Lou had just lost her job in a little restaurant, which she loved, and apply to become caretaker to a Will, an adventurer, who became a quadriplegic and had lost all interest in life after an accident which led to him living in an apartment at his unhappily married parents’ house. The movie of the book started showing in July 2016.
What I thought about it
It is a fairly good read, especially because it is a yet unexplored theme in fiction. Jojo Moyes writing is not recipe-like and filled with British wit, in spite of handling a difficult subject. (This reminds me a little bit of Cecelia Ahern’s style if you are, like me, a fan of her writing.)
After finishing the book I felt cheated though, because while Lou’s struggle with the enormity of Will’s decision was addressed, his moral/spiritual deeper struggle was not explored at all, therefore I found the book spiritually poor (as in the opposite of rich). Even people with no religious believes at all must have at least a few conflicting emotions and/or doubts with regard to such an important life decision as the one that Will had made.
Although the whole story was told from Lou’s point of view, the writer took the risk and trouble to switch from hers’ to giving the other characters at least a chapter each – a writing style that can cause chaos and would have worked better, had Will gotten his’ turn too. Yet the writer chose to ‘ignore’ his real thoughts and feelings in an almost robot-like manner. I found it more than a bit odd. If she tried to make a point through not doing it, I didn’t get it.
I still recommend the book because not much had been written about the subject in chick lit or any other fiction so far, but I think the writer really missed a great opportunity to give the reader insight into the immense struggle between life and death that must have been going on in Will’s mind. I will still watch the movie if I get the opportunity and I look forward to read ‘After You’ to see what happened to all the characters after this phase in their fictional lives. Lou is a likable character and it will be interesting to see what Moyes decided to do with her.
My rating of this book is a 4/5 because I like the humour and writing style.
Me Before You is available in most book shops as well as on the Internet as an ebook.
Life is speeding so fast that it can overtake us very easily, leaving us clinging onto whatever we can to survive. And when we are in survival mode, we tend to focus on just that – survival. Sometimes we need to get off the runaway train, stay on the ground and just enjoy the moments of experiences added together that is called ‘life’. So many of us live for our “one day” – that day or days near or farther in the future when all our dreams will be realised into the utopian existences we spend all our free time imagining.
But sometimes we need real life to give us a slap through the face or shower us with the proverbial bucket of ice water to slow us down from our busyness or even to bring us to a halt in order for us to stop and be alive within the actual moment we find ourselves in.
It can happen through the shock of sudden death, the scare of illness, being faced with dangerous situations or just recuperating from something less serious – but as disruptive.
Shock or trauma or failure can sometimes be good for us. It can help us clean our systems, re-organise our priorities and re-evaluate the impossible goals we set for ourselves into obtainable ones and making us pause for a while. Very few things in life can be so good to us than coming to a complete standstill. And I really mean to stop doing what you’re doing and to live in the moment, with no looking forward to the tomorrow that may never be born.e always dreamt of living abroad for a period of time. Due to circumstances that dream got lost for a while, but after some time it found its way back into becoming a possibility and our lives were frozen in their tracks. Everything we did or didn’t do, planned or didn’t plan and decided had to be weighed first against the probability of going away for a few years. It changes one’s whole focus, lookout and pretty much everything you do.
We only heard six months later that we were going to live abroad. In Egypt. I cried for a day and then my previous positive-self reappeared and I made a pro’s and con’s list and, surprise-surprise, the pro’s list convinced me – not that it was the longest! (How is it that when your prayers are being answered and you get what you ask for that you get confused?) But the crying subsided and the excitement and frightfulness kicked in. We had a lot to do – easier stuff and more difficult stuff. All the easier stuff had to do with the ‘whats’ in our lives. The more difficult ones had to do with the ‘whos’. My mother lived with us for 17 years and she had to be relocated. And we had to find houses for our four dogs. It wasn’t easy.
Fast forward…
…to living in Cairo, Egypt, for two years.
It takes time to settle into a new environment. And it took me one year an nine months to get so used to the new place to fall into a little bit of a rut – in spite of (or maybe because of) busyness.
Precisely one year and nine months after arriving here, I fell into a not-so-slightly ‘down’. (Don’t worry – it was caused by stupid pains, and although they remained, the depression flew out of the window after a few doctor’s visits. ((And I realised that my ‘depressions’ are always health related.)) And it is a fact that everything seems worse if you are far away from ‘home.’)
Now that the background history is told, I will get to the point. Since that day, three years and three months ago when we first heard that we may be moving, I have learnt to live in the moment. Because of the uncertainty of our situation, we stopped buying unnecessary things, didn’t make decisions with long-term consequences and just started taking every day as it came.
Due to the fact that we came to live in a country where the security situation can be volatile, our circumstances can change at any time and our stay can end unplanned and abruptly. So, I decided to keep living here the way we lived back home for those uncertain fifteen months before we left – in the moment. And I already decided to keep doing that when we get back home one day. But, as I am writing this – even that isn’t a certainty, because that is a tomorrow that is still to come. I pray though that it will happen for us all.
But back again (!) to the reason for this writing. During all these experiences the last few years, I have learnt to enjoy the ‘little’ things in life. Don’t get me wrong. With our current, temporary lifestyle come lots of privileges, which we enjoy and appreciate enormously! I mean, without this experience, my dream to see at least something of Europe would probably always have stayed only in the dream phase. We have cruised the Nile and we are scheduled to go again soon. We have snorkelled in the Red Sea (and fell in love with it)! On a French mountain I have played in the snow for the first time in my life! I attended my first (second, third and shortly my fourth) ball! I have stood in a chamber of Tutankamun in The Valley of the Kings outside Luxor containing the petite mummy of king Tut. Etcetera. Etcetera. Etcetera. These are memories I will cherish for as long as my mind allow me.
