream his head off for about an hour, crying because how dare I carry him while he's asleep and how dare his mother let anyone near him. He only stopped when she took out a belt and told him that if he didn't quit crying blue murder, she was going to give him something to cry about.

And I think that was it. I've never been the same since. It's not that I can't see the pay-off here. I can see and appreciate the bond they have... and I can see the joy he brings to her life. But I have three cousins with four babies between them and honestly, I feel more exhausted just thinking about them then they do about rearing their children. I think that I'm definitely not ready for one of those (never-mind six). Crazy kids = Best. Contraception. Ever!

I'm not saying that I don't ever want to have kids... who knows what the future holds ;)

Coz it's what the doc ordered...

2011-10-27T06:54:00.000+02:00

Remember when I said that I often find that I don't have anyone to talk to when I'm in a crisis? Well, it's like The Almighty heard me whining and sent me someone. It's more like this someone has taken it upon himself to be my counsellor and saviour and whatever else I need that I've been lacking at this juncture in my life.

I recently had dinner with my mom's (single) thirty-something year old doctor who is absolutely brilliant in his field (and breathtakingly beautiful) . I have met him a couple of times before, but Mother has been going to him for the better part of 10 years and they're quite friendly.

To make a long story short, Doc thinks we're fascinating (my sisters and I) and tres fun to be around and we think that he's fascinating and lovely blah blah blah...

So back to dinner... he tells me that he cannot believe that I'm still single. For some reason, he just can't understand why. So I told him that's what most of my students tell me too, and that I cannot believe that he's still single - especially because this is a guy with a couple hundred squajillion friends and everyone loves Doc. EVERYONE. His family, friends and a couple thousand of his patients too. Even the men. He's just that kind of guy.

Anyways, there was more of the back and forth admiration thing- "you're fantastic... no you're fantastic..." seriously though, you should see this guy. It's like the cover of GQ grew a pair of legs and came to sit at my table. If Mr. Perfect came in a bottle, you'd find Doc in aisle 7, between the air freshner and the 3 ply toilet paper. And honestly, if it wasn't for the HUGE cultural and religious barrier, I would have been ALL over him, like butter on toast.

But I know better than that. And he does too. So we've settled on trying to help each other see the bigger picture. He thinks I'm hung up on a guy I was talking to for a while (which, of course, I vehemently deny ~~because I can not possibly be hung up on someone I've never met - can I?~~) and I think his ex-girlfriend slash ex-fiancée is a psychotic cow and that he's idealistic and slightly delusional.

He has managed to give me some perspective on a few things though.

He asked me what's my definition of the perfect guy. And I replied quite absent-mindedly, with a straight-face, "You!... well an Islama-fied version of you". He thought this was hilarious but I could see him blushing from the corner of my eye. We spoke about life in general, our expectations and preferences. I asked him all the stalker questions... y'know, what time he gets home, who cooks for him, where he lives, if he has a bath I could use (my place only has a stand-in shower), who does his laundry, who irons his clothes, ~~what colour is his underwear~~... the usual. He indulged me and answered everything.

After a couple of hours of chatting non-stop, Doc suggested that we (my sisters and I) do a reality tv show and offered to speak to some of his pals in the industry if we were interested. I laughed for about an hour - really, no one would want to watch us in action. I get the feeling that most people would be highly offended by our uncouth non-traditional ways.

We then said our goodbyes and I found myself wondering, why am I always attracted to the unavailable guys? They're always either physically, emotionally or spiritually unavailable. What kind of a masochist am I?! And it's not about the chase, it's more than that. Maybe my sub-conscious endorses a need to protect myself, so I choose men who theoretically can't hurt me? Whatever the case, it has to end.

Coz deponent verbs are typically passive in form but active in meaning and their participles thus take the form but not the meaning of the perfect passive participle... WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN?!?

2011-10-24T22:28:00.001+02:00

So where was I? Oh yeah, about that job.

Well, remember that interview where I basically professed my love for the male form to my prospective employer? Well, I got the job. And they wanted me to start immediately.

So what exactly do I do? Well... don't laugh ok... I can hear some of my relatives sniggering in the background... how do I say this...

I'm a teacher!

Not just any teacher mind you, I'm an English teacher. Not just any English teacher mind you, I work at an institute and I teach English to foreigners; particularly Brazilians, Cubans, Argentinians, Japanese, Koreans, Chinese, Moroccans, Turkish and various French and Portuguese speaking people from most African countries. The demographics are dynamic. My "students" are mostly professionals i.e. Lawyers, Doctors, Engineers, Economists etc.

And what can I say... other than so far, so good. Many people already know that this is what I've wanted to do for a long time now, and so this opportunity came along at the right time.

It's very different from what I've been accustomed to and it's been very challenging especially since I've been literally thrown in the deep end. What this means is that even though one of my degrees is in English and it's my Mother-tongue, I often have to learn stuff before I teach it. Stuff like deponent verbs and reinforcing that the gerundive is sometimes considered the future passive participle, although it is more of the jussive mood than the future tense. Seriously, WTF?! Now there's a term I know very well.

Anyway, it's been a trying week and I've been swamped with work... having to give lengthy classes, catch up on the previous month's activities and examine the changing face of language education in the technological era blah blah blah... I've been emotionally, mentally and physically drained. And it seems my new employer has some high expectations from me, having literally pushed me into a research project she's working on and having me do a paper, A PAPER, on my findings! Bleh. If only I had so much faith in myself.

So for the past week I've been seriously winging it. Taking it all in my stride. Just going with the flow, swimming along. And I find that even though I'm exhausted and it's been a learning curve of note, the change itself has been an epiphany of sorts. I'm more at ease than I've ever been at work. EVER. It's like a breath of fresh air.

Now excuse me, I have to go and find out what the hell is a Gerund.

Coz this is no time to be a chicken-shit Frances...

2011-10-16T21:28:00.001+02:00

Remember all that bitching and moaning I’d done about my work and my senile boss and how I had come to loathe the office setting, desk, chair, politics and just about everything else in the corporate world? Well, about four weeks ago as fate would have it, I left all my doubts and reservations behind and jumped into an abyss not expecting anything to come of it.

The result is that as of last week, my life has taken a dramatic turn into another direction. And of course I’m elated... and hopeful and optimistic and... terrified! And this is where Patty’s voice rings in my head “this is no time to be a chicken-shit Frances”. Thing is, this is exactly what I’ve wanted and while there are certain drawbacks that come with this opportunity, it is exactly what I need, to get to where I want to be... hence “this is no time to be a chicken-shit Frances!”.

I do not have the time nor the emotional capacity for fear. Vivir con miedo, es como vivir a medias! A life lived in fear is a life half lived! Suck it up. Be a woman. I have to claw every ounce of courage from this flesh and these bones, put on my brave face and jump in the deep end. And I can be brave. I know I can be brave to the point of fearlessness. And when I’m fearless, nothing and no one can stand in my way. Now, if only I could remember how... it’s not like they printed these instructions on my box of Kelloggs Cornflakes.

It’s times like these that I often find that I have no one to talk to. Sure, I can comfort and counsel all and sundry with their problems, but for some reason I just cannot seem to find that same kind of comfort and counsel with anyone – including those closest to me. It’s usually during these times, that I prefer to turn to a higher power for guidance and assurance and more often than not, I find that I usually end up counselling myself through Him.

As a practising Muslim, I am very Pro-God. Even if I wanted to, I could never NOT believe because I’ve witnessed too many sheer miracles in my lifetime that cannot be attributed to co-incidences or science or anything else that can be used as an excuse. I’ve seen too much... and I continue to see The Almighty’s hand at work in my life and in other lives too... but hey look, I’m not here to preach to the public ok...

For the record, when it comes to different beliefs, I ardently believe that EVERY SINGLE PERSON on this earth has a life purpose. Every single person is EXACTLY where they’re meant to be. Every single person has their own road to walk, their own lessons to learn (like I’ve mentioned previously) and The Almighty God – whatever you call Him – has created everyone and therefore, He is for everyone. I don’t see myself as better than anyone else on this earth, whether they be Muslim or not. We’re just different and Islam commands that we respect the differences and that God is the Only and Ultimate Judge:

لَكُمْ دِينُكُمْ وَلِيَ دِينِ

“To you be your Way, and to me mine” [”You will not believe in what I believe, I will not believe in what you believe, hence, your faith is with you and my faith is with me." Ergo, no force, no competition, no comparisons... you do what you think is good, I will do what I think is good. (Qur’an 109:1-6)]

As Muslims, we pray five times a day, to continually re-establish a connection with The Almighty. And every time we prostrate with our foreheads to the ground, we acknowledge a higher power who is the ultimate controller of destinies, lest we should be tempted to fear life.

There’s that ugly F word again...

Thing is, life is a struggle from beginning to end for everyone, and few things ever come easy. At the beginning of life we strain hard to stand upright without anybody holding onto us. At the end of life we’re back to the very same task. And in between, the struggles are laid end to end: raising kids, making a marriage work, finding our life’s work, taking care of those who need us, becoming faithful friends, finding the money to do what needs to be done... no matter who you are, we all have the same issues.

A lot of struggling is done right out there in plain view. But the real struggle is always inside us: the struggle with fear which is always there whispering in our ear, “Don’t get in too deep; you might lose or get hurt. Save your strength for later.”

The Almighty warns against doubt and fear and the evil that comes with our nafs and desires: “And if an evil whisper comes to you from Satan, then seek refuge with Allah” (Qur’an 7:200). Fear and doubt are Satan’s tools to misguide mankind.

At every fork in the road, fear tells us not to invest: in this moment, or in this person, or in whatever is at hand because there’s no guarantee we’ll win, no guarantee that our kids will be good, that our spouse will be faithful, or that our good work will bear fruit. “No guarantee,” whispers that evil little voice, “so stand back, sit on your hands. Better safe than sorry.”

