A New Chance…

A new day has come,
A new month begins,
A new chance to let go and spread your wings…
A new chance to dream,
A new chance to change,
A new chance to write on a brand new page.

~Wellie

My Journaling Journey

About one year and five months ago, I started keeping a journal. I’d like to say the reason for my few and far between blog posts is as a result of my journal but, unfortunately, I can’t. My journal has suffered just as badly as my blog because I’m just too damn lazy and sometimes the thoughts just get jumbled and tangled up and become quite difficult to sort out on paper. Or maybe, my thoughts just love each other’s company because heaven knows there is a whole lot going on up there… Love, sex, marriage. Right. While those are certainly part of the mix, I hate to disappoint but, they are definitely in the minority.

So, anyway, I have a journal. Last year I was entirely convinced by an individual, and a spontaneous and totally wonderful experience, to get and keep a journal. Just to write my thoughts, my feelings, my dreams, my aspirations,… whatever came to mind. At first, it was somewhat weird writing what I felt on paper, you know, getting a “hard copy” of my thoughts. I sometimes forget how things and events make me feel and in thinking about a keeping a journal I realized that writing my feelings down would give me a record I could review at any time. I was not particularly fond of that because my thoughts/feelings are not always happy and positive.

New Glasses… New Vision?

I’ve had a lovely pair of burgundy-ish, pink-ish, brown-ish Emporio Armani glasses for approximately two and a half years now. I love them and it hurts a little to part with them. I remember it took a long time for me to find that one pair that suited me well. Although I was a bit hesitant in choosing them, I quickly warmed up to having a… a bolder look, a look I was not accustomed to. A lot of people liked my glasses and that made me like them even more. A lot of people probably didn’t either, but that never changed a thing. They were comfortable, they looked nice, they were not common and, most importantly, they helped me to see better.

On My Pedestal

“You meet thousands of people and none of them really touch you… And then you meet that one person and your life is changed… Forever.”

I loved you.
I did.
Head over heels I went,
Slowly,
Imperceptibly,
Without knowing what I felt.
But now I know for sure
What the butterflies really meant,
The giddiness,
The permanent smile,
The little heartbreak when
You neglected me,
Promised me,
Lied to me,
Left me…
I survived on “I miss you”
And dreams of what could be,
With my empty wishes,
Silly dreams,
Thinking you were meant for me…
I still stare at your picture,
My gaze lingers on your eyes,
Seeing in them what I want to see,
Ignoring all the lies.
I put you on a pedestal,
That’s where you ought to be
Because regardless of the ending,
You brought such life to me…

What Teaching Taught Me

Two weeks ago I ended my tenure as a teacher of Geography at my old high school. That’s right. For three months, starting in January, I walked the grounds of my alma mater in a position I had never in my wildest dreams imagined. I must admit that I was more than a little trepidated to fill the position after being given about a day’s notice, so, of course, I was feeling less than a little confident to teach my first class. But, opportunity knocked and I doubted it would knock twice. However much I doubted myself, I must say thanks to my truly amazing family members and friends who had genuine confidence in me because it was their words of encouragement that allowed me to put on a brave face (though shaking inside), act composed, go through my meeting with the principal, go through my first day and finally go through all three months! And I don’t think I did a bad job at all either .

A Letter I Cannot Send

Dear Friend,

It’s been years since we last spoke and, sadly, we never will again unless it’s when the Lord returns a second time to take His children home. Even then, I cannot be sure.

Regardless of the fact that communication between us has been severed, I write this letter as a memoir of our friendship or, maybe more appropriately, the friendship that could/should have been.

I remember the first time we met. That now seems like eons ago. I was a shy little girl of about 8 years with only a few friends and you were a visitor at my church. Before I knew it, you had befriended me and I am sure I was elated because this pretty little girl came to my church and she desired to be my friend. We took a liking to each other and I recall how your mother would admonish you for talking too much in church as we always had something to talk about. I began to look forward to your visits despite the fact that they were few and far between. I don’t remember much about our friendship back then but I will never forget that you were the first one to introduce me tofu and everytime I have had it since, I remember you. I doubt I had ever even heard of tofu before then but I remember I liked it because I thought then that it tasted like egg and those were the days when, as a child, I actually ate and loved to eat eggs.

The Road Ahead

I can recall an evening, many moons ago, when I was told for the first time about a gruesome shooting spree in my quiet rural community. It was a gripping story, which seemed straight out of a movie and which happened quite a few years before I was born. Never in my mind could I have imagined something so exciting, albeit tragic, happening in my community. You can’t blame me because up until that point the most intriguing thing that happened were domestic disputes involving knives or machetes which resulted in injuries which may have led to death.

So anyway, the story… (I am tempted to start with “Legend has it…” Because it seems so surreal).

A long time ago, a few men committed a crime (robbery, if I recall correctly) in a neighbouring community. Needing to get away as fast as they could, they hijacked a driver and told him to take them out of the community and as long as they got out of the area, they wouldn’t kill him. The driver panicked. What to do? He drove on and on and very likely was planning how he could escape and get out of the situation since he was sure they would kill him anyway. He did what he thought was best.