But as it is in life – privileges don’t come free or cheap. And in between these very wonderful experiences are those that don’t reach Facebook status. And they take up way more time than those very wonderful ones. They are the ones that can make or break us. The in-between times when the heat, dust, cultural differences, strange religion, terrible traffic, the thin, sick, hungry street dogs, the stray cats, the tummy bugs, the illiteracy (mine!), the overwhelming crowdedness, the ‘ununderstandable’ customs, the poverty, the dirtiness, the interestingness, the bland food, the overripe tomatoes and all the things you miss from home, make you wonder how on earth did you make it so far and how on earth will you make the rest of the time?
I remember back home when we had some challenges, we would go for a walk in the afternoons and with my hand in my husband’s and with our son and our dogs tagging along, I felt like the richest person alive! And this, I personally believe, is where the secret of happiness lies: to find blessings and joy and thankfulness in even the littlest things in mundane life.
I have listed just a few of these things that make me happy. Some of them are not so little at all.
Reading Bible and praying whenever I want to, because the Living God of the Bible is always everywhere.
Mild weather.
Walking to the shops.
Walking to the shops on my own legs.
Walking to the shops on my own legs in mild weather.
Having good Egyptian people in our lives.
Eating the last piece of biltong someone thoughtfully brought when visiting.
Sitting (in the still mild weather) in our garden, listening to the birds chirping without the competition of the air conditioner sounds (because the weather is still mild and the aircons are still off).
Aircons in summer!!!
Drinking rooibos tea with my husband and son on a Saturday morning outside in the garden (when the weather is mild) or in the TV room or swimming pool (in summer, when the weather is not so mild).
Sleeping through the night without fear of violent house-breaks.
Waking up in the morning. (What a privilege!)
Having an Afrikaans (my native language) speaking buurvrou (neighbour) in the building across ours!
Having even more friends from home nearby and being able to lunch with some of them every week!
Feeding at least two of the many hungry cats in this huge city.
Watching ‘our’ two cats doing all their cat-things in our garden on top of the parking garage.
Taking pictures. Lots and lots and lots of them.
Being thankful for every ‘big’ or ‘little’ thing that works out.
Being safe after there had been uncertainties.
Aircons droning out the muezzin calls.
Power coming back on after cuts. (These days they aren’t as frequent and as long as in during the first year. Something to be thankful for – especially in summer!)
Experiencing everything with my husband and son!
Kissing my husband good night.
Kissing my son good night. (That’s probably not something he would like people to read on the Internet ((but he likes it – I can tell)).)
Seeing my husband happy because he can watch South African rugby and cricket matches on the satellite TV channels.
Paging through the teabags at my Japanese friend’s dinner to find a rooibos tea bag!
Having lots of friends from around the world to hang out with, visit new places with and to learn from.
Being able to buy the medicine I need and don’t get from home.
Being healthy (I hope).
Coming home to a haven of safety and tranquility.
Having a good landlady.
…the list can go on…
These are just a few things and when writing them down, I realise that they are not so little. They are pretty big and important. They are the glue that holds life together. To be in awe when seeing the Eiffel Tower for the first time or feeling small against the largest of the Giza pyramids is splendid, but one can survive life without it. Of course travelling enriches our lives and I am a big supporter thereof (even if it is just exploring outside of you immediate comfort zone) and I wouldn’t have wanted to miss out on these experiences! But it really is the ‘small’ things that we can’t live without, which makes the mundane extraordinary – which is the difference between letting life get away from you and living in the moment. It is the ‘small’ things in life which brings sustainable happiness.
I remember my pre-school growing up years in two phases – a phase where we lived on two farms, although I actually only remember the second farm. Of the first I only have two memories – one where I received my soft toy monkey and namesake, Fielies, as a Christmas gift around my third birthday (yes, I actually remember getting the present and opening it) and the other where my sister, twelve years older than me, ignored my mother’s instructions and gave me Coke-Cola in a baby bottle, even though I wasn’t supposed to having Coke or be drinking bottle anymore.
Of the second farm I have many happy memories, much of them involving my brother, father and grandfather.
The second phase was living in the neighbouring town. Here my memories contain mostly our house, my brother who was nine years older than me and in high school in the next town during the week – and my grandfather’s shop.
My grandfather sold stationary, fireworks and also gifts and gift cards in his shop. My grandfather and grandmother taught me to read and write numbers and I helped them put handwritten prices on the products in the shop. This made me feel very smart. But what didn’t make me feel smart was that although I could write numbers, I couldn’t read letters. The gift card display cupboard filled with Helen Steiner Rice cards made me realised that. The cards were different than the other cards in the sense that they didn’t only have words inside the cards, but also on the outsides.
I was fascinated by these little symbols that, when put together with other sets of letter combinations, formed words. I was even more amazed by the fact that so many different words could be formed by using those letters. And with that, if you know how, one could make sentences using all kinds of different words. And these sentences became the keys to creating other worlds. Worlds full of stories.
To overcome my frustration I sometimes asked my grandmother or grandfather to read me some of the cards instead of a storybook. I didn’t understand much, because the words confronted emotions and life experience I could yet identify with. But what I did get, was the wonderful rhythm of the rhyme that made those words sound as beautiful as a symphony in my ears. I could just listen and listen. As soon as I learned to read in school, I used Helen’s cards to practice my reading.