Even in the Bible, God responds to that lying little voice with a warning: “Whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake shall find it.” (Matthew 16:25)

The Qur’an tells us, "Nothing shall ever happen except what Allah has ordained for us. He is our Maula (Lord, Helper and Protector). And in Allah let the believers put their trust”(Qur’an 9:51).

God has given every one of us some very clear life assignments. They’re spelled out in our gifts and in the circumstances of our lives. Will we accept God’s assignments and do the important work he’s given us? Will we succeed in building our piece in His kingdom? Only if we invest everything we’ve got fearlessly - for the long term. However, sometimes we are our own worst enemies innit... our fears are just too great.

Is there any one of us who can’t identify with the unpredictability of life...we know the experience too well: we think an issue through, we do our homework, we plan carefully and act decisively, and still… nothing. The business still languishes, the spouse is still angry, the child still fails, and we grow ever more weary.

Perhaps we’ve been so caught up with our own interests and perceptions of things - OUR OWN AGENDA- that we haven’t seen what’s right in front of us. Perhaps we need a new perspective. Perhaps we need to have more faith and trust in our Creator, for God sees to the heart of things.

Let The Almighty show you what He sees. It’s the ultimate in truth. Then relax in your trust in Him. Let Him guide your hand. He will speak to you in his own silent way. And you will hear Him, if you have learned how to listen.

This is my message to myself today. Yeah... suck it up, take a deep breath and just jump straight in the deep end. I suppose it's a good thing that I already know how to swim.

Coz no man is an island...

2011-10-11T08:33:00.000+02:00

So a couple of months ago, I moved house. Actually, I moved from my nice big spacious house in the suburbs to a flat / apartment much closer to the city. It was a huge adjustment for me at the time because I suddenly found that I had to get used to living in a confined space surrounded by people all over again.

For instance, there's a couple with a kid that lives above in flat 3C. And this kid loves his marbles. Y'know how I know? Because I hear him every single day with those freaking marbles... it sounds vaguely like there's a ghost playing in my kitchen.

Then there's the guy in 1D whose gargling at 5 in the morning is my personal alarm clock. Nothing like the sound of water and phlegm at the crack of dawn. No alarm clock on earth has the same effect.

The family in 1C have four kids all under the age of 6. Saturday afternoons and Sunday mornings are fun times, especially because I'm almost positive that the people living 2 miles down the road can hear them. There's usually a ruckus of some kind and it almost always involves some sort of bicycle or three. The cacophony of screeching children and plastic wheels grating against the paving, on the one morning I get to sleep in, is like music to my ears...

Then there's the couple in 1A whose little tiffs rival World War 2. What is it with women and throwing a man's clothes outside. She only makes life harder for herself because when they make up, she's the one that has to wash, iron and pack those clothes away again.

The four guys living next door are the best. Initially, I had my reservations about them and briefly worried about living next to four strange men. But my fears were quickly laid to rest and thankfully, they're amongst the most respectful guys I've ever known. And for some reason, they love sending food over. And I'm not talking about little snacks or savouries. Once they sent over an entire roast chicken. And there were Turkish kebabs too. Then it was fruit salad and cream and last week it was a Pyrex dish filled to the brim with chicken Biryani. Any man who feeds me gets my nod of approval.

Now, 6 months later, I wonder if I could ever go back to living in silence. In the weirdest way, the noise has become somewhat less annoying and strangely comforting. It's good to know your neighbour's are alive and that life is going on around you. In any case, I figure that it's at least a hundred times better than the neighbours I had to put up with in London... remember that story... I reckon anything is better than this:

Coz I'm a chronic dreamer...

2011-10-06T21:45:00.001+02:00

It's true. I spend way too much of my time and energy living suspended between the past, present and dream land. And for the life of me, I can't figure out why. I can't figure out why I can't stay focused ALL the time. Why is it such a constant struggle? It's not Rocket Science. Or Brain Surgery. Maybe my brain is constipated.

Oh boy what a week. What a week... let me give you all some advice. REAL advice ok! Everyone listening? Ok here goes:

Firstly, do not EVER, under any circumstances, go off on a tangent with a prospective employer, especially if you suspect that said employer enjoys your conversation.

Secondly, do NOT indulge said prospective employer in your whims and fancies.

And finally, when said prospective employer asks you what your hobbies and interests are, DO NOT EVER get caught in a dreamy reverie while you proceed to tell her that you love men with a dreamy sigh and an uninhibited determined glint in your eye, as she collapses in a fit of giggles which snaps you back to reality and you’re sure the only reason she likes you is because you’re a professional stalker. OK?!? Get it? Got it? Good!

Anyways, I’m glad to say that the exercise drought is over. Instead of starting on Monday like I always do, I decided to start on Sunday. And boy it wasn’t easy, getting back into a routine is never easy. Then there was a minor setback on Tuesday – I couldn’t get to it because I had other things to attend to – but then got right back on that bandwagon again on Wednesday night. The trick here is consistency, regardless of what happens.

And like I predicted, the first few days were torture and I died a few times. Now my body aches like I’d been run over with a truck for a few days. But so far so good. There are only 3 things really grating my cheese at the moment:

Firstly, speaking of cheese... training regularly means that I’m hungry ALL.THE.FREAKING.TIME! But there’s no point in exercising religiously if I’m going to stuff my face every 2 minutes innit. I need my newly acquired Kardashian bum (aptly named Kimmy) to eff off and never come back again.

Secondly, for some reason I seem to be suffering from fatigue that I just can’t get rid of. I’m so tired that most days it feels like I haven’t slept the night before. And when I’m tired, I say stupid things to prospective employers. Now while I’m not bound to my bed I do get some shut eye at a reasonable hour – 11pm – and I’m up just before 5am. Six hours of sleep has been enough for me before. But these past few days, it's like I'm sleep walking - day dreaming my life away. I’m obviously lacking some essential vitamins here. Maybe I need to find another nurse to illegally administer another vial of Vitamin B12.

And thirdly: The Chocolate. Oh the freaking chocolate. Seriously, it’s like crack. I can’t seem to get rid of the habit. And every day it’s the same story: hmm... what shall I have today... Aero? Nope too many holes, not enough chocolate. Flake? Nah, it's like eating chocolate flavoured air... too many folds, not enough chocolate. Tex? More holes hidden in between layers of wafer biscuit. Seriously Nestlé, what is up with all the holes?!?

Ferrero? Had a whole box last week. Lindor? The buttery filling makes me nauseous. Côte d'Or? Nah. Hershey’s? Way overpriced. How I wish they sold Godiva here... or Butlers... or Galler. I miss Galler and the dreamy praline wonderment that came with it.

How about I just brush my teeth and go to bed... yeah good idea. G'night.

Coz we need to respect that everyone's path is different...

2011-10-03T23:38:00.003+02:00

We all judge. Every single one of us. It doesn't matter who you are, at some point in time you've judged someone else, unless you're a Prophet of God or a bonafide saint or Jibra'eel (Archangel Gabriel). Judging others is somewhat natural because as people, we're constantly boxing and labelling other people in order to validate our own existences and to establish our own places in the world and in our respective societies. It takes trying to fit in to a whole new dimension.

It doesn't make it right though.

So maybe at some point we think that someone is a terrible mother, or that some guy is a complete asshole, or that someone else is irresponsible and has their priorities all mixed up etc. And most of the time, we may even be right... but does that qualify us to make such assumptions and deductions about said person? I don't think so.

Look, it's always going to be easier to denounce someone as the degenerate that you want them to be... it may even be gratifying to an extent... but there is something grossly fallible about judging someone.

The way I see it, from all the hundreds and thousands of people I’ve ever met or encountered throughout my life, I’ve never ever met anyone who comes from a different species. I don’t even know anyone who may have encountered someone who’s from a different species. For instance, I’ve never ever met anyone with blue blood... or someone who doesn’t bleed. I’ve never met anyone whose heart is where their liver should be or whose kidneys function as lungs. And even though most women are inclined to believe that some men have their brains located in their genitals, this isn’t true.

So, if we’re all exactly the same... all built the same way... with the same organs and needs, it’s safe to say that we all come from the same Creator or Source. It doesn’t matter what you call Him, or whether you believe in Him or not, or whether you worship Him or not, or whether you adhere to His rules or not...

But more importantly we all have the exact same spectrum of human emotion. We all experience joy, sadness, depression, loneliness, anger etc. etc. at varying degrees at various times, depending on our life circumstances.

So to judge someone in their circumstances is in a way denying your part in that spectrum of human emotion. When you judge someone, what you're really saying is that you're exempt from those emotions that would govern your decisions - which in all likelihood is a lie given that you're hardly ever in the same boat as the person you're judging.

I'll never forget the one conversation that changed the course of my perception on the subject forever. I was chatting to an acquaintance and it wasn't long before she went off on a tirade about one of her relatives (a mutual friend) for leaving her (abusive) husband to move in with her friend. And during all the time she was yacking off about it, I couldn't help recall the times we heard about the abuse and wondered why she didn't leave. And then I wondered what on earth would I do if I was in that position... and eventually came to the conclusion that I wouldn't have reacted any different. I would have definitely left too!

And then it occurred to me that most of the time, given the same situation coupled with our spectrum of human emotions, most of us would react the exact same way - because the majority of us are the rule, not the exception. So it's kinda preposterous to ridicule someone else for making the same decision you would have made given the same circumstance.

At the moment I’m counselling a friend, Kelly, who is having trouble with a man she is currently seeing, Max (because I voluntarily counsel people in my spare time as a service to humanity). Well, she doesn't actually have any real problems... apart from being idealistic, slightly delusional and self-sabotaging... (which she knows).

