S.R. Crawford's Blog, page 15

Setting Smaller Goals for 2023: little things to change your life satisfaction

Maybe you don’t need to set big goals and intentions for your new year. Maybe you could focus on a few small changes that could make a big difference to your overall happiness and life satisfaction. Here are some ideas for small changes you can make that could have a big effect on your life (over time).

Drink more water Clean more often (get in the hard-to-reach and less obvious places)Journal for 5 mins on an app a dayRearrange a roomSay hello and smile at strangers in the street Play music in the mornings as you get ready for workList something you’re grateful for at the beginning or end of each day Stretch mindfully for 5-10 mins a dayCall your parents/carersDo something nice for someone without expecting anything in return Open up a cookbook and make something new Put together an outfit you’ve not worn before with items you don’t usually pair together Set a “no phone when” rule e.g. no phone when it’s past 8pm; no phone when I am with someone; no phone at dinner time; no phone when I first wake up…Wear the nice shoes, or top, or lipgloss Breathe in for 5, hold, out for 7; repeat 5 times as needed throughout the day Watch less TV, read more Drink less caffeineLaugh with your siblings or close cousinsTalk about your feelings, don’t hold a grudge or create a narrative by overthinking (have hard conversations and clear the air)Read about important topics like race, LGBTQ+ experiences, cultures other than your own, and world history not skewed by European perspectives

Sincerely, S. xx

Changing the language around my anxiety

(This is a personal experiment I am trying to shift my mindset about my anxiety. I am not suggesting people with anxiety should do the same, especially if they suffer from severe anxiety or panic disorders. I have worked for over a decade with therapists, doctors, books, and my own personal experiences to get to the point where this feels appropriate to do. Please always seek professional help first if you are really struggling.)

I don’t want to say “I have anxiety” or “I am an anxious person” this year. This dialogue doesn’t serve me anymore. Back when mental illness was more taboo for me, these words were empowering. They said “I have something I struggle with, and I’m not ashamed to admit it”. And I stand by that. Mental health should be something we all openly discuss, not something we hide and deal with alone.

I will always advocate for honesty around mental health and mental illness.

However, for me personally, going around and saying so often that I have anxiety, or always making jokes at my own expense, or just generally subscribing to the notion that anxiety is an ever-present force in my life is no longer serving me. I feel it may be a hindrance. It’s like saying it’s inevitable. It’s just who I am, so why try change?

And again, it might be innate in me. I do believe it is. For some people, they are more prone to anxiety and depression. It’s in their biology. I think I may be one of those people. However, that doesn’t mean it needs to ride in the front seat. It doesn’t need to have access to my energy. It could happen to me, and I experience the feelings and thoughts and bodily reactions, without me shrugging and naming it “anxiety”.

Let me explain better.

Language has power. It has meaning. Naming a feeling is potent. Sometimes, that’s all you need in order to feel better about something. “I feel angry”. And even better to be able to name why. “I feel angry because my mom embarrassed me at dinner today.” And even better to name why it was such a trigger. “I feel angry because my mom embarrassed me at dinner. I just hate that I made a mistake years ago and it is still punishing me today. I think I never truly forgave myself for the mistake.”

This is emotional intelligence. This is healthy. This solves problems. And if it does not solve them, it takes the power away from the situation a least a little.

I practice this as much as I can and it’s really helped over the years. However, anxiety seems to be a different thing. For me, anxiety isn’t an emotion. It’s a force. It’s this ugly, strong, uncontrollable force that has a hold on me. I have techniques to relieve the symptoms and help myself but that’s just in the moment. Anxiety isn’t just in the moment. It’s always there.

What I’m trying to say is this is more a case of tackling something that’s not fleeting. It’s more about personality. About habits. About lifestyle choices. About who I think I am. About my belief systems. Anxiety leaks into all of that for me, but I no longer want it to.