Then one day a new order from the big city arrived which got mixed up somewhere and the shop got someone else’s order and to my shock and wonder I found out that Helen was speaking English too! I could now practice my English reading too. It paid its dividends, because my English spelling became very good and my vocabulary grew beyond my second language reading book’s arsenal. I won’t comment on my speaking ability though because in our town no one spoke English. There were Afrikaans, Tswana, Portuguese and Lebanese people living there, but somehow no one spoke English!
Only many years later I learned to my surprise that Helen Steiner Rice (I thought the name was a bit foreign) wasn’t a nice Afrikaans speaking boere antie (Afrikaner/farmer aunty), but actually a very nice American woman who started writing greeting cards when she took over a greeting card company and she realised the need for cards with feel good messages.
Although Helen was dubbed ‘Ambassador of Sunshine’ at the Gibson Art Company in Cincinnati, she didn’t only know the sunny side of life. Her father died when she was young and instead of pursuing her dreams, she helped her family survive. She married a young business man who lost everything in the 1929 New York stock market crash and was left widowed at age 32 after he took his own life due to depression related illness. But she became a successful business woman and ran the greeting card company for forty years, while keep writing her beautiful poems and unknowingly taught a little Afrikaans girl how to read, first in Afrikaans and then in English. And then to write. First in Afrikaans and then in English.
Thank you, Mrs. Helen Steiner Rice, for unlocking the world of words for me.
PS: You can read the story of Helen Steiner Rice here.
PPS: I found out today that either Google doesn’t know everything or that I don’t know how to get the information I need out of Google. I tried to find out who was responsible for the translation of Helen’s poems into Afrikaans, but I couldn’t. I also tried to find out into how many languages her work is translated into. I’m still searching. If you have more information on this, please comment.
To conceive a dream is so easy. You just think it up and if you are passionate enough about it, you obsess over it. You envision every little detail. You see it in that sacred secret place where dreams are pictured in all its splendid tints and facets and glorious results. In that place that has no space and no limits. The place that no-one else can see. You dress it up, colour it in, expand it limitlessly and enjoy the outcome as if it already happened. You feel the magnificent emotions even before you even started doing anything about it. What a sweet, sweet place that place called imagination is!
Sometimes in life it happens that we lose those beautiful imaginary creations of ours – because of circumstances or because of failure. Sometimes the loss is due to our own limitations, flaws, choices or immature doings. Some of them we lose or have to let go, because they were only meant to teach us and to make us braver.
But, sometimes we get a chance to transform those imaginations into reality. I know that for the millions of go-getters out there, this is the moment they lived for and waited for their whole lives. It is the moment in which they can grab their dream in both hands and force life into it. Now me, I’m not one of those people. The realisation of my dreams scares diedinges out of me. For me the process of realising a dream is a nightmare. Because this is where two worlds meet – that fantastic world of comfort, no responsibilities and no liabilities and the scary, scary world where you have to face the proverbial music and actually do. It’s a world that makes your tummy ache and your head burst and where you want to faint, turn around and push your dream back in the safety of imagination’s womb and forget that you were ever able of conceiving such a frightful creation.
Because realising a dream is not only about day dreaming. It is about hard work, unpleasantness and vulnerability. The process of realising a dream is much like childbirth. For months a new person grows inside you. You nurture it, dream about its features, character, life. You wait in anticipation as the little human grows and grows until one day it can’t stay inside you anymore and needs to get out into the world.
I am not making this analogy easily. I know that losing a dream can never compare to losing a baby, but writing from the heart also means writing from experience. Loss nestles itself very deep in the human soul. All kinds of loss. If it is the loss of a human who had grown inside your body for a time or a dream that has grown inside your being. It feels. That is what makes us human and how we deal with the loss is what makes us individually who we turn out to be.
Some expecting mothers choose to abort the new life just after conception, because it came as an inconvenience, but doing so leaves a void in their souls that can never be filled. Some moms lose that life – not because of own choice, but because of circumstances or because that life wasn’t sustainable. It hurts. So. Much. Even if you know it wasn’t meant to be or that it wasn’t your fault – and somehow in your heart there always remains a memory of love. And sometimes more than just memories linger. Very real nightmares continue to occur of what could have been but was not. The same happens when losing dreams.
If so blessed to walk full term, expecting mothers very often experience a lack of sleep at the end of the pregnancy and angst and nightmares before the birth. They know that there is no way around it. The baby must get out – and no fear, angst or nightmare can stop or even delay the process. The little human’s life depends on being born.
In life, when one loses an unborn baby, the law of survival urges us to try again, until that new conception or the next or the next clings to life and grows and lives long enough to see the light.
To survive not only life, but ourselves, we have to try again when we lose a dream. We need to learn to dream new dreams. Dreams that would stick, go full term and burst into realisation when the time for it has come and the expecting ‘womb’ cannot contain it any longer.
We also need to embrace the birthing process like a fed-up, anxious, scared new mother who knows that the baby must be born – no matter what! It is never easy and many, many things can go wrong. There can be complications with the birth or defects that hadn’t been detected beforehand. In extreme cases even a still-birth is a possibility.
It can be the same with dreams. A dream is made to be born or aborted. To abort it will always leave an emptiness and a lifetime of wondering ‘what if?’ Of course there is the possibility of miscarriage too. We can take the big step, try and not succeed. Or the dream can be ‘still-born’ and be a failure. From experience I have also learned that failing at something is far more liveable with than aborting or not even trying to do something. The margin between failure and success can be so minute sometimes. But the gap between aborting and not trying is absolutely unbridgeable.
So, my son, when the time comes and the pangs make you fear and want you to abort and you feel anxious and inadequate and unqualified – remember the mother, who in her fear and pain and angst, push through, knowing that life depends on it.