See before she met Max, Kelly was quite content in her misery, moving along in her dysfunctional emotionally abusive relationship with Nick. She said she was perfectly fine before meeting Nick, but that something had gone awry and the result is that now that she’s in a perfectly normal, healthy relationship with Max (who wants to marry her), she keeps on finding excuses to self-sabotage and jeopardise the relationship. She wanted to know what's wrong with her.

To me the answers are simple: Kelly is so used to being treated badly and trying to please the wrong men, that when a decent one comes along she finds it difficult to accept his attention and unconditional love. She’s so used to the drama that comes with having a dysfunctional relationship that she can’t function in the calm and peace of this one. So, she looks for excuses.

Yesterday’s excuse was that he’s too clingy- but she forgot that right at the beginning of their friendship when he was the detached, cool, calm and collected bloke- she thought he didn’t like her and was even upset because of it! Now he’s decided that she’s worth investing some emotion in and has dived right in... but she’s too scared, afraid that she’s not good enough for this kind of attention, afraid that if she lets him in he’ll eventually walk out and abandon or reject her the way every other man in her life rejected and abandoned her.

I pointed out to her that in this scenario, the problem is not him or her ex, the problem lies with her. Her discontentment lies in the fact that she feels that she has this great guy who is everything that she’s ever wanted in a man, yet her own issues prevent her from being happy.

Now sadly, this is a common problem among quite a lot of women. We are all Kelly at some point in time. Some of my advice to her was that she should tell herself every morning and evening that she’s worthy of her intended’s love and attention, that God Almighty Himself has deemed her worthy of it and that’s why He sent this guy to her... and that she should make a conscious effort to start believing it too.

But it's all just words to Kelly. At the moment she hears me and she understands everything I'm saying... she knows that Nick is no good for her. She knows that Nick is not interested in her as a person. She knows that Max accepts and loves her just as she is. She knows she has major issues with her insecurities and her self-worth stemming from her childhood relationship with her Mother... she knows it all. But she just cannot internalise it yet. She just cannot make that connection.

If there's one thing I've learned in my time on earth, it's that every single one of us has our own lessons to learn and our own paths to walk. I could stand there and preach the Gospel to Kelly, but it would mean absolutely nothing to her until it's time for her to get it... until her experiences come together like a puzzle in her head to help her see the bigger picture and make that connection.

As her counselor, an independent and unbiased ear, I don't rush her. She needs to realise all this on her own. As a person, I try to see and understand where the next person is coming from, even if I don't agree with their choices. But I admit, sometimes it's very difficult, especially when you encounter a real asshole :)

So we all have our own roads and life paths to walk. Some of us get there sooner because our paths are shorter, or because we sprinted the entire way. Other people's paths are like long winding roads. It doesn't mean they won't get there, they will but everything in it's time. And until then, we just need to accept and respect the fact that we're no better than the next person. The only thing that makes us different are our circumstances... and circumstances and situations have a way of changing in an instant. Everyone has their own life lessons to learn and their own roads to walk, in their own time.

Kelly's story used with permission.

Coz life happens while we're busy making other plans...

2011-09-29T11:41:00.003+02:00

Like a runaway train, life can get away from us and surge out of control. It sneaks up on us. At one moment, we’re all dressed up for the party, relaxed and unworried about taking a little nap. Then suddenly, everything changes: it’s time to go, we arrive late, or we’re locked out… for good! Show’s over.

While observing others and observing events in my own life, I've realised that lives don’t go sour overnight. They may appear to, and the final unravelling may be swift and terrifying, but the process takes time and thousands of tiny decisions, building one upon the other. And often we hardly notice where they’re leading and what they’re adding up to.

As we examine our consciences, we usually find no single matter of great seriousness, no murders, no child abuse, no major hates, no adulteries. And we think we’re home free. But what we really need to look at are the persistent patterns of our daily choices which cumulatively define who we are.

In the Watergate crisis, “Deep Throat” said to “follow the money” if we wanted to find the real culprits. In our lives, there’s a parallel: Follow the persistent patterns of your choices if you want to find out who you really are.

Here’s the bottom line: If you don’t want your life to surge out of control, track the patterns of your daily choices early and often. It's all a part of living consciously. These patterns and choices will tell you who you are and where you’re headed, and they’ll tell you when you have some course corrections to make. The patterns don’t lie, so watch them closely, with The Almighty at your side.

Now, if only I could take my own advice!

Coz we live and learn...

2011-09-27T23:39:00.006+02:00

So Michi has nominated me to participate in the 7 Links project by Tripbase. The ultimate goal of this project is to get bloggers to dig into their archives and regurgitate those posts that had an impact on the world in some way or form. (I've tried to stick to 7 links... really I did. But I'm a dynamic woman and nothing is ever that simple with me). Anyway, here goes:

1. My most beautiful post

Ok so this is already difficult and I haven't even started yet. I cannot think of a beautiful post... especially since it's all relative innit... one man's beautiful is another man's yawn. It's a toss between Tumbleweed and Weird Encounters. I'm sure I've posted more touching stuff, but I can't remember right now.

2. My most popular post

This is also difficult because there's no one definitive answer. I cannot mention the number of people who come to this blog looking for answers to the complex female psyche by searching for what women say and what they really mean. It's staggering! And then there's the other huge contingent fascinated by prophecies and the foreboding of Gog and Magog before The Last Day. And it's safe to say that the entire Latin American audience came here by searching for pictures of the Soccer World Cup and it remains one of my most searched, most viewed posts ever.

3. My most controversial post

Definitely the LIVING Islam range... Part 1, Part 2 and the third installment. This is mainly because there are currently 72 factions in Islam... some are more closely related to others, while other's couldn't be more different. Everyone's interpretations of what it means to be Muslim differs across the spectrum. And not everyone is wrong. Not everyone is right either, with some even losing sight of what Islam actually means and stands for. The rituals of prayer and worship are not what define us. It's the kind of people we are. There is no place for evil and evil actions in Islam. The Almighty is very clear about this in several passages of the Qur'an. But people will always see what they want to see. And the unfortunate truth is that most people don't realize that the key to their connection with Divinity lies in their Humanity.

4. My most helpful post

Well, for some reason everyone wants to know How to deal with a Psychotic Bitch. Seriously. The only reason it's not at the top of the list in question 2 is because it's been deemed helpful. Ironically, it's right up there with the what women say & what they really mean post... er, does anyone else see a pattern here?

5. A post whose success surprised me

Has to be That Special Kind of Asshole, Part 1 and Part 2!

6. A post I feel didn’t get the attention it deserved

I don't write for attention, but I would have to say Stop embarrassing yourself, you're Asian! tops this one. However another current issue really grates my cheese. I ardently believe that we, the human general public, are being played like puppets on strings. Firstly our governments lie to us telling us we have Freedom of Speech when we clearly don't. Like I said, we never had freedom, and we never will. And secondly, the ~~monkeys~~ people who do have this freedom abuse it. We are all too ready and willing to believe every single thing we read in our media. And when you have a media that is driven and motivated by sensationalism to promote sales and increase their revenue, a media that is not focused on the truth and integrity, we have a HUGE problem. I highlighted this when I re-posted Charles Thomson's lengthy article "One of the Most Shameful Episodes in Journalistic History" which detailed the facts surrounding Michael Jackson and his trial, and brought to light actual factual information from the trial itself that was contrary to everything we heard on the news! It literally left me with a hole in my gut and my jaw dragging on the floor in absolute disgust. To ruin a man's life because you want to sell newspapers is beyond despicable. Murdoch and his kind should burn in Hell.

7. The post that I am most proud of

This is a toss between Girls Behaving Badly - I still believe I should have my own candid camera show on tv - and Coz things are different, it doesn't necessarily mean they're better... as I've said in a comment on another blog, I'm an anti-feminist but my definition of feminism doesn't include abuse and violence etc. For the most part, my idea of being "free" and "feminist" is NOT having a man telling me how to think/feel/speak etc. As for the rest of it... I think it's utter bull that we have men these days proposing with a ring he expects you to help him pay off - detailing how much the woman has to contribute to the rent. If it is her choice to contribute, then by all means, go ahead. But he wants to sit by the pool with his friends, a drink in one hand while smoking weed with the other, while she works her bum off all day, then STILL has to come home and look after him and cook and change lightbulbs and worry about the service on her car and all that other caca.

I'm like: be. the. freaking. man! Change the light bulb! Mow the lawn! Tell me about the freaking Hydraulics in the car and wait for me to roll my eyes like you're speaking Greek! Get up in the middle of the night and go see what that noise is all about! Show me the kitchen, I will be more than happy to cook for everyone. But EVERYTHING else is your problem coz you're the man.

Only because I've spent most of my whole life having to worry about things I shouldn't have to worry about because of a lack of a male figure in my life.

Again, I don't account for abuse etc. because I see it as a non-factor. It's unfathomable (to me) in a sense because a man who even *dared* raise a hand to me would go to sleep and wake up in his own version of Guantanamo with a life sentence. Death would be too easy.

Anyway, there you have it. There are so many people I'd like to nominate that it's difficult to remember everyone. So I nominate everyone who reads this... especially because I know some people wouldn't because it's not their kinda thing. I would like to mention a few specific people though, just for the hell of it: Angie, Kaloo, Deidre, Dean, Nas, Sady, Afrocentric Muslimah and GB, even though I know gorillas are too busy for such things. There are others I'd like to mention too but like I said, I get the feeling it's not everybody's thing. Either way, do it or don't - it's up to you.

Coz getting back on track is harder than I thought...

