A tribute to the fabulous females in my world.

To describe my mother would be to write about a hurricane in its perfect power (and destruction). ~ Maya Angelou

My first few days of 2011 were spent in quiet reflection brought on by the tiding of my mother’s passing. I could not help but feel a very deep sadness shrouding me. This despite our mutual agreement many moons ago to go our separate ways.

If you can indulge me I would describe this emotion as almost primal in its effectiveness to penetrate to the core of my being. It sort of caught me by surprise as I’ve been working constructively through our “breakup” for almost fifteen years. I say constructive as I don’t believe in pity parties – neither participating nor hosting them…

But back to my point! It took me a solid 24 hours to journey from feeling a bit lost to acknowledging the feelings and turning it into something with dare I say, a playful edge.

Construction paper, glue, pens and a pair of scissors took the sadness and transformed it into a colourful poster crammed with memories of Rika. It was almost critical for me to lock in these memories on paper as she was after all the woman who brought me into this world. She gave me my name and taught me some of the most important life lessons imaginable.

The paper trail led me from how I imagined her as a little girl (based on what she shared with me) to activities I recall that would bring a smile to her face. Gardening, fabulous books, dancing and good music – always music.

One crammed page later I found myself working on another one – this one to honour all the wise and sassy women I am blessed to have in my life.

Ma Janie, who nurtured Ettienne and I. Thank you for mending broken wings and hearts.

Fabulous aunties Lena and Marietjie, for taking me into their respective homes and treating me like a child of their own.

Hannapat for loving my father and bringing a twinkle to his eyes. Thank you, thank you, and thank you.

Ma Sarie for all the hugs, countless cups of Rooibos tea and sharing her son with me, whom I love with all my heart.

Monika/i-MM for inspiring me with her zest for life and appreciation of the extraordinary. I appreciate you tremendously, Mon.

Mother and daughter team de force Ma Piet and Sproetpoep. How I love the two of you. Our recent meeting in Cape Town did me wonders.

Heloise my gorgeous girlfriend with a gigantic heart. You are forever sharing and I learn so much from you.

My sister Roberta, memories of the mischief we shared never fail to bring a smile to my face.

Shantel, super yummy mommy who makes motherhood look so rewarding. You set a wonderful example.

Nicole my goddess friend - out of this world you are. Appreciate you always.

My kleinsus Jana - my darling, your love for my brother is so strong it is palpable. I’m looking forward to sharing many more soulful discussions with you.

And last but certainly not least for her actions sculpted me in so many ways – Rika, my mother. I would not have chosen anyone else but you to prepare me for this world. Thank you for making me receptive for these wise and loving women in my life – if it was not for you I would not have attracted them.

Ma Rika, your funeral took place 35 years later to the hour of the birth of your eldest child – me.

Thank you for bringing me into this world.

The Moth and the Star.

When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot in it and hang on.
~ Thomas Jefferson

It’s been a hard week and I’m hanging on for dear life to the knot in my rope.

So in tribute to my burning hands (from holding on, obviously) - I thought it a wise move for some positive self-talk. Sure, quotations go a long way but my dark cloud might need something more substantial like a fable in order to lighten up.

I wonder whether you are familiar with the fable by James Thurber about a young Moth and a Star. If not, here follows a short synopsis.

We’ll call the moth, Moth. And you’ll soon realise just why this seemingly ordinary moth should be referred to as such. In my humble opinion it should be MOTH but then again that might be seen as partisan.

Anyhoo, back to Moth. Moth was young and he had a plan which involved a luminous star. Moth was so bewitched that instead of chasing candle flames or street lamps (like the other moths) at night, you could find him at the edge of a forest making the one serious attempt after another at reaching his star. By the time dawn announced a new day Moth would be exhausted but strangely content. And so the days passed and the weeks of course.

The candle flame or street lamp chasers mostly ended up in cinders or were badly scorched but our little trooper had no injuries as his “light” nourished him rather than destroyed him. I’m sure you can tell how this tale ends. Moth never actually made it to his Star but he did end up leading a far more compelling life compared to the moth crowd.
…and if I’m not mistaken dementia (or fatigue) kicked in at some stage and he truly believed he made it to his Star.

Of course in my ideal world Mr. Thurber would end his fable with Moth realising it was more about the journey than actually reaching his Star.

And for the Record. Why moth is MOTH in my mind.
MOTH had vision and a clearly defined goal he pursued single-mindedly.
Also, the quest for his Star nourished him to such an extent that he persisted with boundless energy.

Who knows, there might have been other moths watching his attempts at night and learning. Learning to dare and learning to dream.

Deep breath. I’m already better.
Much better.

Hope sees the invisible, feels the intangible and achieves the impossible.
~ Anonymous

Follow the Sun.

Aircraft to me are akin to the magic beans so hastily sown by the boy in the much beloved English fairly tale, Jack and the Beanstalk.

True, I don’t have to grow my own aircraft or literally climb several storeys to my destination but my “magic bean” does provide the way to be transported from one place in space to the next. The sneaky promptness of the transformation is the greatest. From one moment where the destination is still only a place you’ve read about to the second you arrive and it becomes your full technicolour, skin prickling reality.

