I am a hopeless romantic. Always have been. Love stories bring tears to my eyes. I have often been accused of being naïve about love and relationships but I really cannot help myself. I grew up reading and watching fairytale stories which probably influenced my disposition to all matters romance. Back then, romance novels like Mills & Boon were the hottest reads, literally and figuratively. Predictably, there was always a tall dark handsome character who would sweep a fair lady off her feet and they would live happily ever after. The End.
As we head towards Easter celebration in a few days, here are a few tips on combating Holiday Blues. This article first appeared in the December issue of Sage magazine. All rights reserved. Please indicate the source when quoting this article. As we prepare to bring down the curtains on yet another year I’m sure most of us are wondering, where did the year go? Well, guess what? You are not alone. A lot of us made very determined resolutions in January of this year, vowing that this would be the year of change. The thing about January is that it always makes us feel like we have so much time to make the changes we have long been putting off. Then before you know it, February is here and suddenly it’s Valentine’s Day and when you blink again, Easter is upon us. The cold months pass in a blur as we long for the warm months to return and let’s face it, after August, most of us just zone out waiting for January to start all over again.
Sad love songs. We all love them. They break chart records and make millions for their composers. Have you ever noticed that you are more likely to relate with the lyrics of a song when you are going through a tough time? I bet that musicians never write great songs when they are happy; the really great lyrics come during times of heart break and tragedy in personal lives. Those are the songs that people love. We tend to be obsessed with fixing broken things. Broken hearts. Broken lives. Broken minds. Broken bodies. If you look at society today, there exist all kinds of doctors ready to offer a fix for anything you feel might be broken. There’s a stereotype about people who we perceive as “not being ok” and we steer clear of them till they are “fixed”. Till they are more like us and fit in to what we define as being acceptable. In reality though, is there really any among us who is not broken in one way or another? And if truly, great things are born out of our brokenness then why our haste to fix ourselves all the time?
Late last week as my husband and I were taking our evening walk, we happened upon a heart wrenching scene. Right in the middle of the path lay a semi-conscious middle aged woman flanked by her two young children. The woman was on her way back home following an unsuccessful day of job hunting in a town center 40 kms away. According to the children the mother had not had anything to eat for two days and had not taken any water the whole of that day. She had collapsed from extreme dehydration.
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text] It has been a while since my last post. This year has been quite the roller coaster and I was definitely in for the ride of my life. And what a ride it’s been! I have made some huge decisions in the last few months, but looking back at the last decade of my life, every single thing that happened was building up to this exact moment. Have you ever felt like you were on the edge of a cliff? Unsure whether to let go, fearing what lies beneath; yet knowing that you could not hold on forever? Well, that’s been me for the last two years. Petrified of change, but knowing that if I didn’t change something then I would go crazy.
I grew up knowing that all the people who live in Somalia are starving. If your household was anything like ours then you know of the “incentive” some mothers would use to ensure that their kids finish their carrots, pumpkins or other eeky veggies. (To this day I still cannot stomach cooked carrots, pumpkin or french beans)! When this incentive failed (which it inevitably did), she would threaten us with a severe beating and we would have to sit at the table till every single morsel was off the plate. Luckily we had cats and the felines quickly learnt whose feet to sit at under the table for discreet food drops when mum wasn’t watching. I always used to wonder though, what did eating my carrots have to do with starving Somali people? Like, if perhaps I didn’t finish my food, could it then be shipped off to feed one of them?