2011-09-21T22:34:00.003+02:00

It's almost a month since Ramadan ended and honestly, the blessed month has lulled me into a routine that I'm finding very difficult to get out of. Well, with the exception of the eating. It's the fracking eating that's killing me!! Well, actually... no. Now that I think about it, it's not so much the eating because I've been good and sticking to the healthy stuff. It's the fracking LACK OF exercise. Yes that's it! And it's gotten to the point where I've picked up 2kg's since Ramadan ended and this Kardashian backside is driving me CRAZY!!! I wish I could just cut it all off. Yes, just CUT. it. all. OFF!

And still for some reason, I just can't seem to find the motivation or energy to get back into my routine. I used to exercise for an hour at least five days a week- even in the middle of winter. And not just easy peasy stuff that your grandma can do while she's crocheting another doily and drinking her tea. I really went for it with the High Intensity Training y'know. I'd end off DRENCHED in sweat, knowing that I'd done more than my fair share for the day.

But now, things are different. There used to be a time when I'd tell myself that I'll just start on Monday. I used to love that Monday excuse. And I usually did start on Mondays. And I usually succeeded too. But this time around, Monday is telling me to piss off with my sad-ass excuses and the result is that it's been almost two months since I stepped up to the plate. Maybe there's more to it than just not having the will power to go back there. Maybe it's because I know how I'm going to DIE during the first three days of training...

Unfortunately though, I have to be realistic. For me just eating healthily isn't enough. I only have to LOOK at a plate of chips to gain 12kg's. This means that I HAVE to exercise, whether I like it or not. My body type is such that when I don't exercise... even if it's just taking a walk... I feel edgy and irritated. It actually affects my personality. Yes it does. So yes, I have to do it. I know I have to do it. I just have to get started dammit!

And I can't help but wonder if I'm the only one feeling so frumpishly frustrated? Yep, I'm pretty sure I'm the only one with newly acquired back-fat. Now I feel all lonely with nothing but my little blob of back-fat to keep be company, and a fat ass driving me absolutely bonkers. Maybe I should start fasting again... full-time.

Coz this is everything that is wrong with the world today...

2011-09-18T22:51:00.002+02:00

The perfect recipe for disaster on a social catastrophic scale:

Er... He? She? It? Thing? What exactly is ZARA selling?

It's the 21st century and in the third world, food is still a foreign concept...

...while in the UK, 6.7 Million tonnes of edible food is thrown away annually amounting to £10.2 Billion each year. In the US $43 Billion worth of untouched / unopened edible food is discarded each year.

Want to be famous? The great news is that you don't need ANY kind of talent... just a pretty face and a penchant for whoring your life to the world should do it.

War zones are not playgrounds.

Coz the circus came to town: my weekend in pictures...

2011-09-13T19:01:00.007+02:00

So that was a small part of the weekend that was. In retrospect, we should have called the authorities and told them that the circus was coming to town because we are a rather loud and quirky bunch. Travelling with 60+ people (including a lot of little midgets) is not easy. But it's oh-so-much fun. I've chronicled my weekend trysts before in Cape Town although there were significantly fewer people there. This time however, we were on the other end of the country in the northern Province of Mpumalanga. The last time I was in the Sabie region was in 2000 so it was nice to go back after such a long time. My excitement was evident and I took over 1000 photos in two days. Here are some of them (click on images for larger detail):

We left quite early, around 5:30am on Saturday morning in a convoy of 6 vehicles. Half of the family had left on Friday. The drive is usually around 4 hours long - 6 hours if you're driving in a convoy and have to stop every now and then for someone to pee. It was a long winding road.

After 6 hours of pit stops, winding hills and being tortured with John Denver and Barbara Streisand courtesy of Mother and her sisters, we eventually settled on a place to meet the others. The MacMac Pools was an ideal location to picnic. Fortunately for us, the braai (BBQ) was already underway when we got there, just in time for lunch.

Just coming out of winter, none of us were prepared to swim. But the water looked too gorgeous and the temptation was just too much for some of my cousins. When we were all kids we used to spend the entire summer year after year, perfecting the art of diving, inventing new techniques and swimming for hours on end in my aunt's pool. It was fun to watch them negotiate their diving strategies. And it wasn't long before others joined them.

After lunch and a great time at the pools, we made our way to The MacMac Falls. Waterfalls are like Churches in that if you've seen one, you've seen them all because really after the third one they all begin to look the same. But they're still so pretty and there's nothing like watching nature in its element, marveling at The Almighty's creation. The entire province is very tourist-y with several stalls selling hand-made African crafts etc. and we encountered quite a few Europeans and Americans on holiday throughout the weekend.

The days were hazy as we're still in "spring" (term used loosely because 28C / 82F days aren't uncommon). However, the views are much clearer in the winter and summer. After oohing and aahing at the falls, we made our way to God's Window.

After a seemingly endless day, it was time to make our way to our accomodation for the night. We stayed at the Forever Blyde Resort close to the Blyde River Canyon. At this point in time there were 11 cars in the convoy packed with people and luggage and food. Much like the Western Cape Province, wild monkeys usually roam free in this part of the world and we were advised not to feed them or leave our windows open because they would in all likelihood break in and steal our food.

After an eventful night, we were up early and ready for another day of exploring. After a breakfast of leftovers from the previous day, we made our way literally a few meters up the road to the top of the Blyde River Canyon. The views were hazy in the early morning, but still spectacular

From here we split up temporarily. Some went horse riding, other's went fishing and the rest of us went to visit the Bourkes Luck Potholes - a section of the river that eroded the rocks over thousands of years to create potholes along the course of the river. Like most of Mpumalanga, the natural terrain means that your tekkies/ trainers/ sneakers are a must. We quite enjoyed exploring...

Afterward, we hit the road again to go to the Berlin Falls. The region is littered with Waterfalls, with 9 major waterfalls and other minor ones along the way.

Then we left for Graskop. A number of family members went on the skyway trail across the gorge as well as the big swing. Because I'm terrified of vertigo, dangling in mid-air is not my forte so I chose to stand by and watch while I babysat some of the midgets and accepted last minute changes in a few Wills. Even Mother's sister had a go. Those who weren't up for participating had a great time watching from the deck.

We then left to have a picnic / lunch at Lone Creek Falls. The region is a haven for bikers and we encountered many along the way. Before lunch some of us prayed in congregation on a patch of green grass beside the river... men in front women behind... before digging into a combo of salads and fries.

Before we knew it, it was time to pack up and head home. We briefly discussed a convoy strategy and had to get going. Aside from being tortured with various renditions of every Chris Brown and Usher song for five hours straight, it was a pleasant drive. We all arrived home around 08:00pm that evening, exhausted but safe thanks to The Almighty... though some of the drivers had trouble keeping up with others. We had to stop on more than one occasion to wait for a lone ranger or two that had to potty.

And that was it. It was a hectic weekend but great non-the-less. We had some hiccoughs along the way as anyone would especially with 60+ raucous family members, all with minds of their own but most of it was wonderful and we have a lot of good memories to share and take home with us. As someone who's been very fortunate to travel quite a bit, I must say that the world looks more-or-less the same no matter where you go. It doesn't mean that it's any less beautiful and that we can't appreciate it especially when its just around the corner. For the most part though, I often find that it's not so much the destination then the journey and the people you share that with that counts the most :)

Coz I need to get over it...

2011-09-08T09:57:00.000+02:00

Sometimes in life, we do things that will inevitably come back to bite us in the arse. One of the biggest lessons I've ever learned is: don't shit where you eat. I'm constantly reminded of that. But I'm getting ahead of myself again. Let me start from the beginning...

We were driving between 140km and 160km's per hour for 5 hours straight. Literally zooming past hills, mountains, rivers and valleys on highways and national roads. And on more than one occasion I wondered to myself, "how the hell did I end up here?".

Indeed, how did I end up in a car with my 25 year old cousin; watching him belt out word-for-word every.single.track that Chris Brown and Usher ever recorded, and listening to him debate the merits of the latter's career after he decided to go commercial while leaning over every once in a while to check that his wife and baby were still fast asleep in the backseat?

Well, I guess we should thank FC for that... my 32 year old uncle who's visiting from Amsterdam (Holland) who incidentally just got married in Copenhagen (Denmark) and decided instead of having a reception in SA for the family (like normal folk would) that it would be apt to cart the entire family up to the northern province of Mpumalanga to climb mountains and look at waterfalls instead.

There was nothing unusual about it but out of the 11 cars in our convoy, I had not intended to be serenaded for 5 hours straight... seriously the dude is more than qualified to take the karaoke championship anywhere in the world... and more importantly, it was not how I ever imagined the weekend would end.

The ride wasn't that bad though. It was certainly better than the lecture I endured from said cousin and another considerably younger male cousin of mine, on Eid Day, on how to attract a guy and sustain a relationship. I mean, really, that was just humiliating. Afterall am I not supposed to be the one giving them advice? I am the second eldest of them all, I should know something valuable by now dammit. He did have a point though. Most South African women are very dominating and the men are generally weak. It's just a part of the SA culture. So men here tend to become more intimidated by women than usual... but I digress.

Anyway, what I didn't bank on this past weekend, was that FC's definition of family includes the people who helped him get to where he is today, which in simple terms is his best friend and his best friend's family.

Insert first of many awkward moments here.

Thing is, this best friend and I...well lets just say that we have a history of sorts and that it did not end well. But in all fairness, we were both young and very very stupid. I'm talking a solid 15 years ago. Much to my uncle's dismay at the time, I became the adoring female with a major crush on said best friend, and while said best friend liked me too, he loved the fact that I liked him. And even though there was quite a distance between us geographically speaking and there was no actual dating, we were seeing each other on quite a serious note.