My most recent jaunt did not involve escaping from hairy giants (unless you count my loving companion), but it did feature a crocodile that by its sheer popularity and significance seemed to follow me everywhere in Dili, Timor Leste. Its reptilian shape could be recognised in wooden carvings, etched out in weavings and worn on T-shirts pretty much everywhere.

And when I asked why the crocodile featured as much in Dili, my question was answered by the telling of a tale, involving yet another young boy…

“Many years ago a small crocodile lived in a swamp in a far away place. He dreamed of becoming a big crocodile but as food was scarce, he became weak and grew sadder and sadder.
He left for the open sea, to find food and realise his dream, but the day became increasingly hot and he was still far from the seashore. The little crocodile - rapidly drying out and now in desperation - lay down to die.
A small boy took pity on the stranded crocodile and carried him to the sea. The crocodile, instantly revived, was grateful. “Little boy”, he said, “you have saved my life. If I can ever help you in any way, please call me. I will be at your command…”
A few years later, the boy called the crocodile, who was now big and strong. “Brother Crocodile”, he said, “I too have a dream. I want to see the world”. “Climb on my back,” said the crocodile, “and tell me, which way do you want to go?” “Follow the sun”, said the boy.
The crocodile set off for the east, and they traveled the oceans for years, until one day the crocodile said to the boy, “Brother, we have been travelling for a long time. But now the time has come for me to die. In memory of your kindness, I will turn myself into a beautiful island, where you and your children can live until the sun sinks in the sea.”
As the crocodile died, he grew and grew, and his ridged back became the mountains and his scales the hills of Timor.
Now when the people of East Timor swim in the ocean, they enter the water saying “Don’t eat me crocodile, I am your relative”.
~ From the East Timor's Independence Day Committee

Traipsing the Great Wall.

The deep humming sound emitted by the engine of the 1930’s style sidecar motorbike was almost hypnotic and was I not snaking through the Beijing traffic I would’ve easily been lulled to sleep. But I was too excited to think of sleep in any shape or form at that stage. From the sidecar I glanced over at Ah Beng, who skillfully steered the motorbike through the manic traffic. It wasn’t long before we were on the freeway heading to the Great Wall. Experiencing the marvel of the Great Wall had been on my bucket list for eons but never in a million years did I envision making my way to the only visible man-made structure from the Moon in a sidecar motorbike.

I remember learning about the great wall as a little girl and my total amazement after unwrapping a Chappie (South African brand chewing gum) and reading the “fun fact” printed on the wrapper: “The Great Wall is the only man-made structure visible from the outer space”. I was thoroughly impressed. After all, even at that stage I could appreciate that outer space was quite a big place. And who could forget David Copperfield's walk through the Great Wall – maybe I was just very impressionable at that tender age.

For the record, the Chappies fun fact turned out to be the figment of some very imaginative soul’s imagination. According to NASA the Wall is not visible to the unaided eye from outer space since the wall is of similar colour and texture as the surrounding landscape. NASA did not mention anything about Copperfield’s stunt though so I’ll allow myself that one childhood memory to remain “true”.

As we headed further North the road winded through the mountains and I couldn’t help but scan the landscape for signs of the Wall. It was only later, much later (my eyes burning from exhaustion and/or exhaust fumes by then) that Ah Beng pointed it out to me, adequately proving NASA’s point on just how well it blends in with the surrounding landscape. Once one had it in view it was really hard to miss it for it was clearly visible how it attempted to tame the landscape. It certainly was both imposing and impressive at the same time. I could actually imagine it taming the hordes of Mongols who I’m sure at the mere sight must’ve turned their horses around to return to Mongolia at a frisky pace.

Upon reaching Huang Hua Shang we exchanged the sidecars for trekking shoes as we tied our shoe laces to start our trek on the Wall. Yip, it certainly was wide enough for six horses to stand side by side as the Emperor intended it to be. Suffice to say, the view from up there was absolutely fabulous and the air crisp and fresh on our sweaty cheeks and foreheads. A rather strenuous hour later we reached a guard outpost to enjoy our picnic lunch of fresh baguette stuffed with rare roast beef (apologies to the Vegetarian readers). A cork popped and a more than palatable French red wine did the rounds as well – if I’m not mistaken a second cork popped not too long after the first one. We were on holiday after all.

Fed and happy I dangled my legs over the edge of the wall, and with the sun on my back the famous Chinese proverb “the journey is the reward” came to mind. However, in this case the destination was just as great as the journey itself. For a while I pondered “journey” and “destination”. Just long enough for the potent combination of wine and sun to work its magic on my foggy memory bank. Nah…too much thinking. I picked up my glass of red and sighed. Thrilled about being able to bask in the present.

Fully Content.

Do-BE-Do-BE-Do!

It is a Saturday afternoon and the sun is blazing down from a blue sky. A colour I can best describe as almost Maya blue. In the distance I witness the odd wind-whipped cloud touched with just enough gray to remind you it will certainly rain later.

Leaning against the trunk of a palm tree I dig my feet deeper into the sand and feel a sense of peace washing over me. The faint waft of coconut scented tanning lotion reminds me of other pleasure seekers on the beach. However it doesn’t take long to tune out the sound of kids and shrieking adolescent boys. Funny how tuning out unwanted elements barely ever works on a crowded long-haul flight…

The revelation hits hard me as I reach out to grab my notepad. In that moment I realise just how mercilessly I have drilled “doing” into myself. To the extent that I almost feel guilty for not being busy with either an activity or at least scribbling a to-do list. Retracting my hand to rest on my lap I’m reminded of the documentary, The Quantum Activist where Amit Goswami compels viewers to opt for a more balanced (and catchy) Do-Be-Do-Be-Do as opposed to a lopsided just doing (all action - like me) or exclusively being (no action taken).

