You don't get to play therapist right now...

"You don't get to play therapist right now..."

With that words, my friend turned around and walked out of the room. It was the countless discussion that she's tried having with me about my latest furious mood swing. I could see that she was tired of trying to reason with me and getting behind the true story. She stopped again halfway. Didn't turn around. "I get that you don't want to let me into your head. I get it more than you think, but just don't tell me that you don't need me. You need me more than you think."

Yes. I'm am indeed afraid of letting people into my head. It's the thing I fear the most, after death, that somebody is going to finally figure me out and peg me to the stereotype in life that I fit with. My whole life I have been walking around with the voice in my head, constantly talking to my conscience. When I told my friend that she doesn't get the chance to play therapist with me, I was more afraid of blabbing out everything in once complete sentence.

What did I end up saying after she declared she needed me: "My mother and father have done more damage than good to me... I might sound like a spoilt brat or a ungratefull son, but the truth is that you are looking at somebody who's kept quiet about their secrets for long enough, so much that it has been causing issues that you'll never understand. I say again. You don't get to play therapist right now."]

I managed to say what I wanted and kept the secrets intact at the same time. She stood... still. The whispered: "You know how they say the truth will set you free. You should try it sometime."

Come on and get your armor...

I've been urged from many sides to start and write about my love life on this blog.

Fine. Let's jump into the pool. Head first, deep side looming.

It may not seem to many who don't really know me that I don't have a love life. Surprise surprise... I actually do.

Although I can count the relationships I have had on my one hand, I really don't mind. I can actually speak out of experience and say that I am lucky to have a above average love life. It's not that I'm being vain about it - I'm just stating the fact.

So, why don't I share my experience with cheaters.

I had this thought yesterday: Are people so scared these days to venture into a relationship that they now hop around from person to person? Or even worse, when finding somebody you actually love, do you really "make a mistake" by loving somebody else?

After I was cheated for the ... 4'th time by somebody, I decided to just be young and free again. I did this thing where I went on a serial dating-spree, no feelings, just living for that moment.

It was wrong of me to expect that I wouldn't hurt myself, yet alone other people. I did in the end, end up with this big mess that I'm still cleaning up. I can still blame the previous ex for what they did, but I did it to myself didn't I?

So my ex. What did they do? Well - I found a string of sms's on their phone from somebody else. It was indeed emotional cheating and I'm still left to wonder if it was physical cheating as well. I chose to keep quiet about the SMS's and try and win their love over just like I could do best. In the end I turned into this Basic Instinct Psycho that went and got too obsessed. And when they left me I got the speech: "I need to focus on my exams. I can't deal this stress now." I was told that it would be 22 days before I would get my final answer as to if the relationship would survive or not. 22 Days passed and I had to drag an answer out there: "I should've probably told you weeks ago, but it's not going to work. Sorry. We can still be kinky friends if you want to?"

It was not the same as the previous 3, but hey - It was enough to finally make me scared of love and make me run the other way if somebody came charging to me with hearts for eyes.

What did I do wrong? What could I have done better? Where did I go wrong?
I may want to keep thinking where I went wrong, but  then I realize that I'm right where I need to be.

For the first time in my life I can actually say I am content with where I am. 

For now, in this moment in my life, I can truly say that I am content and happy with where I am. 

I might not be happy with the fact of being single again, but I like the idea of getting use to it. 

In this moment I just want to be. Without any strings attached to anything. I just want to experience life with my new glasses on. 

For now, I love this moment. For now, I'm smiling again.

I won't forget you

This is probably the most personal blog to date.

In February of 2002 I lost my grandmother to Alzheimer's...

Ouma Jacobs, as I refer to her, was the last of my grandparents to pass away.

I was too young to remember my grandfathers. I knew my grandmothers a bit better. But, I was too young to have built a relationship with all of them.

One evening I got to watch this interesting documentary, Project Alzheimer's on Movie Magic 2. Maria Shriver, daughter to the Shriver-dynasty, was presenting the show, and told of her own father, who had Alzheimer's. Never before I related to a documentary as documentaries make me sleepy or scared like some doccies focus on serial killers or somebody that survived great trauma.