He called me every single day, and I saw him every few weeks at some or other family event, but the distance soon proved too much to bear and in a matter of months I remained the naive doting female while he lapped up the attention of almost every other available female in a 10 mile radius. And before we knew it, it was a few years down the line, he was less interested and I resented him for stringing me along, not wanting to let me go but not willing to commit to something more tangible either. He was an asshole. A pathological liar. And I had already spent waaay too much of my precious time on him.

And so I cut all ties and refused to speak to him when he called and avoided him like the plague whenever there was a mutual family event. Not long after, I moved to London and he moved to Spain and we lost all contact, and I was perfectly ok with that. I didn't want to know about him. He had taken up too much of my life, I wasn't willing to give him 2 more seconds.

Fast forward to this past weekend, and it was inevitable that I would once again have to face him. But it was my own fault see... never ever shit where you eat. As my uncle's best friend, there was no way I could escape him forever.

So I was dreading it. I'd been dreading it ever since I heard that he was going to be there and that there was no way out of the weekend that was already booked.

The moment I saw him, I cringed inwardly and instinctively looked for somewhere to run to, someone to talk to or something else to do. There was no escaping him though because even though I managed to slip through the cracks at lunch - surprisingly easy with over 60 people in one place at one time - I wasn't so lucky at dinner.

And as always, Murphy was working overtime, thinking of every conceivable way to screw me over and leave me lying sprawled on the ground, dying from humiliation, because that's how we roll...

Dinner was a formal affair and I got dressed up in a satin blue dress. When I walked into the resturant, his entire family stared at me while I found a seat at one of the tables in the restaurant. The place soon filled up with other family members and then he arrived... wearing a blue suit. And being late, he attracted all the attention and catcalls... everyone (including his Mother) wanting to know why he was so dressed up and who he was intending to impress and if he was ready to propose... ALL with insinuations towards ME. I sank down in my seat, trying to hide my inflamed pink face, trying not to hyperventilate and DIE from embarrassment.

But alas, Murphy was not done with me. Since I happened to be seated at the main table with my uncle and his new wife, he had to come and sit NEXT to me... in his blue suit. From ALL of the tables in the entire restaurant, he just HAD TO come sit next to me. At this point, I was ready to barf all over him. And to make things worse, I had everyone, EVERYONE of my cousins and aunts and uncles and sisters telling me how nice he is and how good we'd be together. No one could get it through their thick skulls that I wanted nothing to do with him.

I honestly didn't know what to do at that point. Sinking further in my seat wasn't going to help. Ignoring him wasn't going to do either. And so I decided to react differently. I bit the bullet and began a casual conversation around the table that included him. As the night wore on, we chatted with only a tiny glimmer of awkward between us and then it dawned on me that I was holding on to my resentment and anger towards him for so long, that I hadn't noticed that he had changed over the years. That he was no longer the narcissistic, egotistical attention-seeking whore he once was and he was actually pretty decent. I was finally ready to let go of the past and what happened between us and accept it for what it was.

Not that I was ready to trust him again...or anything like that.

At the end of the evening, I walked back to my chalet with my uncle, aunt and sisters and was surprised when he joined us. It was quite cold and when I complained about the chill in the air, he took off his Jacket and handed it to me. I could NOT believe he did that... seriously, and in front of everyone too. So I said "No thanks, I'm fine", and he said "No, take it", and I said "No thanks" and he said "Here take it"... really it went on like that for a good 5 minutes much to everyone elses delight and entertainment. And in all the time, I kept on denying it, saying that it was fine, he insisted that I take it. I cannot begin to describe how embarrassing it was.

Anyway, so we get to my uncle's chalet, and he invites us in for tea. I had to pick my jaw up from the ground... this is a guy who would rather dunk me in a swimming pool... and he's inviting me for freaking TEA. At this point, determined to put this right before I left, I accepted the invitation and soon my aunt was making us tea and all the other guests had mysteriously disappeared leaving the four of us to engage in small talk. It was surreal. And by the end of the night, I actually felt sorry for him. I decided to leave first - because everyone was tired and I didn't want anyone to feel obligated to be there.

As I left I felt a twinge of regret. See, this is men... they never realise what they have until it's too late because they're always looking for someone else to make them feel better about themselves. I guess some women are like that too, but it's mostly men. And then 10 years down the line they want to fix it and they can't. And what grates me is that most of them know, they know that they will never meet someone as great or wonderful or attentive but that doesn't stop them from being assholes.

Like my 34 year old friend Jenna. Just yesterday she told me about this guy Scott that she's seeing who explicitly told her that she can never bank on him being the one for her or that there was a good chance that their relationship might not go anywhere important (a snetiment which she accepted). But then when she made a joke about her future husband taking her to Paris for their honeymoon, he got upset and asked her if she was just using him and if he wasn't good enough for her. She got angry and told him that maybe it would be better if they remained friends and then he called her that night, CRYING on the phone, telling her that he can't go back to being friends and that he can't live without her and that he loves her kids like they're his own blah blah blah.. and I was like, dude, YOU told her that there's no future for you guys so why are you crying about it now?!?

I told her not to make too much of it... that it seems like he had good intentions, he wanted to take things slow and he wants to be cautious while taking their relationship towards marriage (because most people in SA get married - particularly amongst the older generations - it's a part of our conservative culture) but that things seem to be out of his hands and what he says and does is two different things... it's just that he doesn't realise what exactly he wants.

So I told her all this... and it makes sense to me. But I can't believe the same about my uncle's best friend. I know he's changed. I know he's a different person. I know everyone else likes him and they all think it's a great idea for us to be together. But I can't help feeling that the only reason that everyone is so invested in this idea is because we're two single people that have known each other for a long time. I've forgiven him for lying to me, and hurting me. And I do feel bad for being so harsh on him all these years. But even though my cousins want to stalk him this weekend, I'm not so keen to jump back into that pool. Aside from not wanting to make the same mistakes again, I will NEVER run after a man... unless he's Damon and Damon doesn't exist. If he wants this, he's got to put some effort into it.

Maybe I'm being unreasonable...

Coz...

2011-09-05T14:10:00.004+02:00

Azra is:

perceptive, observant, reflective, painfully shy, emotionally sensitive, vulnerable, self-conscious, a believer, a perfectionist, brutally honest,

constantly searching,

too intelligent for own good, too passionate for own good, cynical, sarcastic, masochistic,

believes equality doesn’t have clauses, believes stupidity doesn’t have a cure, believes laughter is the only cure, believes the concept of superiority is a disease in the minds of all its employers,

likes structure, prone to episodes of spontaneity, addicted to caffeine, resentfully realistic, ninety-eight percentile open-minded, reliable, doesn’t trust anyone, brave, afraid to make the wrong choices, often misunderstood, optimistic, driven, pessimistic, pro nationalisation of Nutella pancakes, always questioning convention, selectively motivated, feisty, opinionated,

always getting the broken one,

idealistic, romantic, an emotional chocoholic, occasionally foul-mouthed, more likely to get mad then sad, cautious, terrified of failure, a non-conformist, an outcast, severely impatient, loves people, hates people, extrovert, introvert, a loner, loathes weakness, abhors arrogance

convinced the memo was lost in the post,

a lover, a fighter, anti-feminist, anti-capitalist, anti-culturalist, squandering untapped potential, nationalistic, unpatriotic, living too much in the past or future and not enough in the present, a reluctant wanderer, always wondering why she can’t be fucking normal,

perpetually seeking,

discontented,

lost,

tired.

concept stolen from Irfaan, guess that makes me a thief too

Coz this is how it went down...

2011-09-02T14:16:00.002+02:00

Almost 2 Billion Muslims worldwide celebrated Eid at some point in the last few days. Eid celebrations vary culturally from region to region, but the common thread is kindness, generosity and hospitality, even to complete strangers. The day starts off quite early with a sermon and prayers to thank The Almighty for bestowing us with the month of Ramadan. What usually follows are greetings and well wishes to all and sundry and a day long feast. In most Muslim countries, festivities go on between 3 to 7 days.

SOUTH AFRICA - Muslim population: 1 million
Men gather at the Sea Point Promenade in Cape Town to sight the moon.

Kwa-Zulu Natal Premier Zweli Mkhize joins the early morning prayers in Verulam in support and solidarity with muslims in the region celebrating Eid.

BRAZIL - Muslim population: 200 thousand

People celebrate in Foz do Iguaçu.

SYRIA - Muslim population: 20.5 million

Men prepare Baklava and other treats for the Eid feast.

THAILAND - Muslim population: 4 million

Women prepare food for the special day.

RUSSIA - Muslim population: 20 million

Over 500 000 people in Moscow attended early morning Eid prayers.

MEXICO - Muslim population: 110 thousand

People celebrated in Mexico City.

AFGHANISTAN - Muslim population: 28 million

Police patrol while people gathered at one of Kabul's mosques.

BULGARIA - Muslim population: 2 million

Men attended the mosque at dawn for early morning prayers.

FRANCE - Muslim population: 4.5 million

France is home to 10% of the total European Muslim population of approximately 45 million people. Men and women attended the Eid-gah in Paris.

NEPAL - Muslim population: 1.5 million

Revellers release balloons in Kathmandu.

USA - Muslim population: 7 million

Around 15 000 people attended the Eid-gah in Bridgeview, Illinois.

Women gathered for prayer in Staten Island, New York.

Samantha Sarwono and her kids pray at the LA convention centre.

People greet each other in San Diego, California.

PHILLIPINES - Muslim population: 5 million

People prostrate in prayer in the country's capital, Manila.

LIBYA - Muslim population: 6.5 million

Celebrating their victory over Gaddafi, millions of Libyans prostrate in submission to The Almighty.

Children make their way to one of the country's idyllic beaches.

SAUDI ARABIA - Muslim population: 25 million

Millions descend to the Kabbah at dawn for the Eid-gah.

CHINA - Muslim population: 50 million

A man takes a photo in the mosque in Beijing.