So how to BE? Closing my eyes I focus on deep breaths, filling my lungs with all the fresh air I can get. I open my eyes and all of a sudden the colours seem to pop out vividly. I feel the coarseness of the sand against my thighs while I hear a little girl’s voice to my left asking her mom for ice-cream. As I’m witnessing them from the corner of my eye I can almost taste and smell the ice-cream when she hands it to the girl with the pigtails. The smile on the little one’s face is just priceless.

I lift my hand again, not reaching for my notebook this time around but instead I rest my hand on the warm sand. Feeling the Earth through the palm of my hand I close my eyes yet again as I lean back against the Palm tree.

Happy and grateful to BE here.

Humour me!

"A little nonsense now and then is cherished by the wisest man."
- Willy Wonka, from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl

Do you know what tickles your funny bone?
This might be the most important Q posed to you today. Consequential in the sense that by knowing the answer it firmly places the control in your hands for tapping into the best medicine. And the fact that it is much better tolerated by the body than anything the world of Pharmaceuticals has to sell is nothing to sneeze at.

A hearty belly laugh not only boosts your mood and provide a twinkle to the eye. It also decreases stress hormones (such as cortisol), reduces physical pain (impossible to pay attention to the stabbing pain in a stubbed toe while laughing at your natural flair for walking into inanimate objects). In the same breath, a chuckle also strengthens the immune system and this is mandatory when dealing with self inflicted injuries for example (such as said injured appendage).

Personally, puns reduce me to giggles, especially when teamed with good illustrations. Good reads the likes of The Road to Happiness by Eric Weiner rates up there, while well intentioned pokes at sacred cows are sure to put a grin on my face.

So how do you up your daily dose of laughter? Start trawling the Net for good sites, browse the shelves at the bookstore to find authors/artists that make you itch (in a good way) and open your eyes wide to the comical in everyday situations. I just have to envision myself behind my desk looking as serious as the Cold War to crack up laughing. Even more so in the knowledge that I’m usually aching to get out the office and into Nature. Yip, I do like making fun of myself…

Start your day with a smile and who knows, you might be fortunate enough to end the day in the same manner. But don’t be selfish by keeping the good stuff all to yourself. Share the love by spreading the joy to those around you!

So in the wise words of my favourite Doctor, I’m signing out.

"Today was good. Today was fun. Tomorrow is another one."
- Dr. Seuss

The path to Bliss.

Work is love made visible. And if you cannot work with love but only with distaste, it is better that you should leave your work and sit at the gate of the temple and take alms of those who work with joy. ~ Kahlil Gibran

Had the privilege to explore the Thai city of Chiang Mai a week ago. Chiang Mai lies snugly in a beautiful mountainous area and it used to be the capital of the ancient Lanna kingdom. Since the city is nowhere as huge and congested as Bangkok we decided to explore by bicycle. Our local guide Nong, was brilliant – and not only thanks to his charming smile. He made every effort to explain the local history as we visited a number of Buddhist temples and he did not even micro-flinch the slightest at my barrage of questions. Admittedly, I do get carried away at times…

At one stage while cycling along the banks of the Ping river Nong pointed out a “wishing stick/limb” to us. Now I’m sure the true meaning of the stick/limb gets lost in translation, but allow me to at least attempt an explanation. During the Songkran festival the Buddhist devouts make merit by providing support in the form of a specially carved forked stick/limb to tree branches that overarch perilously. Not just any kind of tree though. It would only be the branches of the revered Bo or Sacred Fig tree to be pampered in this manner. It is believed that Lord Buddha reached enlightenment while meditating under one of these trees. In modern times, Nong elaborated, entire families would work together side by side grafting the “stick” and then carry it together to the Tree. Here it will be blessed by a monk before being put in place to prop up the overhanging branch. The few examples we saw were painted a sunny yellow and some were even swathed in cloth.

Later while cycling towards a little village market I couldn’t help but think of these wishing sticks as stunning visual reminders of faith/love/devotion/human aspirations.
Which brings me to the quote at the start of this post – work is love made visible…

What if you treasure the ability to work and do so with total dedication but you are just not that keen on your current job?
Does one carry what seems like a burden just as the devout Buddhists carry the heavy wishing stick/limb through the village to the Bo tree? With humility of course.
Or does one choose the route of “carving” out a new job possibility like the devout Buddhists spend hours carving the wishing stick/limb?

I guess it is all about your perception. Whether to actively partake in the creation of your ideal job or taking a more laid-back approach. More important though is the willingness to accept (with love) the outcome. And to live/love with it.

If so, whichever path you choose to follow will lead to your bliss.
That’s all I hope for.

Mapping it out.

Had an inspirational week filled with a number of new ideas - three whoops for the Borders bookstore and Brian Johnson's Philosopher Notes. I learned my locus on control is mostly internal. It took me a while to digest this tidbit of information and for the penny to drop. Just like everyone out there I have my ideals and goals but the question that came to me was just how mapped out I had it.
Was it on paper, something tangible in other words or just some airy-fairy floaters on the horizon?