At the moment, I would name “anxious” or “anxiety” on a list of things about me. Or personality traits. Heck, I’ve taken the Myers-Briggs personality test on 16 Personalities for years now and always come up the same as INFJ-T. What does the T stand for? Turbulent! Even a test thinks I have a turbulent personality/mind.

What I want to push for this year is making anxiety and anxious feelings an emotion again. I can deal with emotions. I want to slowly pick it apart from the other areas, so all that’s left is a fleeting thing that is an emotion, thought, or feeling that I can manage. Sounds neat and simple, but I know it won’t be. This will take potentially years of work. I am willing to do the work, if I changes my life and relationship with anxiety.

I don’t have a fully fledged plan yet. But as I say, I’m starting with my language. Simply stop myself when I say “I have anxiety” or “I am anxious”. This language gives it more power over me.

Instead, name the emotion. “I am afraid.” Because anxiety, at its root, is fear. Being afraid of something. Whether it’s something big or small, logical or illogical, it’s still fear.

“I’m afraid my boss will realise I’m not good at my job and I’m an imposter.”

“I’m afraid my husband will stop finding me attractive.”

“I’m afraid I won’t ever want to be a mother like everyone expects me to be.”

“I’m afraid I am not good enough to make it as a writer, and I have no plan B, so I’m doomed to depression and poverty my whole life.”

These are real fears I’ve had/have. But calling them anxiety, this big umbrella term, simply makes them seem unmanageable and grand. It takes away my power to sort these issues out. Naming the emotion, the why, and the trigger/experience, needs to be how I actively tackle anxious moments or thoughts. Again and again and again. I was taught this in therapy (CBT). It works. It may seem boring, and you may need to keep tackling the same thoughts, but it works in the moment.

I am not, or at least I no longer want to adopt the idea that I am subject to anxiety forever. That anxiety is just who I am. Siana and Anxiety, best buds. Siana and Anxiety are one. No. Do I experience strong, sometimes uncontrollable and illogical bouts of fear? Yes! Would that be diagnosed as anxiety? Yes (it has been). Is it okay to feel anxiety or have an anxiety disorder? Heck yes! Does it make you a freak or weak or a loser? Heck no, in fact, more people than you realise would say that they have anxiety and or depression in their lives.

But as I said, I just (personally) don’t want to use that dialogue anymore. I feel I’m done with it. I’m stronger and more educated about anxiety than I used to be, and I feel it’s time to experiment with new wording.

“I feel stressed”

“I feel overwhelmed”

“I feel confused”

“I feel so tired that I’m not thinking clearly”

“I feel decision fatigue so I can’t decide right now”

“I am thinking too far ahead right now”

“This is not a problem right now”

“I don’t need this on my plate right now”

“I don’t want to think about this right now”

“I will seek help about this topic to see more clearly”

Again, this is just for me. It’s not for you to do the same if this doesn’t work for you in your life right now. It might not even work for me. I may change my mind. And that’s okay. I’m human. We’re human. We just gotta do what we feel is best for us.

Wishing you all the very best.

Sincerely,

S. xx

Film Review of Till: “A Needed Emotive Film”

Till is a film about Emmett Till, the 14-year-old black boy who was brutally murdered by white men for whistling at a white woman in Mississippi in 1955. The real story is skewed, perhaps, but from my own reading, I didn’t think he whistled to intentionally flirt, as the film depicted. If that’s not the true story, I don’t know why they put that in the film. For me, it took away from the innocence of the boy. In real life, I thought he had simply spoken to the woman, who was the shop assistant at a store he was buying sweets, and having a stutter, he may have sounded like he whistled. I didn’t like that the film made him more forward with her. He said she was beautiful like a movie star and then afterward, when she followed him outside, he whistled at her. This offended her and she went to get her gun, later leading to the events of the lynching.