In this part of the documentary, they focused on the grandchildren of people with Alzheimer's. Hence why I shared emotion with this episode in the documentary. The kids all were aged between 6-16 and were sharing their emotions on their grandparents having Alzheimer's. Most of them teared up - not out of sadness, but fear. You could see fear's grip on them, not even trying to loosen it's hold.

During a certain part of the documentary, this one specific girl, Allissa, decided that she would make a documentary of her grandma's life. She interviewed her dad, talked to friends of her grandmother and got learn of this wonderful lady who loved hosting parties and being social. She then, at the end, went to her grandma, who was now at the worst stage of Alzheimer's. She couldn't talk, walk or focus. Her grandfather was there too, and told the girl the story of how they met, and how much he cares for her. Near the end of the visit, he then took her grandmother's hand, kissed it and smiled at her.

Okay - let me pause her quick. I am a person that strives for moments in life where I can witness true love.

After kissing her hand, her grandmother leaned forward and kissed her grandfather on the lips about three times. It was a moment where I realized, even through the Alzheimer's and decay of her once young and fresh mind, that she knew who her true love was and that she didn't forget him.

I cried. I wept. I smiled.

I never had the chance to say goodbye to my grandmother - I think my mother wanted me to not see my grandma at her worst. It was already excruciating enough for her to just phone her mother, yet alone take me to see her every few months if we could go.

My mother seldom talks about my grandma. I think she's shut the traumatizing experience away in a vault, trying not to remember the worse or not to burst out in tears.

I miss my grandparents some days so much - their wisdom and just the extra love that they have to share with the little ones they saw growing up.

Okay. So, in our one closet, with all our photo albums, I know of the one album with pictures of my grandma that I'm going to look for when I have a quiet evening again.

Maria Shriver ended the episode perfectly by saying:  "I like to surround myself with pictures of my dad of the way I want to remember him. When I walk in the door I just try to go, even though I'm 52 years old, "Hi Daddy, It's Maria, your daughter." I'll always be his daughter Maria, and it's okay if I have to reintroduce myself. I just concentrate on the fact, that I am still lucky enough to still have my dad."

The stuff fairytales are made of

We all remember the bed time stories of our childhood. The shoe fit Cinderella, the frog was turned into a prince, sleeping beauty was awakened with a kiss. Once upon a time and then they lived happily ever after. Fairy tales. The stuff of dreams. 

But then. The problem is: fairy tales don't come true. It's the other stories. The ones that start in dark and stormy nights and end in the unspeakable. The nightmares always seem to become the reality and have a way of ending up with every dark cloud having a silver lining.

I know this one girl whom I regularly chat with. Her child is now 6 years old and she refuses that her little girl read fairy tales or delve into Disney movies with princess and ball gowns. The father, or her ex-finance left. Just disappeared one day. Went to work, never came back. Her prince charming took his white horse and road into the sunset and left her with a little baby girl. In her story, he will always be the guy who left her. Now, she refuses that her little girl read any fairy tales in the hope that she won't get her hopes up and expect a Prince Charming who will run after her and bring her the lost shoe she left at the ball, or rescue her from the tallest tower. Her little girl now lives in reality.

Reality. It's it so much more interesting than living happily ever after? 

It's rare that the happily ever after ever happens. There is a reason why fairytales end when they do. The crystal clear image should be kept. They don't want to tell kids or most grown ups that Cinderella grew tired of being perfect and ran off with the stable boy or Sleeping Beauty who lied about how her finger actually got pricked. Snow White's stepmother did eventually return, and got her way - evil doesn't die that quick. 

Reality, as scary as it is, is what happens in the end. 

As I said, it's the story that starts with the dark and stormy night and ends in an unspeakable way - it's that story which kids should be told.

Dream a little dream of me

As a child you use to spend hours thinking up little movies in your mind. It's what doctors and so called psychologists call daydreaming. 

Daydreaming is an all around activity. I'm pretty much sure everybody can say they do it at least once a day. It would be a shame to meet somebody who has lost the ability to dream.

It might be naive and surreal to live in a dream and spend your time thinking up fantasy's that you can get caught up in for hours. 

Sometimes you end up with a smile on your face, or you sit with a blank stare. Other times the fear or worry etches it's way into your face. Or, other times, that naughty little smile on your face can raise suspision as to what you are really thinking about.