I am sometimes, actually all the time, a bit flabbergasted by the fact that people, well-known or not, live an extraordinary life – for the good or the bad – and then one day, as if they were mere mortals from the onset, are no more.
I’m busy reading John Baxter’s book, The Most Beautiful Walk in the World. It’s a collection of stories, anecdotes, quotes and by-the-way facts about the streets, corners, buildings, passages, cafes, gardens, restaurants, fashions and people of Paris – from the past to the now. By the way he frequently quote and referred to Ernest Hemingway, one can’t help to think that he must be at least a little bit obsessed with the larger than life (in more than one way) American writer.
I read a book the way I take a walk on the beach or go about my daily chores. I start out with a goal to go somewhere but stop to take a picture of a see-through crab or a washed up piece of wood or I want to clean the toilet, but instead open the cupboard and see paint waiting to change something’s colour.
Although I am not diagnosed with some attention deficit disorder that comes with a long abbreviation, I get distracted easily. It’s not that the books I read are boring (I take care not to waste time reading what I really, really dislike), but because the writer triggers my curious bone, which leads me to visit my good know-it-all friend, Google, to make sure that what I read is true or to learn more than the author was willing or allowed to mention. Maybe it’s because I love knowing as much as I can or maybe it is because I question e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g or maybe it’s just because I’m a naturally curious female person. Whatever the reason, my Google friend is always more than willing to help and a visit there is never a short, focussed or a goal driven one. I turn off at every interesting link, follow even the faintest paths from there and end up at a totally different place than I intended to. But that’s a point for another day’s ramblings.
Today I visited Google to read up again on Hemingway’s life. And what a life it was! It was busy, full of intrigue, drama, trauma, tragedy, excitement, love, strife, journeying, disappointments, successes and conflict. Relationships were formed and broken often. Some mended after time – others never.
Ernest not only survived World War II, but also a few other wars as a journalist as well as car crashes, two airplane accidents, and life threatening illnesses. It is so sadly ironic that in spite of cheating all these potential killers, in the end he took his own life.
John Baxter lives and walks where Hemingway and Sylvia Beach of the original Shakespeare and Company bookshops, Gertrude Stein, Salvador Dali and Scot and Zelda Fitzgerald lived and ate and created and partied.
When we visited Paris and London and Jerusalem and Amsterdam and walking the streets of Cairo and braving a sand storm at El Alamein in the Egyptian desert, I can’t help to be in awe to think that in a strange way my life somehow ‘connects’ with those people’s lives who lived decades and centuries and millenniums ago. I remembered looking at the Eiffel tower in total amazement knowing that Ernest did too. And so did a lot of other famous and less famous persons from the past and present.
I looked at the centuries old buildings in London and I realised I walk where Shakespeare dreamt up his plays, where Dickens wrote his prose and Churchill maybe had sleepless nights over the nightmare that was the Second World War.
In Anne Frank’s hiding place in Amsterdam, I read a young girl’s letters and I could identify with her passion and her dream to become a writer. Anne’s dreams died young, but her spirit lives on, still touching the hearts of people like me when I walk where she walked and try to imagine what it was really like to live indoors and quiet for months to be safe from people who want to kill you just because of the race you were born into.
In the Valley of the Kings the mummified remains of young king Tut is displayed for whoever is brave enough to take on the desert heat. How is it possible that he and I can be in the same room with thousands of years stretching between our births?
My eyes gazed over the hills surrounding Jerusalem and I know that just over two thousand years ago, Yeshua (Jesus’ name in Hebrew) entered the city triumphantly on a donkey as it had been prophesied hundreds of years before and cried over the sins of His people.
When my brother died too young I felt so many conflicting emotions. The feelings of sadness and heartbreak were normal, but for a while I questioned the reason for his existence. Why was he born if he was going to die ‘before his time?’, I argued with God. But of course it wasn’t true. He lived a full life, even though it was shortened. And through him God created more life. Life that still goes on and will go on. Just two months ago our family welcomed his second granddaughter into this world. Somehow he will remain here with us, because his DNA lives in those who came from him and his memory lives in us who loved him.
The memory of all those who lived before us are still alive. Their deeds and the legacy they left are still with us – good or bad. People today still have scars caused by Hitler, Stalin, Hussein and the likes. But others were healed because of a Mother Theresa and the Florence Nightingale who chose life instead of hate and death. Einstein, Bell, Edison and Pasteur and many more from the past slaved away so that the future would be easier, safer and healthier for us. And we still listen to the genius collections of notes composed by the Bach, Mozart, Vivaldi and Beethoven.
Thanks to the many, many graves at El Alamein and other graveyards all over the world, our world didn’t tumble down because of the doings of power hungry dictators. Their bodies are decomposed under the hard, dry, desert soil or in the unharbouring (yes, I like making up words) waters of the world’s oceans, but their sacrifices and legacies outlived them. Some had famous names like Roosevelt, Montgomery, Smuts and Mountbatten, but some were just simple men – sons, brothers and fathers, like my great uncle, Kosie Coetzer.
People live different lives, but we all leave something behind when we ‘leave’. Big or small. Good or bad. Pure or evil. Our lives are entwined with one another. The past is still with us and will always be. We are the future’s past. I wonder what we will leave behind for those coming after us. What will I leave? I hope it will be something worthwhile.
Most of the people I know, know about Scrabble and/or play it. I love playing it, except against my husband, because he beats me e-v-e-r-y-t-i-m-e! But I’m a sucker for punishment and keep playing anyway.
Here are a few interesting facts about the game.