Don’t get me wrong, whether Emmett did whistle at her intentionally and flirtatiously or not isn’t the point. He never deserved to be abducted from his uncle’s house, beaten, and lynched no matter what. He was a little boy who didn’t fully understand the rules of the South at the time. But again, those rules were disgusting and broken to begin with. Alas, this isn’t a conversation about his murder, back to the film and how it told the story.

You would be forgiven if you walked out of this film and didn’t feel a change. “It was in the past. That would never happen today. Glad they’ve got a law, though late. Poor boy.” For me, though horrific, I felt we needed to see him hurt more. Not necessarily showing his face, but showing the men throwing the punches and shooting the gun. The director chose to show just the barn he was being beaten in and the audio did the rest. Hearing the lashes and his screaming was still painful, but I think there should have been more. In the vein of 12 Years a Slave, which has left a lasting mark on me forever due to the raw power of the scenes where the slaves were beaten, I feel like viewers needed to come away with the same feelings from Till, but didn’t. My husband and I felt downcast after the film. We already knew the story of Emmett Till but still, the reminder of the injustice and brutality and broken system of America was saddening. However, as I say (which is hurtful to say), I wish they were more honest about it, perhaps? I think the audience should have felt uncomfortable watching the scene of his murder. Again, it didn’t have to show the boy, but the lashes from the villainous, hateful monsters who murdered him should have been shown. In fact, the men who did it weren’t shown much at all. Maybe that was done for a reason, I don’t know. But we shouldn’t be protecting these men anymore. They have already got away with what they did. Heck, they even profited from it because they did a TV interview and were paid $4,000 for it! Should the faces of the vile white men who not only stole a young life, but brutally took it with no consequence, be protected and hidden? No. Maybe they wanted to show the pain of the black community instead, I don’t know.

Aside from that, we were presented with a moving, emotional and important film after the long-awaited passing of the Anti-Lynching law in America 67 years late. The lingering shots of his bloated, mangled body was potent and uncomfortable in the right ways. His image has been burned into the minds of millions all over the world for the last 67 years anyway. If you haven’t seen it yet, prepare yourself and google it. The film handled the morgue and the funeral with the open casket scenes perfectly.

Actress Danielle Deadwyler who played Emmett’s (“Beau’s”) mother did a brilliant performance. Her emotions were palpable, jumping off the screen. I cried twice. My husband and I went home feeling the heaviness of it, so the film did its job. There was one scene that I felt was a little over-acting, but still it was gripping and raw. They started with Emmett/Beau being the playful, charismatic boy which made it all the more painful to see his death. But again, it wasn’t really SEEN. That’s my only critique.

The pacing was done well, as it didn’t feel slow. The dialogue was potent, evoking the emotion of the scene and captivating the audience. Good choice of actors. The world and time period portrayed felt real, especially with the court scene. I felt my heart racing with fear at the situation in Mississippi. That’s good storytelling and cinema.

Please go to see this film. It’s important and people need to be educated on what happened (and continued to happen). No justice was given, not even now after the perpetrators admitted to what they did. America has a lot to answer for, even today. This is not about history, it’s a reminder of the prejudices and hate that remains today.

Repeated life lessons

In 2022, I was reminded that people don’t think as I do. We are not all the same, even deep down. Some people will villainise you. Some people will look off in another direction and see something you don’t see, while saying you are wrong. Some people have stubborn minds. Some people are hurt so they make you hurt. Some people are just not ready to see how you do. Some people are just too self-serving. No matter how compassionate and fair you might be to them, they cannot reciprocate.

I have to accept that.

I have to accept apologies I didn’t get last year. I need to move on. Not forgive. Not forget. Move on.

And really, there’s always many sides to things, not just two. In reality, you are the villain as much as you are not. There are no objective views. There are no absolutes. And so I need to find peace in that, not frustration. Stop screaming for people to see reason. Stop screaming to be heard. Stop seeking validation from those who can’t see me.