I believe that living in your fantasy is sometimes better than the harsh reality we face. Admit it. You'd rather live with that corny ending in your mind than the ending reality has got planned. 

I can't say why people lose the ability to dream? It's almost impossible to think why people would leave that behind and turn to this cold unforgiving world. Most times, our dreams allow us to believe in the impossible and we can at least try. It's ten times better than trying and saying you did something. In the end you aren't the person standing back, moaning and critisizing the guy who tried.

Fantasy's in your mind keeps us young. No matter how old you are, you never lose the ability to dream.

Never stop dreaming. Dream a little dream. Run away to your fantasy world. Have fun or face your fears. 

Just never stop dreaming.

A story with toys

A little kid's best friend isn't another kid down the street or somebody from school. It's not the imaginary friend that comes to play when you enchant yourself to the magical kingdom. A kid's best friend is a toy.

Naturally, my Power Rangers was my best friends. I had every single one of them and we had the best adventures ever. Escaping from the evil alien lords that came to invest their lair down in the mountains, running away after they have been destroyed or just having a fun day by the man-made block of ice.

My farm animals and pack of wild dogs also came to visit them frequently. And how can I even forget about those army men and tanks and race cars that held their weekly races in the corridor of my house to my mothers dismay. And the huge teddy bear I had since I've been 2 that was the evil lord "Snuggles" that loomed down on them from my closet.

Yes. I had the most wild imagination when I was little. For hours and hours I would retreat to my room or the back yard and just play my heart out. Whether I just had the most awefull  fight with my mother or whoever in the family, my toys were always there, waiting to be my safety net as I jumped into a intense session of playtime. They were my friends, my family, my roomies.

Finally, after 13 years, I had to pack my toys away in bags that would be donated to pre-schools. I remember that afternoon so well.

My mom called me to my room where she was now standing with three black bags and waiting for me - no smile, just a serious glimpse. "It's time I made space in your room. The chest with all your toys. It's gotta go." I didn't like this at all. "Is it really necessary?" Needless to say. She won and I had to clear the chest out. The whole process took 3 hours. I sat there and remembered every adventure I had with them. I didn't say goodbye. After three hours my mom got into my room. She saw only two bags and began howling at me. When she finished I revealed the third bag. "I want you to keep it. If my sister or brother gets kids I want them to play with these toys. Don't look inside. Just keep it locked away."

In that bag the Power Rangers were probably waiting for 4 years till my sister's oldest child, Deané got a chance to play with them. When she came to stay at grandma, she had adventures with them. But I think they miss the imagination that I had.

Toys are kids best friends. Not other kids.

To do it or not to do it. That is the question.

Life is made up of choices. From deciding what shirt to wear to what you are going to spend your bonus check on. The crossroads, the fork in the road, the cliff you jump off, the deep pool you dive into. Life is made up of choices.

So, when I was younger, the toughest choice for me was what color I'm going to choose to color the monkey in. That was my toughest choice. My head would quiver as to what crayon I would use. Color the monkey green and it looks like slime. Color it blue and I'm a weirdo. Color it brown then I'm copying everybody in group.

Little did I know that as I got older, choosing what crayon to use would be the least of my worries.

It's like that famous Afrikaans saying : "Klein probleme, klein oplossings. Groot probleme en jy leer bid."

And now, just before the brink of my 21'st year on Earth, the toughest choices for me still lie ahead. I always try to keep myself calm when I've got a tough choice to make. I keep telling myself: "Wait till you older. You'll be stressing over much more."

Lucky for me, my mom told me that I'm an easy child when it came to making bigger choices. Okay. She may not know of other choices I've had to make, but a mother should know what she's talking about. My friends say the same thing. I've got my head screwed on when it comes to making choices.

Then why doesn't it seem like that to me. It feels like I'm indecisive. Like I spend too much time pondering on my next move. I know life is made up of tough choices, but shouldn't you learn from your mistakes. I tread too careful, as I don't want to make a mistake.

I've come to learn that jumping into a decision can't work. I've come to learn that trusting your heart when deciding doesn't work. I've come to learn that being under prepared for what comes after the decision doesn't work. What I have learned is that following your head and common sense helps most of the time.

Yay? Nay?

There will naturally come a day when I'll think back to the day I needed to decide what color to color the monkey and I'll realise: I'll be okay.