In 1938, American architect Alfred Mosher Butts developed the game as a variation on an earlier word game he invented called The two games had the same set of letter tiles, whose distributions and point values Butts worked out by performing a frequency analysis of letters from various sources, including The New York Times. The new game, which he called ‘Criss-Crosswords,’ added the 15×15 game board and the crossword-style game play. He manufactured a few sets himself, but was not successful in selling the game to any major game manufacturers of the day. Scrabble – The World’s Leading Word Game – celebrated its 60th birthday in 2008.
Many editions of Scrabble vary in the letter distribution of the tiles, because the frequency of each letter of the alphabet is different for every language. As a general rule, the rarer the letter the more points it is worth.
Many languages use sets of 102 tiles, since the original distribution of one hundred tiles was later augmented with two blank tiles. In tournament play, while it is acceptable to pause the game to count the tiles remaining in the game, it is not acceptable to mention how many tiles are remaining at any time.Several online tools exist for counting tiles during friendly play.
Over 150 million games have been sold in 121 countries around the world.
53 per cent of all homes in Great Britain have a Scrabble set.
Each hour, at least 30,000 Scrabble games are started.
The Afrikaans edition doesn’t have the letters C, Q, X or Z.
Italian blocks exclude J,K, W, X, and
In French Scrabble, there are five tiles worth 10 points – K, W, X, Y, and Z.
Before 1998 the Dutch set, IJ had printed on a single block, because of a lot of words ending on –ij. Since then it was separated to be identical to the Flemish version.
The highest number of points that can be scored on the first go is 128 – with ‘muzjiks’ (Russian peasants).
Dr Karl Khoshnaw from Manchester holds the record for the highest word score achieved in a competition, scoring 392 points with ‘caziques’ – the plural for a West Indian Chief. There are over 260,000 legal words allowed under British Scrabble rules.
Scrabble is used all over the world as a method of teaching English.
A ballet called Scrabble had its premiere in South Africa in the 1980s.
If all the Scrabble tiles ever produced were placed end to end they would reach the equivalent of eight times around the earth.
Gerry Adams once castigated the British for quibbling over the wording of peace treaties with the phrase: “This is not a game of Scrabble”.
There is a town called Scrabble in Berkeley County, West Virginia, USA. They don’t have a Scrabble club.
Scrabble is also available as an app for smartphones and tablets. There are various other similar games available. My son and I like playing Words with Friends. You can either choose to play with a friend, with a person with the same skill level or you can play off line against the ‘computer’ (Solo Play). Just search your provider’s app store for the word game to suit you. And teach your young children to play. It’s good to expand their vocabulary. Just don’t come crying to me if they beat you at your favourite game!
Happy Scrabbling!
PS: I hate those weird little words the ‘computer’ plays against me that doesn’t sound like words at all. But I get my revenge, by trying to remember them and play them ‘back’.
Resources (from which the facts in this blog is quoted) and Links to more fun facts about Scrabble:
So many ‘happy’ quotes – some about real joy and some about fake ‘happiness’? Think before you quote. Test before you believe.
It is absolutely okay to be happy. I know a lot of happy people. I am happy. Not all-the-time- screaming-from-the-rooftop-happy, but happy within myself and especially happy within our little family unit. When things didn’t go so well in life, I found myself still feeling happy most of the time, because I have Someone to believe in and people around who loved me, and therefore I always had/have hope. And when it is going really well, I still have ‘down’ days. But overall – in my heart – I know I am ‘happy’. I think that is pretty average for most people.
Dictionary.com describes happiness as the quality or state of being happy, good fortune, pleasure, contentment, joy. And the opposite it states, is misery. (http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/happiness?s=t)
Preaching the ‘Gospel’ of Happiness
Social media pages are filled with quotes on everything under the sun, but the one theme that probably frequents more than others, is ‘happiness’. Happiness – it seems – is more sought after than most other wants or needs.
There is nothing wrong with being happy or wanting to be happy. I think that happiness is a very basic want and something all (I hope) people want to be – for the right reasons. But sometimes I read quotes coming along and I wonder about the driving force behind it. The quotes about success and ambition and happiness are by far the ones making me think more than the ones on love, caring etc. do.
I sometimes read a quote and I can’t help to think that modern man had become its own little god. Some of these quotes are all about ‘me’. “Think positive thoughts and get what you want from life”, “Do what makes you happy”, “Avoid people who makes you unhappy”, “Nice won’t get you anywhere”.
And then there are the advertisements. Being rich, being thin, buying the newest phone, tablet or TV, clothes, toys for your children, going on this or that new diet, taking this or that newly developed supplement etc. etc. etc. will make you… you guessed it – happy!
This way of searching for selfish happiness is all about me, me, me and feeds the little god modern-us created within ourselves.
With all the ‘happiness’ that is preached to us via the happiness ‘evangelists’s’ quotes and ads and movies, I am really surprised that the world is in such a state of unruliness, chaos, poverty, violence and… UNhappiness.
‘Case Study’#1
I know a person who is unhappy all the time. I know her for a very long time and this had always been the case. No one she is with or had been with or anything one can do for her could cause her to be in a constant state of happiness or contentment. (Or maybe she is happy, but has an unhappy way of showing it. One must always be optimistic!) Of course she had tragedy in her life, but she also had love and privileges and favour. I think about her well-being – or absence there-of – a lot and wonder if she would ever find something to make her happy. I wonder if she will ever find joy within herself. Sadly, only if some miracle happens very soon, I don’t think she will ever become so happy that she would influence other people’s lives only positively. A few years back I had a conversation with some people close to her and for the first time I really realised how many people get influenced on person’s actions and behaviour – positively or negatively. Although I always suspected that she had quite a damaging influence on their lives, I never thought it to be that destructive. That night, I made a decision again to try to only be a positive influence on the lives of people I have relationships with. This is a daily challenge.