I’m working on it. I am. I must. For it is a great irritation at the moment, consuming my thoughts and energy, trying to get people to act the way I want them to.

I am no puppeteer.

Let go, Siana. Let them be. And you just be. And hope that these moments don’t happen too frequently. As Adriene Mischler says, tell them “namaste my friend!” and walk away. Don’t give the wrong things more energy than they deserve.

Walking into 2023 (prose) piece)

The thing is, you bring you into the new year. All the scars and the hurt. Chipped nails painted red and white from Christmas, a reminder of your imperfection. You were supposed to clean it off before the new year. But you forgot. And isn’t that just poetic?

I still feel the bloody bite marks left on my tongue from things left unsaid last year. The pile of university text books left open, stacked haphazardly on the ottoman in the living room, as if being left open means the information will crawl out of the pages and into my mind. That Amazon parcel packaging still sitting on the side, waiting for the address to be scribbled off. The positive covid test on the kitchen table, a reminder that good health and good intentions doesn’t make you invincible and even a virus can cling to your organs and follow you into a new year. It does not care that you wanted a blank slate.

But as I wake on this fresh morning, I hear birdsong and feel the cool breeze from the back door I left open for the dog to piss. And I know it’s okay. The baggage, the semi colons, the things left undone are okay. The frayed edges and imperfections are okay. I can get to them later, and it’ll still be done. It can still be done. And for now, the Christmas lights still twinkle. The casual magic needed to appreciate the little lightness that makes a day worth waking up to.

So wake up. Wake. And bring everything with you from before. It’s okay.

Reading stats of 2022

Total books read: 36

Average book length: 300-499

Audiobooks: 14

Number of non fiction read: 7

Number of fiction read: 28

Favourite non-fiction book: The Anthropocene Reviewed by John Green

Favourite fiction book: The Book Thief, White Smoke, or House of Hollow (yes I can’t pick one!!)

Number of authors of colour read: 10

Top genres read: Literary and Fantasy

I think I’m slowly coming to understand what I like to read and in what format. I fell back in love with audiobooks this year and enjoy the ease of ebooks (plus cheaper and better for the environment blah blah). But hopefully next year I DNF less books and find some gold!

My intentions for 2023

I wanted to desperately to have a beautiful, simple idea to guide my year. Every year I like to pick a motto or phrase to help me stay focused and set the tone for my year. As you go, of course, you forget what this was, unless you intentionally revisit it. My motto for last year was to enjoy myself. To trust myself more and choose joy. I believe I succeeded in this. I have had a lot of fun this year. I’ve laughed and played and let go a little. I’ve trusted myself to make the right choices. I landed on my feet each time I did.

However, there was a lot of hesitation and fear and doubt, too. Maybe there is no way to eradicate this entirely, especially being me. But this year came with things that were heavy for me. Getting married was a joy but also a stressor. That’s done now, and I’m so happily married, but I don’t want that same hesitation and tension and fear in 2023. Again; maybe it’s unavoidable.

So my initial idea was for my motto to be “ease”. To create a sense of calm and ease in my day to day. Not to rush and fret and force and push. To just relax and take it easy. To continue with the things I’ve already set up nicely for myself (yoga everyday, jogging, seeing people I love, writing, studying for my degree, working my still new-ish job). To trust I’m in the right place and just continue doing what I need to do, with ease.

I still like the sound of that, but something doesn’t feel so exciting about it. Not quite right. Not quite hitting home.

I like the idea of “slow living”. I like the idea of “cultivating calm”. But still, not quite there.

Then Adriene (of Yoga with Adriene) came to the rescue. She does a free 30 days of yoga challenge every January and this January it’s called “Centre”. In my notes app, I’d already spoken about wanting to improve my core. Core values, core beliefs, literal physical core of my body, my core (my soul) and my strength within. This from Adriene was the last push to know this is what my motto needs to be.

To find and support my centre; the core of my being.

