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Happy 2nd Anniversary!

Vonita 36 Comments

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It has been two years since I was encouraged to start a blog. I knew nothing about blogging. A google search brought up WordPress, and I registered a domain. What to call a blog? I was struggling with depression, and felt like I was living in a constant, black hole. Move towards the light, Vonita. Okay, I will! I wrote a poem ‘The Light‘, and posted as my first post. Happy two years blogging to me!

And thank you to all who have read, commented, liked and encouraged along the way! Very grateful for the wonderful souls I’ve met!

❤

Classic Quote of the Day #4

Vonita 9 Comments

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Nothing is working as it should.

Just restart it.

Poet by Night

Vonita 16 Comments

I’m presenting an Analytics presentation this evening. Especially for the occasion I put on a touch of lipstick and black heels. Viva Polka Dot black dress and black jacket.

So anyway, as I entered the room, I got told I don’t look like an IT Engineer. *I turned heads* 😉 What do I look like then? We don’t know, just not an IT Engineer.

I’m a poet by night?

Highs and Lows

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Describe a time when you quickly switched from feeling at the top of the world to sinking all the way down (or vice versa). Did you learn anything about yourself in the process?

Thank you for suggesting this prompt, rollingblogger!

I went through an experience like this during the past week. Being pressured to reach a deadline, non-stop go, loving the work, just about to build something of substance, and then told to down tools (#politics). Excuse me? I’m busy. Running a test. It’s NB. I continued. Because passion. Until instructed, “Immediately, STOP”. I stopped.

Being super-busy one minute, nothing to do the next, and it does my head in. From being on a pressure-driven outcome-focused high, to then having it snatched away sends me on a free-fall to the lowest valley.

Yay for blogs and writing!

“Mountaintops and Valleys.”

Retrospectively Funny

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In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Retrospectively Funny.”

Being serenaded on arrival at the airport

Being serenaded on arrival at the airport

I forgot about a fresh apple in my bag as we went through customs on our Castaway Island holiday. So after receiving a customs fine, and not having enough cash on hand to pay it, I quickly went to the nearest atm in sight to withdraw money. But, being in a panic at being stopped at customs I completely forgot my pin. Total mind blank. And after the first failed attempt I was too nervous to do another one in case my pin got blocked. My husband had already withdrawn his daily limit.
It was agreed that I could pay the fine when I returned to the airport which would be in 8 days time. However, the fine clearly stated it needed to be paid in 7 days failing which you would have to appear in the magistrates court at a set time.
At the airport the following Saturday we went to pay the fine. At the security office I noticed there was an envelope with my name on it. Why was there an envelope with my name on it? We paid and went to go through passport control. Only to find out my passport was blocked. Do not allow to leave the country. My heart started racing. We were ushered into an office and told to wait. From the window I could see the airplane and there wasn’t much time before it started to board. No-one seemed to want to make a decision on my passport, and being a Saturday made it worse with decision-makers not being at work etc. I was entertaining visions of missing my flight, and being held back to appear in a magistrates office, and being alone in a foreign country etc, my mind raced ahead and my heart was beating so fast I felt like I was going to have a heart-attack there and then. Please let me go! After what felt like an eternity an official came into the room, interviewed a very nervous me, eventually stamped my passport, and said I could go! Still in time for the flight home.

Castaway Island

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In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Young and the Rested.”

A few years ago we vacationed on Castaway Island in Fiji. For anyone who has seen the Tom Hanks movie Castaway, Castaway Island is in the same group of islands as to where the movie was shot (day trips are also offered to that specific island). Spending a few days on Castaway Island was like spending a few days in a tropical island heaven. No cars, all food prepared, water, snorkeling, sun, sand. And not forgetting the very friendly Pacific Islanders. Bula!

http://castawayfiji.com

Growing up in South Africa

Vonita 11 Comments

Yesterday I updated a post to include a school photograph taken when I was eight. I was taken aback at the few things that stood out for me. I have written before about how unhappy I was at moving to a new school, and right before me was the evidence. It looks like I was scowling, and turned away from the camera as if I didn’t want to be there (which I didn’t).
Also, the other thing that seemed so normal to me at the time was the demographics of the class. I was brought up in the height of apartheid-era South Africa, and captured in the photograph was a testament to that. My children in Australia attend the local public school, and in their class they have children of all races.
I became especially aware of the politics of the country when I went to a convent at the age of 13, which was allowed by the State to include children of all races. My best friend turned out to be of dark skin, and we became the best of friends. This was from the year 1987, when apartheid was still strictly enforced. My friend was not allowed to catch the same bus as me. We were not allowed to have coffee in a coffee-shop together. But we looked past all that, and enjoyed the friendship that we had. It was just how it was. We are still friends today, even though I am so far away. What it taught me is that friendship is color-blind. Policies can dictate, but love overrules.

First Crush

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In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “First Crush.”

My first crush was a boy by the name of Paul (middle row third from left, age 8). I was standing directly to the left of him. Not looking too happy in my new school. I had a crush on him from the age of twelve. My mother suggested that since it was now 1986 and not the dark ages (#feminism), perhaps I should invite him ice-skating. (Advice I would never give my daughter, men must take the lead!) So I called him (his older sister was friends with my sister so I had access to his landline). He put me on hold so he could go and ask his mother. She said no. At school on Monday he joked about it with the others in the class. (I asked him out, how dare I!) I learnt my lesson well.

Advice to my daughter:
No asking boys or men out! Attract them if you must, but they must pursue! End of story.

Falling off Chairs

Vonita 14 Comments

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This evening I fell off a chair.

I was in my class (wk 6 of 10) when the lecturer nearly tripped over my umbrella.

So I leaned over (as one does) to move the umbrella.

The rather flimsy chair gave way and toppled over.

Placing me unceremoniously on the floor.

With a sprained thumb.

Scars

Vonita 30 Comments

I was six turning seven when I started school. We lived in a little town an hour from the main city Johannesburg. My best friend and I had grown up together, we lived around the corner from each other and we were ‘family friends’. Her name was Angelique and we were best friends forever. Our personalities complimented each other.
In those days we used to walk in a group to school. Even from first grade, we would walk by ourselves without adult supervision. I loved my school. I loved my teacher. I had my friend Angelique and we would run amok and have as much fun as we could. I was the first child to be able to read fluently. So my teacher Mrs Van Wyk used to call on me to help with reading groups. I was really confident. And happy.
The following year my parents decided to move to the city. We left the week after my eighth birthday at the end of April. I started my new school in the middle of the term, was introduced to the class first thing on a Monday morning. I was never able to embrace the new school fully. I was always looking back.
This morning I saw a group on FB. It is a school group of my first school. They celebrated their sixtieth anniversary last year. A couple of people in the group remember Mrs Van Wyk. It seems she really was as nice as I can remember her.
And I realize we scar in our lives. And sometimes time doesn’t quite heal those scars. Even now over thirty years later I find myself looking back. I can enter into those feelings. I wish we hadn’t left. I wish my parents hadn’t removed me. From a place where I was happy and confident to a place where I never quite fitted in.