It is impossible for me to ignore this person or cut her out of my life, so those quotes to “Ignore negative people” or to “Surround yourself with people who make you happy”, is not always a practical option. Of course it is better to be around only nice, ‘happy’ and positive people. Of course we sometimes have to make the difficult decision to cut a relationship with a person who really derail our lives or behave improperly towards us, but sometimes we just can’t. Because sometimes, those ‘unhappy’ or negative person is a spouse or a child or a parent or a sibling or a friend who needs a joyful, ‘happy’, positive person (like you and me, of course) in their lives. Or is a spouse or a child or a parent or a sibling or a friend who have a serious psychological illness and needs us to be there for them. To cut my ‘unhappy’ persons out of my life, would be selfish and in the end self-destructive. Because who will be there for me in my unhappy moments if my all-the-time positive, ‘happy’ spouse, child, parent, sibling or friend had also decided to cut me out..?
Just cutting people out, would mean that we care only about ourselves and conforming to the world around us where everything is about me and me alone and what I can get from every relationship and situation I am in. There will be no caring, no reaching out to people who needs us.
“Case Study’ #2
We currently live in Egypt. There is a well-known place close to our suburb in Cairo, called Mokattam. There is a place is called ‘Garbage City’. In there, live people who, for generations, gathers this large city’s garbage, sorts it and recycles it. When driving through there as a Westerner, you see sites that you would never have believed if you didn’t see it with your own eyes. When you dare to open your window, flies swarm into your vehicle and you’re greeted by the very distinct smell of rotten everything. I have seen the thinnest cow there that I’ve ever seen in my life! Yet, I observed something that both surprised and shocked me. I saw men, women and children working in the streets and inside open doored houses, hands halfway into garbage, sorting, working, talking, laughing. I saw children walking home from school, clean and neatly dressed. And I saw something in their eyes that I didn’t expect to see there. ‘Happiness’. What a very uncharacteristic place to find such a thing! But that was exactly what I saw – big, joyful eyes sparkling with light.
At first I thought that I was mistaken, so I didn’t say anything about this observation to anyone. Then as time went on and I have been in conversations about the place, people made the same remarks.
So, how is it possible that you can have two sorts of persons – one who has a relatively easy life and is never happy and the other who has a to-the-eye miserable life and seems ‘happy’? That is one of life’s great mysteries. Maybe it is because happiness isn’t a goal or a destination on its own, but a state of mind that one must find in oneself. Maybe happiness isn’t something to chase after and try to hunt down, to dream about, to ‘find’. Maybe happiness is in all of us, just waiting to be found. Or not.
‘Case Study’ #3
I don’t know Sir Richard Branson in person, but I read some of his books. I admire him for a few reasons. One, is that he is dyslexic and that I have learned to regard persons with dyslexia very highly, because most of the time, they are very clever people. I had quite a few of them in my Writing Clubs in the past and they are sharp and creative and think outside the box. Sir Richard can’t spell and didn’t finish school and yet he had written and published books. My spelling, on the other hand, is above average, I finished school and have a degree and yet I haven’t fulfilled my dream of publishing a book!
Back to the point of being happy. Branson claims in his books that you must just follow your passions in life and “success will follow”. He left school and started a magazine with very little resources. That was the first of his eight billion-dollar businesses (in different sectors). Success indeed followed his passionate efforts.
I haven’t published books yet (okay I have a self-published one on Kindle) and I haven’t made my billions yet. I don’t know if I will ever make billions, and I’m okay with that. But I really, really hope to get my books published. So, somehow, I believe what he says. The Bible teaches us “to do what our hands find to do” and to be “content with what we have”. That doesn’t mean that we can’t work harder and strive for better. But I believe that even though Sir Richard isn’t a Bible believer, he is following this advice.
Take More Pics and Less Selfies
I really believe what “if we do what our hand find to do”, means to use our God-given talents, passions and character traits to fulfil our purpose in this life, and when we do that will find ‘happiness’. And if we use those given passions, talents and character traits to help others, we won’t have to look for happiness, because it will come looking for us.
So, maybe ‘happiness’ isn’t something that we should even worry about or aspire to, but just live our lives to the best of our abilities, do what we can with what we have, reach out to others, give what we can give and don’t be so goal driven to feed our little inner-god.
Perhaps, if we take more pictures of the beautiful creation around us and of other people and less duckface selfies – to use contemporary social media generation language – we may see that we are surrounded by ‘happiness’.
In April we went on a Nile Cruise. The cruise entails flying to Luxor from where the actual sailing starts. Before cruising though, all the well-known tourist attractions in and around Luxor is being visited. All these are temples, except for the Luxor Museum harbouring artefacts from temples. Not really my cup of tea. On the first day we had quite a full program.
Day 1
After we arrived in Luxor we started with a visit to the Luxor Museum, which paved the way for the rest of the sites, because it was filled with statues and artefacts from temples and archaeological finds. There were even two mummies in the museum. There were a few similar pieces which are also featured in the Egyptian Museum in Cairo. One such a piece is the face of a pharaoh who had done away with all the Egyptian gods and declared that there was only one God – the Creator and the only One that should be worshipped. Other similar pieces are horse carts and statues of historical figures.