Sometimes I like myself, but often I don’t. I have a love-hate relationship with myself, as I’m sure many of us do. I do something wrong or disappoint myself and I beat myself up. But on the other hand, I talk to myself like a parent or a big sister at times, like, “it’s okay, buddy, we’ll try again” and that’s beautiful. I want to work on that second voice, while chipping away at the first.

So my motto for this year means a number of things:

Working on my nutrition to improve my gut health and immunity Strengthening my core muscles Improving my posture Knowing and living more closely to my values Working on destroying poor past beliefs and strengthening healthier beliefsParenting and loving myself unconditionally (working on that inner critic)Support from counselling to help with the above and my anxious behaviours/thoughts Speaking and standing in my truth (even if I’m alone)Breathwork to connect to my centre Connecting with my spirit and deep, inner self

Going deep into the centre of my being, befriending that person, and solidifying my relationship and identity with this person. This may seem extreme or hippy-dippy or unattainable to some. I agree, it kind of is! It’s more of a lifelong goal but one I can start now, right?

Again, I don’t have a great relationship with myself. For most of my life, I’ve questioned who I am. I’ve felt like I’m not a real person compared to others. That there’s nothing interesting about me. That I don’t know anything. That I had little value. I know that it’s not true, but I don’t know it deeply enough. 2023 will be the year of gathering evidence of this, loving what I find, and being unapologetic about it.

I think doing Adriene’s 30 days of yoga to start the year will be the perfect transition into 2023 for me. It always is, but especially now with our mottos being in alignment. I had a spiritual year in 2020 but then I felt knocked of kilter in 2021 and then have been gathering the pieces back in 2022. Maybe 2023 is a call for more spiritual connection and depth. I’ll roll with it for now, and adjust as needed. It’s important to revisit our intentions and goals regularly. Either monthly or quarterly, but at least at the halfway line. So we’ll see!

What’s your intentions for 2023? Happy new year, guys, thanks for sticking with me for yet another one! Here’s to 2023!

Sincerely,

S. xx

My year at a glance

As per usual, this is my post about what my year’s achievements and high points were. I like looking back at these as the years go by, so that’s why I document it all.

Got married in summerChanged jobs to a better schoolRan 5x5km runs (never ran 5km before) Wrote an 84,000 word novel in 5 weeksWrote 38,000 word novella in 2 months Achieved a 2:1 in my advanced creative writing module for university Read 34 books (might be 35 at time of publishing this!)Reconnected with an old friend Completed the longest flight on a plane of my life (11 hours) Got married again with my husband’s family in South Africa in a more traditional way Done an elephant experience in Johannesburg – I was kissed right in the face with a wet dirty trunk!Safari in Johannesburg Penguins at Boulders Beach Hiked to Cape of Good Hope (most south western point of the African continent) Went to the top of table mountain and hiked down Saw flora that can only be seen in South Africa Wine tasting in Beau ConstantiaMonkeys played on my head at monkey park and the world of birds in Cape Town Got my hair cut professionally by a curl specialist for the first time Went to Edinburgh and explored Saw pandas in Edinburgh (my favourite animal!)Uploaded some more of my writing online Started a new project with my friend (will launch in January hopefully) Started a writer’s Instagram where I document my writing and creative pursuits alongside writing advice Many game nights to reconnect with my sister who I didn’t see as often as I liked last year Completed 30 days of yoga with Adriene 3 times Spa and massages Went on a writer’s retreat Went to counselling again to help me cope Met Adam Silvera at an author Waterstones event Did gratitude November Christmas fun with the family Supported and witnessed my husband do a half marathon and progress in his goals

Self-Censorship

I wrote a long reflection post about my time in South Africa. But I deleted it. I felt censored. I felt afraid to say the truth of my experience. I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, even though my feelings were hurt many times on and around the trip. It’s lead me to writing this post instead, one about censorship in writing. Having things to say but not feeling you can say them, for fear of how it will be perceived.