I used to scoff at the idea of a five year plan (that would include the hangers-on) since I thought of it as too rigid - especially in this world we live in. Of course life happens and plans change, double chins miraculously appear or disappear, hair loss becomes a reality and not just a sad man you see on late night TV. So why even bother with a five year plan? Then of course I changed as well, suddenly an internal map did not sound like a bad idea after all. But in order to get to this internal map I had to spend time on paper first. It turned out to be a fun exercise and lo and behold - I have a much clearer view on where I'm heading now and feel empowered, even uplifted.

If you want to give it a go, I suggest:

Grab a piece of paper, the bigger the better - don't restrict yourself with a sad and sorry A5-er, go big or go home.
Felt markers, pens in different colours will certainly do.
Block out time (you are busy with something important so switch of that cellphone if you dare)
Find a comfortable space where you don't have to stretch over clutter and...PLAY!

1. List at least 5 activities you enjoy - if you are able to beef up your list up to ten activities, even better.
2. Out of these activities listed, circle the ones you'd feel super lousy if you were unable to ever do it again. These are your joy-makers.
3. Next step might be hard for some folks but quickly jot down your values - what do you stand for? Five will be sufficient for our exercise. These are joy-givers.
4. Look at all the scribbles on your paper and see how this fits in with key aspects in you life like family, social ties, spiritual, physical and of course career. Very important here I'd like you to think of your stance on community and the role you play in yours...
5. How do your joy-makers and joy-givers relate to the key aspects in your life. Any chance of fine tuning it so they are better aligned.
6. Jot down your strengths and don't forget those dandy qualities your nearest and dearest commented on. If you feel brave, list your weaknesses (since we all need a dose of reality too) but don't go overboard here as we are aiming at maintaining a "creative" space as opposed to something downright depressing.

Phew - that's a lot of writing but it will form the perfect foundation for our task at hand.

Now that you have the building blocks - stand up, get some space between you and your paper - go for a walk or have a cup of java but it is important to focus of something unrelated for a few minutes. Maybe the dog needs a walk…

When ready return to your paper and visualise yourself a few years from now.
Do you visualise yourself as content, healthy, surrounded by friends and family. Or is yours a case of where you envision yourself successfully addressing a packed boardroom on your latest and greatest proposal. The sky is the limit - this is where you imagination is left to roam, jump, skip, fly.........

Once you set foot on terra firma after the flight of fancy, take the paper you so dutifully scribbled on and see how you can marry your paper with your ideal “vision”. How can the joy-makers, joy-givers assist in propelling you towards the ideal you?

Of course this will take some thinking and even head-scratching to a degree but keep it playful and you'd be surprised by how easy it becomes aligning your paper and the ideal in your head. Once happy, jot it down on paper (once again) and keep it in a place where you can be reminded of your course of action.

Have map, will venture (joyfully).

You can become blind by seeing each day as a similar one. Each day is a different one, each day brings a miracle of its own. It's just a matter of paying attention to this miracle.

~ Paulo Coelho

Paying attention….Hmmm.
Recently on a train from Singapore to Malacca I was reminded once again that paying attention has many guises.
One of the zillion reasons I love to travel is because it opens my eyes, ears and mind to new and novel stimulu. In turn I am energized and return home with a memory bank loaded to the brim with vivid colours, encounters with people, even newly acquired tastes in food. Not always though; the fried tarantula I chewed on in Phnom Penh is not a taste I aspire to embrace. A good thing in view of the limited supply of free-roaming Tarantulas in Singapore.

But I’m digressing once again. The point I’m trying to bring across is that whenever I travel I am compelled to jot down memories or little snippets of conversations (like the man who sold bananas for a living at the monkey forest in Bali or young boy selling books in Siem Reap). My notebooks vary in size from full A4 sizes to ones that fit snugly in the palm of your hand . They all have stained and dog-eared pages in common though.

However, at times the senses become numb to the usual stimuli and it was on this train ride as I reached for my notebook and pencil that I stopped in my tracks. Sat back and folded my hands my lap. Instead of writing down describing what I saw I made a point of simply watching and…being.

Just enjoying the journey and allowing the scenery to wash over me as it unfolded through the window of the carriage. Lush greenery next to the tracks, faded towns that lost their glory due to fewer people taking the train these days, neat kampong houses and the odd railway worker here and there. All of this under a glorious sun set against the backdrop of blue skies.

Bliss!

What is it about emerging oneself in a new destination that is so intoxicating and liberating?
With generous scoops of enthusiasm, a pinch of fear, a dash of courage and the willingness to open the mind I loved tumbling in headfirst.
India did not disappoint.

I was truly smitten and swept of my feet. From swooping down into the small airport servicing Kochi to the glimpse of a smile playing hide and seek underneath the customs officer's mightily impressive moustache.

We arrived on Christmas Eve and of course since we were in India did not expect Christmas fever. Pleasant was the surprise to drive past little Catholic chapels en-route to the hotel.
The chapels all dolled up in colourful paper stars and nativity scenes, patiently awaiting the flock for the midnight service. Very pretty and peaceful indeed.