BOSNIA - Muslim population: 1.5 million

Men greet each other in the street.

EGYPT - Muslim population: 78.5 million

Hundreds of thousands of people in Cairo prostrate in prayer.

Children play in Tahrir Square while guards look on.

GREECE - Muslim population: 350 thousand

Boy stands while men pray in Athens.

INDONESIA - Muslim population: 203 million

Women pray in Jakarta.

KOSOVO - Muslim population: 2 million

Men and women pray at the Eid-gah.

PAKISTAN - Muslim population: 175 million

Girl displays her (still wet) henna design in Karachi.

CANADA - Muslim population: 700 thousand

Boy looks on as men pray at Toronto's Metro Convention Centre.

INDIA - Muslim population: 161 million

Bollywood superstar Shah Rukh Khan greets fans ahead of his Eid celebrations.

Women stand in prayer in Srinagar, Kashmir.

BANGLADESH - Muslim population: 145 million
Passengers sit on top of a crowded train in Jamalpur in a rush to get home for festivities.

ALBANIA - Muslim population: 2.5 million

Women attend the Eid-gah.

IRAN - Muslim population: 74 million

The Shi'ite/Shia majority celebrated on Wednesday. Iranian villagers gathered and clapped as a groom and his bride danced at a traditional wedding during Eid al-Fitr celebrations in Talesh. It's a popular time to get married.

An Iranian woman walks into the Imamzadeh Helal-ebne Ali Shrine in Kashan City, south of Tehran.

ITALY - Muslim population: 825 thousand

People gathered in Palermo for the Eid-gah prayer.

More than 30 000 were expected to descend on Europe's biggest Mosque in Rome after authorities banned prayers in other areas. Mayor of Rome, Gianni Alemanno visited the mosque and the people.

LEBANON - Muslim population: 3 million

Mother and children enjoy theme park rides in Beirut.

SURINAM - Muslim population: 100 thousand

People celebrate in Wanica by dancing and beating on their drums.

PALESTINE - Muslim population: 5.5 million

Men, women and children greet each other outside The Dome of the Rock on the grounds of Masjid-ul-Aqsa.

ROMANIA - Muslim population: 70 thousand

Women show their hands decorated with henna in Bucharest.

All images found all over the internet courtesy Associated Press, Zimbio, Getty Images, UPI, Reuters etc. etc. All population statistics are estimates and not the exact figures.

Coz theres nothing worse than waiting for your day to end & it feels like it's dragging on through eternity...

2011-08-30T19:00:00.001+02:00

Turns out, the moon wasn't sighted in SA yesterday, but the good news is that tomorrow is definitely Eid! Today has been quite challenging... maybe it's because I couldn't wait for this day to end and it seemed like it had been going on FOREVER...

Onto other things, this is what we (my family) call Boeber (pronounced Boo-ber). That's what people in the Malay and Mixed cultures here in SA call warmed milk with almonds and vermicelli or sago/tapioca. It's less of a dessert and more of a sweetened nourishing drink that we have on our holy days and nights or whenever we feel like it. It's our version of eggnog, only there's no egg and there's definitely no nog.

Now some of the Indians/Asians here call it Eid Milk or Vermicelli Milk or Badaam/Almond Milk. Someone even suggested that Boeber is the same as Kheer, but it isn't because Kheer is of a much thicker consistency and made with rice or wheat. I seriously don't know what other nations or cultures call it. Anyways, this is dedicated to Michelle although I highly recommend anyone try it. The main ingredient here is Full Cream Milk. Every other ingredient serves to add flavour or substance to the drink.

Put two litres of milk (a little more than half a gallon) on the stove, add a few cardamom pods and cinnamon sticks and bring to a boil (I use about 3 pods and 3 sticks per litre but its subject to your preferences).

Then, put a handful or two of vermicelli pasta into a separate dry pot or pan and let the thin strands roast on the stove (I use a small handful per litre of milk). Vermicelli is a very very thin fragile type of pasta. It looks like Spaghetti's anorexic cousin and it cooks really quickly.

Once the milk comes to a boil, add a cup of sugar (for 2 litres- again user discretion is advised), as well as the the roasted vermicilli strands and about two heaped table-spoons of condensed milk and stir. Lower the heat considerably and let it boil on the minimum heat so that the vermicelli cooks thoroughly. Add a handful or two of sliced almonds and sultana raisins to the milk, let it simmer for a while until the vermicilli is cooked, pour into a mug and enjoy!

Tip: The condensed milk is optional but flavourful. So are the almonds and sultana raisins. These can be inter-changed with a handful or two of desicated coconut or precooked sago/tapioca pearls. Some people omit the vermicelli and substitute it with sago/tapioca instead. I've had Boeber many many times in almost every conceivable variation. In some instances I've had it with all of the ingredients cooked together i.e. almonds, sultanas, coconut, vermicelli and sago/tapioca. Some people don't like it very sweet and don't add much sugar while others like it very sweet and will have you sweating saccharine by the time you're done savouring a serving of the stuff. Either way, it's a lovely way to warm up the insides, particularly on a cold winters day and it's probably what I'll be having tomorrow for breakfast ;)

Coz we wait patiently...

2011-08-29T13:55:00.003+02:00

I don't think words could ever articulate the feeling and emotion behind the concept of Unity. That despite all the differences amongst us, Muslims around the world can come together for a common purpose and share in the excitement that comes with that. It is truly a Mercy and a Blessing from The Almighty to experience this Unity.

The very foundation and essence of Islam is based in the concept of Community... that no man is an island and that we need each other. That is why as a Muslim, your neighbours, the people in your community and their collective well-being are very important and in certain aspects, they share an equal status with one's own family.

Unfortunately, it seems that time and globalisation have eroded our basic morals and values in our modern societies so this ideal holds very little value in the eyes of many average modern Muslims. The idea that I can't eat if my neighbour is starving and that we take care of each other through good times and bad has lost some of its meaning through the years.

And this is where Ramadan and Eid-ul-Fitr remind us of our duties to The Almighty... in much the same way that Christmas reminds everyone else about the importance of family and providing for the less fortunate.

As Ramadan comes to a close, we all wait with abated breath for the sighting of the new moon to mark the beginning of our Eid-ul-Fitr celebrations. It's a funny thing because even though I'm literally hundreds and thousands of miles away from many of my friends around the world who are also fasting, we share the same excitement.

We wait together. We're sad to see a blessed month go, but at the same time, we're excited to experience that sense of Unity. So we wait.

Moonsighting forecast (click for larger visual) from Moonsighting.com

We wait for the moon to be sighted, anxious but hopeful. We wait to tell our friends and family quite excitedly while making mental notes of what needs to be done in preparation for the festive day. We wait to wear our best clothes and do our hair. We wait to cook up a storm and bake enough goodies for all and sundry. We wait to visit our neighbours, friends and family in each others homes with nothing but joy and well wishes. We wait to sample each other's food and eat all the good little chocolates, leaving the toffees and yucky stuff behind for someone else. We wait to greet each other in the street with nothing but a smile on our faces and the light of goodwill in our hearts. We wait to spend time with our loved ones and to reflect on the month that was. We wait, keeping in mind all those who won't be able to have the grandest of feasts and we are grateful for the bounties that have been bestowed upon us by The Almighty.

We wait patiently. Wishing everyone a blessed Eid Mubarak!

Coz I'll fake it until I make it...

2011-08-24T14:05:00.002+02:00

I've been experimenting in the kitchen, trying to compile a list of really easy dessert recipes... y'know for those days you want to make a dessert snack really quickly and without much effort or without having to buy a hundred different ingredients that you might need. Here are a few I'd like to share:

PSEUDO-CHEESECAKE

Well there are really only two ingredients in this recipe, a packet of biscuits (digestives or whatever) and a tub of yoghurt (I had strawberry, but vanilla or plain yoghurt is best).

I blitzed the biscuits into oblivion before putting the crumbs in an oven-proof Pyrex dish. Then, heated up 100g (or so) of butter in the microwave. I was really just winging it, hoping to get the right amount. Mixed the butter and biscuit crumbs together and pressed it gently but firmly into the dish to make a crust.

I then opened the tub of yoghurt and gave it a quick hand-beating before scooping it out on top of the crust, leveling it out, and popping it into the oven for between 20 - 30 minutes on 180C/375F heat. Here you'd want to see if the yoghurt has solidified somewhat and started bubbling slightly on the top before removing it from the oven. And voila, instant cheesecake with less than half the ingredients, time and calories.

Tip: I didn't pre-bake the crust, but in hindsight I'm thinking I should have popped it into the oven for ten minutes or so, removing it and letting it cool before slathering the yoghurt on to the crust. I also used Strawberry yoghurt, but I actually prefer the Vanilla/Plain one because it tastes more authentically cheese-cake-y. And I would suggest layering less yoghurt than I did in the pic, it makes each serving more decadent without overwhelming the taste-buds and has a shorter baking time.

STRAWBERRIES & CREAM

Really, you don't have to be a Rocket Scientist to guess that the two main ingredients here: strawberries and cream. If you got that right, 10 points for you. You can use any strawberries, as long as they're not stolen and any dessert cream. I had a tin of Nestle Dessert Cream... oh happy day. What I usually do is rinse the strawberries in a colander, letting the access water drain before I slice them up into a bowl. You can slice them up any which way that pleases you; whatever tickles your fanny.

I then sprinkled 3 tablespoons of sugar onto the strawberries and mixed it around a bit. Now, you can use brown sugar as a healthier alternative; the amount of sugar you use is really up to you, taking into account individual preferences and quantities. The strawberries should then be covered and left to "stew" in it's own juices for about 2 hours. If it's a particularly hot day, you can let them stew in the refrigerator.