Our guide on this Nile Cruise tour was an Egyptologist who is very passionate about his job. He is also very patriotic, has strong political views that he is not afraid of voicing and according to him everything and all were invented in Egypt. I realised soon that we would be treated to quite a lot of information we would not always appreciate. 🙂
As a Bible believer I had a tough time staying focused on what we were being told, because the stories about the pharaohs and the gods and the religions were a bit much and one always tend to weigh others’ truths against your own Truth. Anyway, this is an account then of our Nile cruise for any of you who are interested in coming to visit Egypt and wanting to go on a cruise. If you find personal travel pieces boring and just want to know if it worth the while, here is the short answer: Yes, come and visit Egypt and go on a Nile cruise.
We booked into our cabins on the boat after the museum visit and had time to settle in a bit. Our group occupied two ‘ships’. The bigger bulk stayed on the larger of the two boats, The Mövenpick Sun Boat, and we booked into the smaller one, called The Nile Adventurer. The latter is a quaint little boat with nice interior, a pleasant atmosphere and friendly and efficient staff. The food is excellent and way too much on a way-too-regular basis.
Just before sunset on Monday, we left by bus to visit the first temple. There we saw the sun set over Luxor which was a beautiful spectacle. From there we went to see a sound and light show at the Karnak Temple, where we were met by the governor of Luxor. Here listened to an overly dramatic audio narration – which sounded as if was made in the 1930’s – of the history of the gods, starting with someone calling himself the ‘god of the first day’. My attention wondered a bit, but I practiced taking photos in the dark with my newish camera, while another ancient proud himself that he married four of his own daughters and bragged about the amount of children he had with them. Later we moved to a different location nearby in an amphitheatre-like pavilion and were treated to another half to three quarters of an hour’s sound and light narration.
Day 2
On the second, hot morning of the cruise we visited the Valley of the Kings, the Habu Temple, where in 1997 seventy plus tourists were killed by terrorists, the Hatshepsut Temple and the Collossi of Memnon. All the hieroglyphs and tombs etc. were starting to look the same to me by this time. One must admire the tenacity with which the ancient Egyptians recorded their doings, especially because they did it in stone. Some of the artifacts here are really well preserved. And, now I can say that I had the privilege of seeing the actual mummified body of Tutankamun, the boy king. Mmm, that’s a story for another day.
After the very hot morning, we were welcomed back on the boat with nice warm cloths to clean our sweaty faces and fresh lemon and mint drinks to refresh us. We had a late lunch and we finally started sailing to Esna.
Cruising was my favourite part of the week. We sailed all along the Nile, passing farmed lands and very small villages. Time had stood still alongside the Nile. They are still attending to their crops the way they did a few thousand years ago. On the one hand, I thought, man, these people have so much to learn and they could benefit so much by new farming methods, machinery and expertise help. And on the other hand, I envied them for the absolute quietness, simplicity and peace in which they live.
Maybe this was how life should be. Living from the land, from the hand to the mouth, just sustaining yourself and those living with you. It is mind blowing to find that in a country which had become modernised up to a point, you can still find this way of living. And what blows my mind even further is that the land alongside the Nile still belongs to these people, living their modest lives. It is not yet monopolised by big food corporations or holiday consortiums. Weird. And wonderful. If we are here for the next three years, we will go on the cruise again and again, because this passing by of peaceful Nile existence, and not the glamourous temple visits, was what I enjoyed most.
Day 3
We sailed to Edfu in the early morning and got off the boat to visit the Edfu Temple. This was probably the most fun visit of the cruise, because instead of getting into an air-conditioned bus, we got on horse carts and were driven through the busy town’s streets to the site. At least now we can say that we have been in a horse cart traffic jam too. I never thought I would be able to add that to my life’s CV. It was very hot here again, and we moved from shade to shade and had our first and only ice cream afterwards. We didn’t enjoy the harassment of the stall owners that much of course, but it’s compulsory of any Egyptian experience.
We were back on the boat for lunch again and cruised to Kom Ombo, a lively town with colourful shops lining the docking space. Here we visited the Kom Ombo temple at night with its small museum housing quite a collection of stuffed crocodiles.
After the visit to the temple it was galabeyya (Egyptian dress-like attire) party night on both boats. It was a lot of fun with a Bulgarian lady friend with camel riding trousers on dancing the night away and a South Korean friend perfecting the GanghamStyle. We macarena-ed with our American friends and the boat staff joined in and showed us a few Nubian dance tricks. Michael looked like an oil baron and Deon and I looked cool in our ‘dresses’ too, I think.
Day 4
Ah, Aswan. We cruised to Aswan and had a full day full of pleasant surprises in this surprise of a town. I know, I’m surprised myself that I use the word so many times. 🙂
We visited the Philae Temple, to where you have to go by bus first and then by boat. The temple is situated in a beautiful area filled with water and rocks and plants, unlike any other terrain we have seen so far in Egypt. It almost feels as being in another country. It was still hot, so we did some shade hopping again.
We went back to town by bus and then caught falloukas – these have engines – to the botanical garden on an island in the Nile. The garden was planted by Lord Kitchener, when he was in Egypt. At least he did some good in other areas of the world, because he wasn’t a popular man in South Africa back then. (If you don’t know why, go and do some research about the Anglo-Boer War between the British and South Africa.) Plants and trees from all over the world were imported to be planted there. The gardens are being looked after and is a peaceful haven in the desert. On the other side of the garden is a huge sand dune or a small mountain full of sand – a beautiful piece of earth.
Our next stop was a Nubian village. The Nubians are an ethnic group who originated in modern-day Sudan. They are a little darker of skin than the rest of the Egyptians, are very friendly and like to paint their houses in colours – mostly shades of blue, which is absolutely beautiful. We visited a home where we met the family’s pet crocodile kept in their sink and drank some good mint tea. Real nice green mint tea, like the Moroccans make it.