Somehow the peaceful image of the night before was shattered the moment we stepped out the next day. During the course of the night we must've entered a parallel universe, surely it couldn't be the same city we arrived to the night before?

Ambassador taxis, little Tata cars, tattered trucks, flighty three-wheelers all shared the three lane road that was spontaneously altered at will in a four or five lane road - all depending on the skill of your overtaking cab driver. Magic!

Dodging and diving oncoming traffic and the odd cow to the melody of honking horns. Where I've only read of "white knuckles" before I now could bear witness to the act thanks to Tom gripping the seat of the taxi. Best Christmas gift ever!

As for mois, the chaos made me feel right at home - the louder they honk the wider I smile, with every pothole we hit my eyes light up. In retrospect maybe I was just high on gasoline fumes.

By the time our driver/hero let us out of his vehicle with an amiable side to side jiggle of his head I've compiled a mental checklist for the return journey to the hotel.

And it goes like this: -
- Horn fully functional...check
- Three-wheeler able to pop a wheelie effortlessly...check
- Also able to recover from wheelie and land on all three wheels after miraculous act...check
- Souped up horn - a plain honk is just so nineties, we want a jingle from the latest Bollywood blockbuster...check
-Driver able to smoke, honk horn, get rid of excess phlegm and pop a wheelie, ALL at once...check

The joy of exploring the narrow streets lined with crumbling buildings and a makeshift cricket pitch wherever there is space to spare. Indians really love cricket. In fact, whenever it came up during a conversation that I’m from South Africa cricket was the first topic to be discussed at great length.

Oh and the women are so beautiful with their kohl-lined eyes and decked out in a rainbow of Saris or Salwar Khameez. At first I scribbled in my notebook that the ladies look like jewels but it was only when we reached the countryside at the Athirappilly falls that I realised they resembled wild flowers more than anything else. Exquisitely bright, cheery and lending great beauty to this world.

Which reminds me, look closely at the photo I’ve posted - where I'm from a hibiscus flower is either red or pink or a meek orange. Certainly not all three colours at once but in India, well evidently flowers tend to be more dramatic on the sub-continent.

Stuck in traffic while the road is blocked for a state visit of the Indian President once again I realise that it is a very different experience visiting a city compared to eking out an existence there day by day. Made me appreciate life in Singapore even more.

Had the opportunity to chat with a gorgeous gal at the Athirappilly falls who came to visit the site with her family all the way from Chennai. After the usual chitchat about Bollywood movies (since we were on a favourite location) and cricket the conversation turned to career. Turns out she worked as a French translator at an IT firm in Chennai and in her spare time she studied
Greek too. Go girl!
It was evident she lead a hectic life but still treasured and made time for family. I like that.

Oh the food, the food!
Was led into a bakery by my nose and literally swooned at the variety of Burfi and other dainty little treasures bursting with cardamom or nuts or both. Left the shop with a box clutched under my arm filled to the brim with all kinds of goodies to be first feasted upon through the eyes, then whiffed at to appreciate the aroma and only then, only then eaten with great relish. Lots of audible lip smacking happening.

I’m not going to bore you with my ode to Kashmiri Naan or the delights of Tandoori chicken. Nor will I go into just how tender prawns cooked in coconut gravy is. That reminds me of the carrot Halwa and the Mutton Korma and the fiery Vindaloo…

Wait, my eyes are glazing over and I’m dribbling on my keyboard.
Any volunteers wanting to join me on a trip to Delhi – I have a mean rickshaw checklist going.

Oh the places we could see!

Final nail in the coffin!

I'm over the Moon, on cloud 9, in seventh heaven.

Thank you for all the support out there - your kind words carried me through eye strain and wrist pain, not to mention plot drain.

Two quotes in summary to end this post...

"Writing is like prostitution. First you do it for love, and then for a few close friends, and then for money."
~ Moliere

"Writing is easy: All you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead."
~ Gene Fowler

Novel-ing (ish) - Week 3

What is that I hear? Is it the sound of popping champagne corks?
Half kidding but I am eyeing the bottle of Piper in my refrigerator with a mighty thirst and a trigger-happy finger ready to do some serious bottle uncorking damage.

And for the record it is the only item in the refrigerator until the end of the month - these luxuries do not come cheap you know.

I'm standing at 33,340 words and M-A-N it feels good.

Even though my main character has lost his shine and I find his personality a tad overbearing at times I keep on writing.
Something tells me he's going to end up as shark-bait and the sassy females (as per usual) are going to save the day.

Will keep you posted - darn, another pop.
Either getting my ears checked or borrowing money to purchase a pack of salmon to keep the Piper company. Until the end of November that is...

Novel-ing (ish) - Week 2

Whoopee-doo!

I made the 20,000 word count.
Unbelievable but true.

To put it bluntly my writing is still "craptastic" but you know, hopefully it will improve after the 35,000 word mark.

Don't keep your fingers crossed though.

Tallyho!

Novel-ing (ish) - Week 1

The goal is to write at least 1,666 words a day to stay on track and ensure I reach 50,000 words by the end of November. Kicked of day 1 with a neat deficit of 1,666 words, ended day 1 with a just as neat defict of 1,666 words. This is what happens when one bunny hops to Kuching for the weekend instead of remaining chained to the PC.
Back on track though - suffice to say there was a lot of catching up to do on Monday and Tuesday.