The problem is, we can’t be there sat beside everyone who reads our work to explain what we meant, in case it’s taken the wrong way. “No, I didn’t mean it like that!” Even great writers can have their work read in a multitude of ways. For everyone reads and perceives things in their own way, through their own lens. Their own beliefs and experiences will shape how they read and understand something.

Let me say this plainly, so I’m not taken the wrong way: censorship has its positives. We can’t all go around saying whatever we like without any consequences. We need to be aware of how our words can affect other people. Something you see as harmless, can feel detrimental to someone else.

But it does make it difficult for us writers. We are constantly tripping over our own words, unsure on whether they could be warped into a gun to shoot unintentionally at someone or something. I never want to hurt anyone, even people who hurt me. I know that no one on the SA trip meant to hurt me, but I felt like I couldn’t speak. I felt unseen and unheard. I felt misunderstood and alone and afraid. What I wanted and believed in didn’t matter. And someone in particular spoke words that cut me deeply, words I can’t easily forgive. Yet they did not censor themselves. They just said what they wanted to say.

“An eye for an eye turns the whole world blind,” said Gandhi. So I do not seek to hurt them back for having upset me. But I do feel a sense of injustice that they got away with it. That they may continue to get away with it.

Part of my 2023 intentions is to speak my truth. To have opinions and beliefs and not be afraid to voice them. But even in doing so, we must (in our speech and our writing) be compassionate and aware of our words. Words are only so powerful and beautiful because they have meaning. We can’t go recklessly throwing them around, uncaring of their sharp edges. Part of the problem of today is too many people say whatever they like online, without consequence.

I will not add to that rambling nonsense.

So censorship is a bitch. Even swearing on my blog feels icky! But I can’t live my life walking on eggshells, afraid to offend and upset or rock the boat. Some boats need rocking. Some boats need capsizing. But I’ll pick my battles, knowing that it’s not only me who could get hurt if I say the wrong thing. For now, I’ll remain silent. But know that words bubble beneath my surface.

Sincerely,

S. xx

A reflection on my trip to South Africa

I was going to write a detailed post about my whole trip, but I no longer feel called to do this. One, it would take a long time. Two, I’m not sure anyone cares enough to read it all. And three, you can see highlights on my Instagram and achievements of the year post. At a glance, this is what my trip involved:

Just under 2 weeks in South Africa (first 8 days in Cape Town, then 4 in Johannesburg)Kirstenbosch botanical gardens Penguins in Simon’s Town and Boulders Beach Hiked Cape Point and Cape of Good Hope Cable car to the top of Table Mountain then hiked down Robben’s Island prison where Nelson Mandela and other freedom fighters were wrongly imprisoned Aquarium Wine tasting at Beau Constantia vineyard Monkeys jumped on our heads at monkey park and the world of birds Safari drive in Johannesburg at African hills game reserve 90 min massage Elephant experience where I got to touch, feed, and be kissed by elephants

Now that the what I did part is over, I want to reflect on what it meant to me. Lingering on the details between the big moments. I could say that each experience was unique. I’d never done a lot of the things from this trip. However, that’s surface level. Boring.

Our South African trip was one of…contrasts. Contradictions and juxtaposition. One of confusion of emotion and sights. On the one hand, we had the greatest trip of our lives. We did and saw incredible things. Cape Town is beautiful. The wildlife and nature of Johannesburg are awe-inspiring and breathtaking. But we cannot ignore the decoration of homeless people sleeping under palm trees along the promenade, lulled to sleep under the scorching summer sun by the sea. And for the first time, they are not white homeless people. They are black. This may mean nothing to some, but it cut me deeply. It’s not often you see black homeless people in the UK. Seeing people who look like my family out on the street is gut-wrenching but more so, it creates a narrative of this place.