After some time, the strawberries will look all syrupy and delicious... then it's time to layer them with the cream. Be careful not to beat the cream too much, you don't want it to be too runny, a nice thick-ish consistency is what you're looking for. Then go about layering to your hearts content. And it really is as easy as that. Simple and oh so delicious.

Tip: For added substance and to dilute the acidity of the strawberries, slice a banana or two into the mixture as well as some papaya. You can also add some grenadine/granadilla/passion fruit pulp for an added kick of flavour and you'll have yourself a nice tropical summer fruit salad with cream.

CREAMY JELLY PUDDING THING-Y

So I don't have a name for this one, sue me. I can't even remember where we learned to make this dessert. Anyways, main ingredient here is a packet of your favourite Jelly/Jello powder (80 grams) and a can of evaporated milk.

You can start by making the jelly/jello halfway. Most packets require you to add a glass of boiling hot water (between 200ml - 225ml) to the powder as well as a glass of ice cold water before stirring the mixture and letting it set. HOWEVER, for this recipe, you only need the glass of boiling hot water for the jelly/jello powder, that is 225ml of hot water for 80g of whatever flavour jelly powder.

Mix the jelly powder and hot water well before adding it to the can of evaporated milk. Blitz the mixture in a blender for about 10 to 15 seconds. Pour into the mould or dish, cover and store it in the freezer for 20 - 30 minutes to set. Remove and put it into the refrigerator and presto... you have a nice creamy jelly-ish pudding for dessert.

Tip: For extra creamy-ness, add whatever leftover cream you may have from the Strawberries and Cream before blitzing all the ingredients together, a table spoon or two would do. Blitz for no longer than a few seconds at a time, you don't want the mixture to become too frothy. And if you happen to forget the dessert in the freezer, it's no train-smash. Simply let it thaw and it will be good to eat in no time.

Bon Appetit!

Coz I miss the silence of the stars...

2011-08-22T23:44:00.000+02:00

My mind is still buzzing with thoughts and ideas and indecision over the most mundane things, for the past week. It's like I can't come to a resolution and I'm struggling for something definitive. Sounds so arbitrary and ambiguous I know, but I can't even muster the appropriate words to explain my current state of mind.

All I've been thinking of lately, is that one particular night, on one of my many long haul flights back to SA. I'm sure I've mentioned this somewhere on this blog before - but it's late and being the absolute shite blogger that I am, I can't be bothered to check where.

I honestly can't remember where I was returning from but it was the middle of the night and most of the passengers were sleeping in the dimmed cabin. Awake and bored, I leaned closer to the window from my window-seat and looked out into the black night. To get a better view, I narrowed my vision, cupping both hands to the sides of my face, blocking out excess light and peripheral vision.

It was then that I saw the most spectacular view I've ever seen in my entire life - a midnight sky filled with billions of glittering iridescent stars that stretched on forever, disappearing into the horizon and a full moon shining on the coastline below, illuminating the sky and tracing the rugged shore with a thin luminous silver line. The sea looked still, as if it was basking in the light of the moon and for the longest time, it felt like I was suspended in air - just floating along with the stars and the moon and looking down at that amazing view. I remember wondering to myself, quite arbitrarily, if I was by any chance closer to God in any of those moments... I'm guessing not.

Never-the-less, The Almighty is surely the best painter of landscapes. Sometimes I wish I could go back there.

Anyways, I have an Italian friend on Facebook who's been lamenting his wife's absence for the past two months. She's left Rome for a visit to her home town in Malaysia and he misses her every single day. It's quite endearing to watch him profess his love to her and his longing to be with her again. It reminds me of a time when the world was supposedly more chivalrous... I wouldn't know when that was because all the good men seem to have died along with that era.

My friend's emotion and sentiments have definitely struck a chord with me. It's made me realise that men love in two ways... they either love with their ego's (as most men do with their hunter genes), or they love with their hearts. Men who love with their ego's make it all about them... it's a somewhat selfish admission and has more to do with him than the object of his affection. And any defect in the relationship is bitter to it's core, sometimes even exposing a nasty misogynistic streak. But they recover quickly and it isn't long before they've hopped along onto a new ego-stroking adventure.

But men who love with the heart... they're one of a kind. It's actually rare in this day and age. They love completely and self-lessly. There's both a strength and a vulnerability in their passion. They are almost fearless but they don't recover as quickly if the relationship goes south.

It could be true that some men who love with their hearts could love with their ego's in equal measure as well. However, I'm not inclined to believe the reverse - that a man who loves with his ego can love with his heart at the same time. But then again, what do I know... maybe they do, maybe they don't or maybe they simply can't.

In any case, my Italian friend definitely loves with his heart. And it's a profoundly beautiful thing to witness a man love so wholly because he's unashamed, unapologetic and generous with his heart... almost as beautiful as those glorious luminous stars that shine in the endless midnight sky.

Coz it's not supposed to be easy...

2011-08-17T22:21:00.002+02:00

"So you don't eat or drink anything for the entire day, not even a drop of water?", I get this question sometimes. "Yes, it's not that difficult", I reply... to which most respond with "I could never do that, I'd DIE!".

The first non-official rule of fasting is to STAY AWAY FROM THE GROCERY STORE. Which one, you ask? EVERY SINGLE ONE! How many times haven't we, as fasting people, gone in to buy some milk and came out with at least 100 other items that we convince ourselves we're going to eat but can either never seem to get to it, or we find it doesn't taste the way we expected it to?

The grocery store is somewhat of a catalyst. To what, you ask? Well I can only think of it as a Pregnancy Syndrome of sorts. It's horrendous. Ever watch one of those movies where the pregnant female wanted ice-cream and gherkins at like 1:00am in the morning? And not just any ice-cream... a specific brand that they only sell in a specific shop which just happens to be closed or out of stock? Well it's something similar.

For instance, it's like one day I'll want Lindt Chocolate Brownies. And maybe on this particular day, unlike other days, the craving is unbearable. So no one understands just how much I WANT the bloody Lindt Chocolate Brownies dammit! And I don't want just any Lindt Chocolate Brownies, I want THE Lindt Chocolate Brownies that they sell at JB's Corner in Melrose Arch and I want the scoop of vanilla ice-cream with the strawberry poised decadently on the top AND I want it to taste exactly like it did when I was out with my girlfriends on that warm balmy day when we couldn't stop laughing - I want to feel the goosebumps up my spine and the ecstasy in my brain from the chocolate overload - the exact same way I felt when I put the first spoonful in my mouth a few years ago. NOTHING ELSE WILL DO!!

And that's when I usually get a bitch-slap on the back of my head from one of my sisters. Get a grip. It's not like I've never had the Lindt Chocolate Brownies before, and it's not like I'm not going to have them ever again. The whole point of fasting is not to give in to your desires for one month out of the rest of the year that we spend being debaucherous cows.

There are many times when you'll find people complaining when they're fasting... they're hungry or they're tired (that's my number one complaint) or they're thirsty or its hot or it's cold etc etc. It never ends. But if we look at it carefully, it's not supposed to be easy innit. The entire point of fasting is to face the difficulty head on, to know what it feels like for those who have not, to remember what you have and be grateful for it. It's a time when we ask The Almighty for forgiveness and we cleanse our souls. And no one said cleaning is easy. Seriously, some stains just cannot come out. That's the kind of dirty that don't get clean.

Cleaning your soul isn't going to be a walk in the park either.

It's not that difficult, really. The laws are simple. Fast if you are healthy enough to do so, if not then pay alms. All through my life I've had friends from other faiths join me in fasting... at work two of my colleagues quite enjoy it. A few years ago, it was a few of my flatmates in London. A few years before that, it was a friend at University. And before that, it was half of the school population.

I went to a predominantly Christian school. Actually, it was a Christian School and I just happened to be one of the 5 Muslims there out of a population of over 2000. Every morning at assembly, everyone would stand up and sing a hymn while half of the handful of us that weren't Christian would stare silently at the stage and the other half would sing along just for the hell of it... often substituting words like "Jesus Christ" with "Cheese & Rice".

We were a rat-pack of sorts, "brown" Muslims in a predominantly white Christian school... the dots on the Dalmatian, but quite popular amongst the masses none-the-less. I'd walk along the corridors and have strange people call me from the third floor "Hey you... I like you". I was quirky and down right crazy back then too and would curtsy or wink or tip my imaginery hat to my "fans".

I always think of my friend Reza when I think of my school days. He was one of a kind. Still is. He had the ability to make almost 2000 people wish they were Indian and Muslim too. He was a handsome guy, hilarious and oh so very charming. His calm assurance and air of confidence bordered on arrogance... and people just loved him. By the end of our stint in high school there were hoardes of white people swearing in all kinds of native languages, and also saying things like Insha'Allah (God-Willing) or Masha'Allah in their everyday speech; and at least half of them were fasting along with us during Ramadan too.

Those were good days, but we never internalised the meaning of fasting. We just did it because we had to. I'm glad I found my way into an "enlightenment" of sorts. Seeing the bigger picture. It's definitely a month of reflecting and charity. Let us not forget all the others whose hunger never abates; those who are cold and homeless and can never warm up enough; those whose thirst cannot be quenched. In the grander scheme of things we're all just two steps away of being one of them. Give whatever you can, with an open heart and mind.

Coz I come from kings and peasants...

2011-08-15T14:35:00.010+02:00

My spiritual retreat has become a little more like ashes in the wind. I can't actually explain it. There's so many things going through my mind but I'm struggling to put them all on paper, or blog in this case. On top of that, I'm struggling to keep up. I have so many people to respond to and so many emails to read. It's like there's always 100 things going on but at least 90 of them slip through the cracks because I either don't get to it on time or I'm zoned out, only to recall them at the most inconvenient of times (read bath-time).