As for the quality of my writing, let's not go there just yet.
Editing concerns (poor editor) are meant to be tackled only after November.

For now it is fairly easy to get into the flow as the story seems to have a life of its own.
I started out with the spice route in Malacca and ended up dabbling in Malay magic and crocodile breeding patterns.
Uhm...and that was in one day!

All fabulous so far, will keep you posted.

Onwards and upwards, always.

Lost the plot and hope to find it...soon-ish!

Oh boy! My November 2009 will not only be for celebrating the birthdays of several close friends. And I do have a number of fierce, fun-loving Scorpios in my life. The eleventh month will also see me putting my hand to paper and actually doing what I've set-out to do a long time ago.

That is...penning a novel.

Assisting me in this mammoth task is NANOWRIMO where during the span of a month I'll be writing and submitting a minimum of 50,000 words (uhm...punctuation does NOT count).

Nothing like self-induced pressure to assist the mental cogs in turning, sweaty palms and gastric upsets making a grand entrance to actually get the task done. I'll keep you posted on my progress via this blog during the threshing. A once weekly update should suffice. If you don't hear from me do check-in, please.

As for plot: nothing, void, blank (for now). I've been assured this is OK too. I like to think of the lack of a plot as a blank slate, primed and ready for a masterpiece. But then reality kicks in and I realise less is not always more...

My PP's (Previous Plots) ranged from action heroes the likes of "Wonderbra-lass" saving the world from the wrath of flat-chested woman to soppy dramas only worthy of dubbed afternoon TV soaps somewhere in the world where the tales of sobbing men and their philandering wives are appreciated. Not really an aftermarket there.

Scorpios: do practise some stinger restraint might I be a tad late wishing you happy b'day with a chocolate cupcake in tow this year.
After all, what is a day or two between friends.

Now if only I could find a partner (would have to be kooky one) to jump into this project with all the enthusiasm he/she can muster. To succumb to the madness and perpetual folly, to...

Wait a minute, I just might have found my plot!

Craving the simple life.

Days crammed with deadlines, meetings, urgent calls to make and take, upset clients, lethargic colleagues - all of these leave me aching for the simple life. The same feeling overwhelms me when reading my favourite paper or news magazine. Advertisements cover to cover all "convincing" me to purchase the latest and greatest to magically up my cool factor.

We allow ourselves to be brain-washed by whatever the media dishes and dolls up for us.
The latest technology, high fashion attire, gourmet meals, oh the list is endless really.
Just like our desire for said items/services. Will we ever reach a point where we contemplate and determine our own concept of wealth (and happiness for that matter)?

Which brings me to one of my favourite books on the topic.
How to simplify your life by Tiki Kustenmacher is a great start if you are yearning to turn your back on all the unnecessary "noise" creating turmoil in your day to day existence.

Also found a good site offering tips on how to get closer to attaining a simple life and a well-written article on how a single mom is making ends meet back in the cradle of Consumerism, good 'ol USA.

For the record; I have no aspiration for moving into a tent just yet but some tweaking here and there won't do any harm either.

and finally, from that bastion of American literature, MAD magazine:
"The only reason a great many American families don't own an elephant is that they have never been offered an elephant for a dollar down and easy weekly payments."

Amma hugs.

In pursuit of tranquility we set of for Singapore’s city centre on a balmy Sunday morning.
Hoping to catch a glance and a hug from Mātā Amritanandamayī Devi or if like me you get tongue-tied and flustered just by the thought of so many consonants in one word, Amma for short. She is also known as the hugging saint and has hugged more than 30 million people over the past three decades.

The first time I came across Amma was in Lucy Edge’s book “Yoga School Dropout”. Amma from Kerala was immediately added to my mental list of people to see and places to explore in India not only for a hug but also to catch a glimpse of her Humanitarian projects.

You should know that a trip to India has been on my To Do list since 1998 when a knowing friend gave me a Lonely Planet guide to India that I proceeded to read like a novel. Presently the guidebook is dog-eared and tattered, stained by splatters of Indian fare enjoyed all over the show, except in India. Since the current Economy is what it is I had no objection to being in Amma’s presence while in Singapore as opposed to biding my time until my adventure to India finally materialised. Reason enough to bite the bullet and brave the City over a weekend.

Amma has a sizeable following in Singapore – big enough to fill one of the cavernous exhibition halls in the Suntec Convention and Exhibition centre. We arrived before 9:30 AM and even though early a line of people was already snaking through the entrance, patiently waiting for a number. The number issued is your “pass” for a hug from Amma. She doesn't leave before everyone with a number has spent time with her. Amma reportedly sits for more than twenty hours at some of the Darshans to offer her hug to those approaching her.

The ambience was hushed but jubilant. Some folks tucked into vegetarian fare while others were chatting away. Here and there a person decked out in white from head-to-toe, handed out pamphlets to first timers. Sure was an intriguing garam masala of people from every background, shape and size. First-timers and Old-timers mingled effortlessly.
Enveloped by the stunning murmur of mantras chanted in the background and the faint, crisp smell of flowers – white flowers.

Number ticket in hand we zeroed in on seats closer to the action – the tiny platform Amma would work from. From here it was clear to observe the well-oiled machine behind the gathering. Each helper knew exactly where in the puzzle he/she was meant to fit.