Try as you might, you can’t hide from the reality of Apartheid in SA. The street signs are in Dutch. All the homeless people are black. The townships, with the tin shacks, are full of black people only, who were forcefully removed from their homes to create whites-only neighbourhoods. And no, this isn’t a distant memory of the far past. Apartheid only ended in 1994 and of course, the country still bares the scars. Years upon years of trying to fix what was broken while people were still hurting. And apparently, to this day, there are still whites-only places in SA. There’s a whole community of white people who have their own laws and shops and schools and government within SA! How is that allowed? The tension between races is still there, with anger and hurt on both sides.

As a mixed-race woman, I felt stared at. I felt alone. I saw only three other mixed women while we were there, and I felt comforted by their presence. While my husband was treated like an African king returned home (he is a black Zimbabwean), I felt less than compared. Maybe it was my own perception, and not the truth of the situation, but even as a foreigner I felt the tension left by Apartheid and the colour of my skin was a cry of shame.

When we arrived in Cape Town, we were told about something completely unexpected: load shedding. Load shedding is South Africa’s answer to the overuse of electricity in the country. For hours throughout the day, the whole country has its electricity switched off (at least that’s what it seems, I’m sure some places or people are excluded from this). This meant being thrust into darkness, having no connection at all, for hours. Luckily, the hotel and lodge we stayed in had generators, so we didn’t have to suffer for long. But again, the residents of SA do have to, unless they can afford generators. We were in the museum and boom, darkness. We were in H&M and boom, darkness. People screamed, showing who the tourists were. It’s eerie. It’s wrong.

The constant backdrop of our Cape Town stay was these hooked-beak birds that roamed the promenade where we stayed at Sea Point. We found out the name while visiting Kirstenbosch botanical gardens. It was the hadeda bird, aptly named because it sounds like it’s laughing when it speaks. It became a running joke for us. The natural wildlife of Cape Town and Johannesburg made the trip all that more special. Baboons, though dangerous, running across the roads, hanging in parks, lurking in the brush. I spotted five horses on separate occasions while driving to the airport. Just chilling in parks and around the township houses. Ostrich, colourful birds, antelope, lizards, hydrax, and more.

Let me comment on that for a moment. The wildlife and natural landscape of South Africa is awe-inspiring and far from my norm. But so were the tin houses. The clear poverty of the people who had no other choices in life. Ripped from their homes, deemed less than, and made to wrestle with a still broken, corrupt system. I can’t remember the full story, but there are half-built roads found around Cape Town because the government started building without permission and people protested. Just dangerous, monstrous bridges. There is just the lingering, ugly concrete of yet more decisions made without any care for the people.

The most prominent natural monument in Cape Town is Table Mountain. I feel privileged to have reached its top, and even more so to have spent eight days with it watching over me. There’s something so godly and ethereal about misty mountains. I think wherever I settle later in life, I would feel blessed to see mountains every day. Reminded how small my problems are. While up in the mountains, we heard singing. We approached it, following this angelic melody, worried it may be a figment of our imagination. Maybe we were being lured into a fantasy land. But alas, through the mist, I spotted people standing on the side of the mountain in the distance, singing like a choir. Yes, for real! I couldn’t believe it. I wanted to cry, it was that magical. I was reminded of the beauty and power of people. The power of a collective voice.

Speaking of the beauty of people, we saw a group of boys playing basketball. No, not with a basketball and a hoop, like you’d expect. Instead, it was an ordinary ball and a makeshift hoop. They had cut out the bottom of a large plant pot and nailed the pot to a tall tree. There you have it, a basketball hoop! Absolute genius. We may cry and moan that we don’t have our fancy lattes, or the latest iPhone, but these boys made a game and were playing with pure joy with a plant pot and a ball. They didn’t moan (or maybe they did, but not for long) instead made something work with what they had. If only more of us had the brains and creativity to make things with our hands. If only we didn’t rely so heavily on the ease of things over here.

