As an outsider looking in, there is only one solution and it is clear. No Trump or Clinton, but Michelle for POTUS. That is all.
Category blog
Which One?!
Okay, I’m down to three, and for the life of me I can’t decide! Birthday shopping Vonita-style, they each have their own card and wrapping paper. All with return vouchers so I can obsess in comfort.
So, A (florabotanica 100ml), B (Issey Miyake Pure with gift box 90ml), C (FlowerBomb teeny weeny 30mls with gift box), or D (flowerbomb 50ml but no gift box)? All similar values.
Help! Which one!
(My friend is in age range 45-49 if that makes a difference?)
Paradise
The good thing about growing older is that there are always memories. And always some good ones amongst all the rest. Lately I’ve been reading my fb notifications, and some of them have been making me cringe. Especially the ones from 2014 when I was going ape-crazy over blog excitement. Nowadays I’ve toned down a bit. No longer publicizing to fb. And going ape-crazy.
This morning I saw some happy flashbacks. Four years ago today we were enjoying an idyllic Fijian island vacation. My children were 9 and 6 respectively.
We spent 8 full days eating, swimming, snorkeling, eating, sleeping, relaxing, eating, swimming. Full catering included.
A paradise. Heaven on earth!
A Johannesburg Feeling
The last few years living in Johannesburg were bittersweet. I was married (!), and had two beautiful babies. My dream life had come true. We both had work, some savings, a home to live in, and a wonderful nanny for our children. My family was close by. Everything was as it should be. My mother-in-law was still alive, and we often used to drive to her on Saturdays (in the neighbouring city), and stay the night. Those were the best times. We had an amazing connection.
And Johannesburg thunderstorms are the best. And shopping at Sandton City.
But. Even though everything was perfect, it was not. Always, always an unsettled feeling. We could be murdered today. Hijacked or raped. Or all of the above. Locked in the trunk of the car to die. And, if we lost our jobs it could be difficult to find another. In time, it would become increasingly difficult and eventually impossible. What about our children? The prospects were too frightening to think about.
A constant, underlying, unsettled feeling.
https://violetonlineisonline.wordpress.com/2016/10/22/saturday-respite/
Introverted
Living in my thoughts all day
Sleeping in my dreams at night
Cocooned in a world of self
Struggling to break free
Perhaps there is something
Wrong with me
But I just want to be
Alone at liberty
Help, Perfumes!
It’s my BFF’s birthday next week, and I’m considering buying her a perfume. Because a woman is not dressed until she has on perfume. Perfumes react differently on different skins, but needs must, I will have to go with a good, safe choice. Any suggestions? Do you have a favorite? Estée Lauder beautiful? D&G light blue? Chanel coco? Chanel no. 5? (And don’t worry she doesn’t read my blog!)
Women, Arise!
I went to a single-sex school with all of our teachers being female. I studied a predominantly male course, but all my peers were very respectful towards me. I was never treated like an object. I started work, and the same applied. Perhaps I had very strong boundaries that helped. I would not have tolerated anything less. I dressed modestly, and perhaps my conservativism showed.
Until I reached my mid-thirties, and my babies were born. Something changed. I had a monster of all crushes on someone close by, and knew my conservative attire would not turn any heads. And especially not his. I wanted attention! So I did what I could do. Aka Sandy in Grease. I changed my style. I started wearing more low cut tops. More tight-fitting jeans. And I started to see a reaction. I started getting attention. It was an attention I had never really experienced before. And it felt good. It fed my flesh. I wanted more. The outward appearance started to count. And with it the objectification. I received the attention I wanted. A paradigm-shift happened. Men would wink as they passed by. I started accepting compliments based on my outward appearance. I started lowering my standards. Accepting bad behavior.
All these things came up for me when I heard Michelle Obama, and her watershed speech this past week. I am not an object. My daughter is not an object. Women are not objects. I don’t have a vote in the US elections. But I do have a vote in my own life. I can vote when I hear how perfect my ‘ass’ is in that red dress. When I am objectified. I don’t have to smile and say thank you. I can call it out for what it is. And I can say No.
Omigosh!
Two years ago I was posting to Facebook, being all excited about writing and being really weird. Facebook sends me notifications everyday of ‘this day in the past’. This morning I was horrified to see my weird posts from two years ago. Omigosh, all I can say is thank you to WordPress readers who have been reading me for two years. Some of my early WordPress posts have been just as weird. I’m feeling somewhat embarrassed about my over-the-top, clumsy and strange Facebook and blogging posts. That’s the thing about writing and blogging. We start at a certain point, and then we begin to grow. Evolve. It’s interesting and sometimes a bit scary to look back and see how we were then, and how we are now. I started blogging as a challenge. Because I wanted to write. I discovered I love writing. And poetry! Poetry is awesome.
Let Hope Rise
I watched the most amazing documentary movie today. I do not go to the Hillsong Church, they are based in my suburb about ten minutes away, and so out of interest I decided to go see the movie. I was in the mood for something inspirational and uplifting. And it was all those things! The music is so catchy, one of the lead singers Taya Smith has the most beautiful voice, and is such an amazing role model for young women today. A definite must-see!
If anyone else has seen it or planning to do so, I’d love to hear your thoughts x
Empathy
Sometimes, when confronted with something bigger than I can comprehend, my mind automatically reverts to details. Immediately after my mother passed away, when at the time it was so sudden and unexpected, my mind went into survival-mode. What are the next steps? What to do now? My mind focused more on practical day-to-day living than on the fact that I had lost my one and only mother. When I stopped to think about it, my pain was around the fact that I would never hear her voice again. I often have dreams where I am trying to call her and she doesn’t answer the phone. Or she doesn’t want to speak to me. Her voice is not heard.
A colleague is going through a difficult time. I immediately went into survival-mode, and became detail-driven. How did it happen? What next? What did you do? What are you going to do? He said to me, it would only be from you, Vonita. All these questions, and lack of subtlety.
Perhaps it is a lesson to just be still. To feel the pain that others feel. To have a heart that is soft. To allow myself to feel my own loss and pain. To have empathy.
Poems and Petals 