Peculiarly, where time felt as per usual prior to our numbers flashing on the monitor it seemed to warp from that point onwards. Minutes accelerating but also slowing down at crucial moments like a trickle of honey lazily dripping from a spoon. We were ushered into line by Amma’s helpers and as we got closer to the front of the line the chanting became louder and the smell of Jasmine intensified. Just in time I bought a Jasmine garland for Amma – showing up empty handed would be akin to arriving at a friend’s home for dinner without the nice bottle of wine (well, that was my personal thinking anyway, my dad did a fine job raising me – an opinion shared by my friends who are normally on the receiving end of said bottle of wine).

Just in time too, as I turned around it was my turn to be hugged. I’m describing it as “to be hugged” because that is exactly what happened. I melted in her arms without reservation or inhibitions – just like that – melted! The jasmine garland I gave her was around her neck and she gently pressed my face against her chest while she held me. Once again time froze and she whispered in my ear what sounded like: “my girl, my girl, my girl”. Could also just be me projecting what I wanted to hear.

By the time Amma let go of me (or I eventually let go of her) I was lifted to my feet by her helpers and ushered away.
A tad wobbly as if treading on marshmallows it felt like my heart was jumping through my ribcage.
I could feel the thump-thump-thump against my fingertips when I touched my chest. Sensory overload but inside tranquil and at peace. Mission accomplished.

Only later did I realise I was clutching a tiny candy in my hand – one of the helpers must’ve pressed it into my palm.

So did the experience touch me in any way?

Touched, yes. Changed, I don’t know.
I can share that I’m noticeably more heart-centered since my hug. As if I’m basing my decisions on more than just my usual cognitive/over analytical thinking process.

On a physical level, my Yoga back bends are working a charm – sure is a first for me to be able to relax into a backbend (a heart chakra opening pose in itself) without a snippet of a thought of how long before I get out of this murderous human pretzel pose.

…and in conclusion, in the wise lady’s own words:
Only when human beings are able to perceive and acknowledge the Self in each other can there be real peace. —Amma

I like that.

Earth day - 22 April

The more clearly we can focus our attention on the wonders and realities of the universe about us, the less taste we shall have for destruction.
~ Rachel Carson

Earth day is here so why not make it special this year by posting your wish for Gaia online at United World Healing.

Be sure to spread the word - after all; energy flows where attention goes.

The thing with numbers...

... from the intrinsic evidence of his creation, the Great Architect of the
Universe now begins to appear as a pure mathematician.
~ Sir James Jeans

Number crunching, rate calculations and percentiles stealthily followed me from my office desk to my bed. (No, I’m not dating an accountant.) I’m referring to my daily dealings with numbers recently popping up my dreams. Uninvited; how rude!
Not only calculations but even aircraft engine serial numbers were haunting me. One of my better habits is to write down my dreams as soon as I wake up in the morning. This makes for wicked and entertaining reading a week later but there really is not much to say for numbers. It’s mundane, right?

After a couple of days passed with zero entries in my dream journal I decided to remedy the situation by exploring the topic more. The thought of potentially succumbing to number overdose did cross my mind so note to friends: if you don’t hear from me over the next week, do call my dad. Thanks.

Ok but back to numbers. The first number related field that sprung to mind was Numerology.
It did help of course that I was reading Dan Millman’s book “The life you were born to Live” based on his approach to numerology. A polished book providing practical information while daring you to push the envelope a bit i.e. it makes you think and re-think. Have a look at the website for more info. Once you’ve opened the page, scroll down for the birth number calculator.

Dan Millman led to Dan Brown (once again proving the interconnectivity of Life) and before I knew it I was exploring pop culture and The Da Vinci Code concerning the Fibonacci sequence (1,2,3,5,8,13,21,34,55,89,144,...).
The sequence is derived from adding the first two numbers to arrive at the third. If I’ve lost you by now, hold on…we are nearly there.
Let’s look at Nature. In nature it’s easy to spot the numbers in the number of flower petals and the arrangement of seeds in flower heads, think of a sunflower. Pinecones and seashell spirals also follow the sequence.

Speaking of Pinecones. That reminds me of Mario Merz, a member of the “Arte Povera” Italian artistic movement. Mario was so enamored by the geometry of nature and with the Fibonacci sequence he regularly featured the sequence in performance art and installations. The Italians liked him so much that they even allowed him to install neon lights in the Roman forum. Do keep in mind that it takes more than a fair amount of talent to impress the Italians when it comes to art; especially in light of masters the likes of Leonardo de Vinci, Raphael and more recently, Mariani. In the early 90’s Mario used the sequence yet again to determine the shape of a 24-metre spiral in Prato, Florence. He used sticks, paper and iron as materials. I’m digressing though. Back to the pinecone. Shortly before his death he was filmed in Turin by British filmmaker Tacita Dean. For the interview Mario chose to sit under a tree all the while holding a pinecone in his lap. Most fitting.

Suffice to say, since I’m a tad more number savvy after all these explorations of mine my dreams are rich in detail again. I’ll dream of seashell spirals, sunflower heads, pinecones and igloos any day…or night for that matter.

Creative expression

Must admit to grappling with connecting to my creative side, lately. Of course I could blame it on a myriad of things but the fact remains that it is my responsibility to keep the fire burning. Sort of a sacred agreement with my creative self.