In 2018, my husband and I were in Rome during the World Cup. This year, we were in Cape Town. There’s something special about watching World Cup games abroad. You take international unity to a whole other level. People from all over the world, gather to watch two countries go head to head. And even if you don’t care about football, for some reason you care about this. You ooo and ahhh in unison. There’s something so special about that. I hope to always be abroad for World Cups; it’s become an accidental tradition of ours.

The last thing I’ll talk about from Cape Town is our trip to Robben Island. This is the island where the prison Nelson Mandela and other freedom fighters were kept. For decades. In poor, unjust, inhumane conditions. Black prisoners were given less food and fewer options than white ones. They were given thin, itchy blankets and slept on the floor.

Have you heard of Robert Sobukwe? I’d be surprised if you had. Apparently, his part in history is kept sort of secret. He was one of the high-profile prisoners and enemies of the state during Apartheid. He was the only prisoner to be kept in isolation with the dogs in the kennels. He had so much influence, that they had to create a law to keep him prisoner! The Sobukwe Clause allowed the South African government to extend and renew his period of confinement. Sobukwe raised awareness of Apartheid all over the world, was president of an anti-apartheid organisation, and convinced people not to carry their permits (the don pass booklet, I think it was called).

Prisoners were only allowed 2 visits a year, once every 6 months at the lowest level of imprisonment. This was Mandela. These visits were only 30 minutes long and were watched by guards. They were only able to speak in English or Africaans or not at all, too. So if you couldn’t, you sat in silence. Robben Island wasn’t just an island for prisoners. People with leprosy were sent there for isolation, waiting to die. Even in death, blacks and whites were separated, their graves divided by gender and race. South Africa has a long, sad history of divide, conquering, and violence. It’s astounding that so much beauty (in the hospitality and kindness of the people, and the natural landscape) remains.

At our lodge in Johannesburg, we experienced a luxury chalet. Like a 5-star apartment on a wild game reserve! We had a stone pool overlooking wildlife! A woman turned down our bed before we slept in it (I had no idea what this was when she asked me until she did it)! I’ve never been treated to such luxury.

The safari and pool session in Johannesburg was a needed break after some difficult events during the trip. We saw animals and laughed and chilled. Monkeys played on the trees by our lodge. The next day (our last) we did the elephant experience. This was one of the things I was looking forward to the most. I was worried something would happen to prevent me from doing it (like last time), but we did it. It was magical. I will remember it forever.

But again, contradictions. While it was amazing for me, it wasn’t so much for the elephants. They had to, like me, do things they probably didn’t want to do. Perform small tricks for treats. It’s just training like we do with our dogs, but they’re wild. Wild! They’re not for us to tame, right? And I couldn’t ignore the chain on their legs. Though wrapped in a soft material so it wouldn’t hurt them, it took me away from the magic of the moment and back to reality. In order for me to have this experience, they had to be chained up for my safety. They had to be trained. Though they said that in Asia the elephant handlers hurt the animals to tame them, but African handlers only bribe them with food, I have no idea of the reality of the elephants’ experience. We were unable to ask for permission to touch and take photos with them. They had no say. And that’s heartbreaking.

There is a lot I could talk about during my time in South Africa. We experienced a lot. It was the small details, not the picture-perfect moments, that made the trip what it was. Some details slip through the cracks, sadly. But I hope I’ll be reminded of these things time and again over the years. “Oh, remember in Cape Town when we…” those moments are worth living for. The stories we have to tell. The essence of a place that lingers with you wherever you go.

Though the trip was tough for me and full of a lot of contradictions and contrasts, it was beautiful and it was a solid reminder of what life is all about. I was simultaneously transported far from reality, witnessing fantastical moments of pure awe; while also being faced with a harsh reality, where I couldn’t close my eyes for it was all-consuming and now sits within me. I thank the universe for it all. And thank you to those who supported our marriage our way, and contributed to our being able to go.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Sincerely,

S. xx