So I've decided to tackle the biggest request so far. Many people have enquired about me and my family etc. Now, I've spoken about myself on this blog many times and it would be easy for me to give everyone a bunch of links but I realise that I have a lot of new readers and maybe it would be better to just do a quick re-cap. Maybe this is what I will tell my own children one day...

I was born and raised in Johannesburg, South Africa, to a very ethnically and culturally diverse family, Mother's family being the epicentre of that diversity. My mother's parents were well known in their circles and I've blogged about how they met before.

My late grandfather was initially known as Cecil Patrick and came from a Catholic family, with strong French roots and Jewish ancestry. His grandmother was a French woman who left home and married out of her race before giving birth to his mother, Edith Brown. He was as much of a brawler as he was quirky and eccentric and always challenged the oppressive authorities. Often mistaken for Portuguese during the Apartheid era, he would take the "whites-only" buses and when they realised who he was, he'd say 'sit my uit, sit my uit, ek is klaar by my huis!' (kick me out, kick me out, I'm already at home!). Most weekends he'd invite his friends and family over and they'd play cards or dominoes and when he was tired, he'd kick them all out saying 'fokkof, loop almal van julle, ek is nou moeg, uit' (f***-off, leave all of you, I'm tired, get out) and they'd reluctantly leave until the next weekend. He was always seeking for something more, some deeper spiritual connection in his life as he once said, but it was only after his brother Daniel murdered his wife, that he and most of his brothers (and sister) converted to Islam.

His wife, my late grandmother was an independent feisty woman who also left home in her early twenties to go and work in a clothing factory in Sophiatown in the 60's. Her grandfather was an Irish immigrant, Edward Brooks who came to South Africa in those early years looking for opportunities. He too married out of his race, to a Malaysian woman, and a few years later in the mid-1920's, my great-grandmother, Leah Brooks was born. Leah, as she was initially known, converted to Islam when she married my great-grandfather, an Indian immigrant who broke away from his royal family's roots and traditions in the name of love and whiskey. He had a penchant for it even though he was quite a religious man! Most of my grandmother's extended family married outside the realms of culture and race; the result being that one or two of her first cousins are Chinese, whilst a few others are Arab and can trace their lineage back to the Prophet Muhammad (saw) etc. etc.

My maternal Grandparent's barely had anything in the way of material wealth. They were poor and whatever money they made went to feeding the 8 children they had. But even so, they always ALWAYS took care of others too. As Mother recalls, there was never a time when they didn't have someone staying with them in their modest home. It was either a homeless couple, or a widow, or one of my Grandfather's stray directionless friends. Their home was always open to people in need, no matter how much or how little they had.

On my father's side of the family...

My paternal grandfather (father's father if we must be pedantic) was an immigrant too. Ethnographically speaking, he had strong Persian roots but that's about as much as we know about him because he was an orphan and grew up in a mosque in the mountainous region of the Swat Valley on the border of Afghanistan and Pakistan...

So where he came from, and how he got there, no one really knows. He became an Islamic Scholar and an Imam (Priest) of the mosque before setting sail for South African shores. Some time after his arrival, he married my grandmother, a third-generation Indian (meaning her grandmother came from somewhere in India). By temperament, my grandfather was one of the calmest people around, with a wonderfully peaceful and pleasant countenance.

What made him a phenomenal person was his character. As an Islamic Scholar and Imam of one of the main mosques in Johannesburg, he didn't always ascribe to the ways of his culture. In fact he adapted to his new country, so aside from Fridays and religious holidays, he mostly wore a three-piece pin-stripped suit (complete with waist-coat) with his pants down to his ankles (not folded up above the ankles like many of the holy and sanctimonious folk) and polished shoes. He traveled extensively to other mosques in different regions of the country. On these journey's he often encountered Muslims whose ways and practices were not like his own, but he never reprimanded them, or corrected them... if a ritual did not go against Islamic law, he respected the context in which it was observed and practiced and never tried to change it. As a leader and as someone who was aware of people's rights and preferences, he always let the people choose and decide for themselves how they wanted to live and never interfered even when they deliberately erred. If he didn't agree with something, he merely sat aside and smiled and waited for them to complete their practices. He never ever condemned anyone to hell for not worshiping the way he did. The result was that people loved to be around him and everywhere he went, they would compete with each other for his attention and they would try to persuade him to their side. But he would just smile his smile, acknowledging their presence, making them feel worthy of his company, without siding with anyone or ascribing to their ways.

And just like my mother's parents, my father's parents too were endlessly helping others, always in the service of humanity. My grandfather would counsel people and help them in any way he could... and it didn't matter if they were Muslim, Christian, Hindu or Jewish - people from all races, religions and cultures often sought his counsel, giving him very little but precious time with his family. One day he was leading the Congregation in the mosque on one of our holiest days on the calender and as he kneeled down, his forehead touching the ground in Sujud (prostration and the ultimate submission to God), he passed away. Most of the people who were following him didn't even know he was gone until they realised that he wasn't getting up to continue the prayers. He passed away peacefully, in a position that Muslims consider to be the closest to God and he is still fondly remembered to this day, so much so that 40 years later, complete strangers still approach me in the street, wagging their fingers or nodding in nostalgia they'll say "Your Grandfather, he was a very great man".

Sadly, I lost most of my grandparents at a really young age, so I never got to know them personally. I got to know my last remaining (maternal) grandmother until the age of 11 and ironically, the only one I got to know really well was my Great-Grandmother, who lived well into her nineties (I was in my early twenties when she passed on). These are the accounts I hear from their children, including my parents, and the people around them, and all those people they helped along the way.

Coz the world's gone to shit but we still need to eat...

2011-08-09T22:29:00.000+02:00

Whenever I feel like being a masochist, I hop on over to What Katie Ate and proceed to die salivating. She certainly has some amazing culinary skills. Just check out her home made pasta dishes especially the Cannelloni and the delicious looking Chocolate Salted Caramel Hazelnut Pie.

I spend a lot of my time off cooking, and love it. I can make almost anything but I'm certainly no professional. I'm sure if I had a chance to do a career makeover, I'd be a chef. It's another public holiday (aren't we lucky) and I found myself channelling my inner domestic goddess - it wasn't so much hunger than it was the need to keep busy that kept me going before breaking my fast.

So feeling very generous, I offered to cook for everyone and took orders. Mother wanted grilled fish and scones... for separate occasions of course... the fish was marinaded in a blend of crushed garlic and ginger, cumin and coriander (cilantro) spices, salt, lemon juice, fresh coriander finely chopped and olive oil.

The siblings wanted pizza... lots of it.

And so I prepared this Cajun Chicken pizza. The chicken is cubed and cooked with Cajun spices and sauces and the pizza is topped with chedder, green peppers and oregano.

The Pepper Steak pizza had steak strips previously cooked in a marinade of salt, pepper and Worcester sauce and the pizza is topped with a combination of Gouda and Chedder cheeses as well as sweet Italian peppers.

And then I had to decide between the fish... naturally I went for the less healthy option and chose the pizza instead.

And then there was dessert. First up Sweet Pumpkin, cubed and thrown in a pot with a half cup of brown sugar, a few whole cinnamon sticks and a drizzle of olive oil cooked on medium heat until soft and sticky and served with dessert cream.

Mother had a scone but she didn't like it. Served here with Nutella, bananas and cream.

I guess you win some, you lose some.

So, does anyone need a personal chef? ;)

Coz certain things are inevitable...

2011-08-07T22:40:00.000+02:00

There's something about a very late or very early phone call that immediately spells trouble. I don't like late night or early morning calls... it makes my heart jump and my ears perk on high alert to hear if anything is out of the ordinary. When Mother's chatting on the phone in Afrikaans, I know she's talking to one of her many siblings, just a few more minutes into the conversation and I'll figure out exactly who she's talking to.

Mother and her family are weird like that. Their first language (mother tongue) is Afrikaans yet every single one of them converse with their kids in English. So when they talk to each other, they'll speak in Afrikaans, but the minute one of them addresses one of their children, nieces or nephews - they switch to English.

Back to unwelcoming phone calls. It's always bad news. On Wednesday, my aunt (mother's sister) was taken to hospital and diagnosed with lung cancer. She's only 48 years old. Now I've lost various members of my extended family suffering from various ailments over the past two years, people I've known... people I've been "close" to... but the prospect of death has never been this close to home since I lost my Grandmother in 1994. Mother's family is quite close, so this is different than the other aunts or second aunts or grand aunts I've lost before... not that we've lost her yet.

And not that she cares. Mother's family don't do grand emotional displays... or should I say, they're very strong so nothing really cripples them emotionally. Looking at her in her hospital bed, she complained about the TV and the remote and joked about how dying would be easier than watching all the crap on TV. And when Mother called her yesterday to ask whether she should visit her in hospital she said in Afrikaans "Save your energy for the day you need to bath me".

Still, I can imagine it must be difficult for my Mother to watch her older sister - the sister she's been close to for many years - laying in a hospital bed with lung cancer.

It made me think about my own life and my own sisters. I don't want them to be all sad and maudlin. I want them to remember all the times I complained about how much I hate this effing world, quote a few of lines from Chris Tucker's movies, laugh, make dua (pray) for me, let it go and LIVE their lives to the fullest.

I suppose it doesn't hurt to plan for the inevitability of death, no matter how depressing it may be. So if anything should happen to me, I've asked my sister to delete both my Facebook and Twitter accounts, as well as this blog. There's nothing worse than looking at a deceased person's profile and reading their last words and trying to analyse their timeline, wondering if they had any indication that they'd be dead within a week. It's just plain spooky and disrespectful. I definitely wouldn't want my words hanging in the air, waiting to be plagiarised or desecrated at someone's whim or fancy.

The art of losing isn't hard to master.