So...to feed the furnace I've been writing a few photo essays. Very easy; you might even recall doing this yourself back in school. I've picked a few photos that appealed to my senses and sat down to scribble. This is from a photo from a recent trip to Peru.

~ Peru ~

The mighty Andes demand your attention. I find myself craning my neck time and time again to drink in yet another spectacular vista of rugged cliffs against the backdrop of clear blue skies.

We are squashed into a little van, the effect of adjusting to the high altitude still evident in our bloodshot blinkers. The dirt road snakes up the side of the mountain taking us further from the lush gardens at Wilka Tikka in the Sacred Valley, Peru towards a village school. Landslides like fresh abrasions are evident as we rattle along – an unmistakable sign of heavy rains not too long ago.

As our lifeless pose rolls into the village and finally come to a standstill in a sizeable cloud of dust, we are swarmed by a pool of red and fuchsia. Grinning kids in traditional Quechua ponchos and woolen hats surround us.

The kids lead us to an open square between the classrooms and like honorary guests we are sat down on stools in the sun. Scenario of who’s-watching-who sets in but then the show begins and all else is forgotten.

The celebration we are witnessing is a song and energetic dance about the harvesting of grains and the various phases grain goes through. The grain is treated as a gift from the gods and every stage of its growth up to being eaten or fermented and drank is enacted. A generous swig is taken from a flask at intervals. Can only be chicha – a potent local tipple that kicks like a mule. You may take my word for it.

Somewhere in the centre of the action an alpaca graces the “stage” as well - gorgeous little thing who doesn't seem to mind the handling, dancing and thrashing of corn around it. She takes in the action like a real veteran actress – haughty like a grand dame.

Kids are dancing and swirling - a sea of red. Even, the head boy has the opportunity to show of his conch blowing skills. Talk about upbeat. After the performance an honorary hat is being passed to who ever is going to be the next speaker – judging by the state of the hat there must be a lot of ceremonial talking going on in the village.

We applaud like crazy and next moment - not too sure how it occurred – we find ourselves (four of us) primped and ready to make our contribution to the feast.
None of us speak Spanish, and our South African English is hard enough to follow as it is.

We sing/scream/yelp our rendition of a ballade by Koos Kombuis while clowning out the meaning of the song.

ek bring vir jou blomme ek gee jou genot;
ek leen jou my bicycle sonder 'n slot;
ek weet dit is laat en jou ma-hulle slaap;
ek moes net vir jou se:
ek het jou lief, ek het jou lief soos die Kaap.

Of course the words are kind of meaningless in that context but I guess it's the idea that counts. And who knows maybe it was the first time for these kids to see four grown woman ride imaginary bicycles.... (most definitely a first for me).

Carol Cumes, owner of Wilka Tikka and sponsor of the village school, wants a translation pronto and our ballad flows into English and tumbles into Spanish.
Who said we need to speak the same language in order to communicate effectively.
The crowd quickly disperses after our performance – nothing personal we’ve been guaranteed in Spanish!

I ramble through the classrooms stuffed with shabby desks and chairs, the doorways evidently take a hammering – as if large objects are hauled through the narrow opening every day. In fact the entire school building looks as if it's about to collapse but upon closer inspection you see that it's still going to be around for another decade at least, who knows, maybe even for the next generation.

While leaning against a doorway chatting away to three boys in my best fragmented Spanish I feel a tap on my leg. Turning and half-expecting to see someone from our group I see this little gazelle of a girl with pigtails wearing a red poncho and green woolen tights. She's got mischief written all over her and instinctively I playfully lunge in her direction as if to catch her. Next moment I'm chasing kids and having a roaring time. We are playing catch with a Peruvian flair – a tap on the calf has to be thrown in.

Some of the parents are looking a tad concerned. Understandably so since all they see are screaming kids being chased by this wide-eyed, bushy haired woman with lily-white calves. Or maybe they are cleverly formulating the perfect "boogie woman" story to keep the kids in check at a later stage. In my imagination it goes along the line of: "One day the thin air was just too pure for this gringa and she flipped out and started chasing kids to take away with her to big, bad city. So if you don't finish all the corn on that plate I’ll get the gringa to pay us a visit.”

I'm rewarded for my efforts by the kids with a hot potato and not a minute too soon as my legs buckle and I collapse inelegantly. Of course little gazelle girl still running and twirling - all at once it seems. Clearly she’s not feeling the effects of the high altitude the way I am.

Much later when we head back we are followed by our entourage and a few seconds of panic sets in as we get into the van and the kids follow suit. The school principal spares us a riot and saves the van’s suspension with a few strict words in Spanish. I don’t have a clue what he’s saying but his face and words are enough to make me tuck my shirt into my pants – I NEVER tuck my shirt in…

As we leave the village all of us have a hand stuck out at the nearest window and we are waving, smiling and gesturing wildly until we are unable to see the kids anymore. Not at all as if we’ve only met today – we are waving as if we are saying we’ll be back.

A few miles away the now highly energetic pose sits down next to the stream to ravenously tuck into a lunch of home-made pita bread generously spread with buttery avocado. Senses sharp and hearts happy we are all smiling, scrap that, we are grinning and loving life all at once.