We rested a bit on the boat after which we had an appointment for high tea at the old Sofitel Cataract Hotel, where the likes of Winston Churchill, Agatha Christie, Jimmy Carter, Princess Diana, Tsar Nicholas II and Queen Noor hung out regularly. It is said that Ms Christie wrote part/s of her novel ‘Death on the Nile’ there. So, for me this was a real treat. The wind started blowing fiercely, which provided a nice breeze in the early evening and we had our ‘tea’ on the lawn in front of the hotel. The view is spectacular with the Nile ‘forking’ here underneath it and the one leg flowing pass the one side of the hotel. At a little table outside on the terrace I could swore that I saw Ernest Hemmingway’s son creating a best seller. (I even have a photo to ‘prove’ it!) The rooms are beautiful and old Englishy and just sooo romantic. I could almost see Agatha sitting in her room behind her desk, putting words into Hercule Poirot’s mouth on her old type writer. I took way to many photos of the hotel’s interior. I’m ashamed to say that I will treasure this visit more than the sight of the mummified body of Tutankamen. But, hey, I must be forgiven, because I’m a writer…
Back at the boat we were welcomed by a band and dancers and being entertained on the dock for about half an hour before heading for dinner and a bottle of wine on the deck – the most Deon and I had ever paid for a pretty ordinary bottle in our entire lives…
Day 5
We were nearing the end of our cruise. We left the boat after breakfast and gone to the Aswan Dam by bus. We got out and ‘inspected’ the dam wall in the still strong blowing wind. From there we went to Abu Simbel – probably Egypt’s most written about temple. Most people drive there from Aswan, which can take up to four hours (just to get there and then you still have to drive back) and can be rather uncomfortable in the heat. Fortunately, we flew and what a sight it was, flying over Lake Nasser for the whole way! It is such a big body of water and it is beautiful to see the water veins flowing into each other from high above. When we landed the water still stretched to the horizon in the direction of the Sudanese border.
The visit to Abu Simbel was pleasant, because even though the sun was warm, there the breeze blew the heat away. After the visit we went back to the airport and flew home to Cairo where we were greeted by very uncharacteristic icy weather in the middle of April!
It was a most enjoyable trip, which for us comes up annually while we are staying here. I can’t wait to go again. Hopefully, we will be spared and the security situation will stay good and we can repeat it next year.
Travel Tip: Abercrombie & Kent is a wonderfully, professional and competent international travel company to use with when planning a Nile cruise.
(I always wanted to write something with a long title like this. My favourite movie title is The Englishmen who went up a Hill and came down a Mountain.)
Countries under Discussion
France (a bit of the South and Paris, ten days)
England (only London, four days)
Netherlands (only Amsterdam, three days)
One can hardly be an expert after visiting a country or even only a city for three or four or ten days – and for the first time! But we can make deductions, relate experiences and emotions and share observations after visiting places – even if it is after only such a short time. After all – that is why we do the lovely, beautiful, excruciating thing called travelling. So add if you want to, differ if it entertains you, but please don’t digitally crucify me for my inadequate, subjective views and comments on three great places my feet had the pleasure to touch.
We as a little family visited a few destinations in Europe at the end of last year through the beginning of this one. My husband is a seasoned traveller and had visited many countries beyond our continent’s borders, but for our son and I, it was the first trip beyond Africa and the Middle East. we looked forward to it for a long time and we weren’t disappointed. It must actually be ‘normal’ for South Africans like us to visit Europe at least once in a lifetime, because that is where our origins are. But travelling is a privilege and most of the time we can’t just jump on a plane and go wherever we dream to go. For us, the opportunity came up and we grabbed it with all fours.
France
After hoping and dreaming, we finally made the trip to visit to a friend of mine, residing in the south of France for the last five years. My friend, Mirella, her husband, Christian, and two sons, Daniël and Xavier lives in Sainte Colome, near Arudi, near Pau, near Toulouse in the south western part of Aquitaine province of the country, very close to the border with Spain. This border is lined with the beautiful Pyrenees Mountains and counts as some of the finest of God’s creation.
Our initial introduction with the French people wasn’t that heartening. Speak English at the train station in Toulouse and you are rudely ignored. Fortunately, angels roam the earth and an English speaking one was waiting for us at the ticket machine to help us obtain three tickets to Pau. Once in the countryside, people showed us the nicer side of being French. We breathed the good, clean Pyrenees air for seven wonderful days, we watched the world around us in awe, threw a snowball for the first time ever (!) and admired people’s skills in the soft, white, cold wonderland.
Paris was everything I hoped it would be and more. We visited all the famous tourist sites, enjoyed the food and watched the Parisians stroll up and down the Champs Elysees dressed as if it is a catwalk. We were there for only three days, but somehow we ended up going to the Eiffel Tower every single day! We left for London on the evening before the Charlie Hebdo incident. I don’t know if we will ever have the opportunity to visit Paris or the French countryside ever again, but I know that there is a smile reserved in my heart for my memories of France. I can’t help to wonder what Paris will be like in the summer though?
Things we Observed and Experienced while Visiting France for Ten Days
It is true. The French don’t like hearing English. We tested it. Every time my husband started an enquiry in his friendliest English, he was impolitely disregarded. I then stepped in, beginning in Afrikaans, our native language, and then flowed over into my version of ‘French’ – English camouflaged in a terrible French accent. It is quite easy to ‘bend’ English words so that they sound We were successful in all our missions this way – from asking directions, to exchanging pleasantries to buying cough medicine!
The French seems educated. (They definitely sound educated speaking such a beautiful language!) Everyone They sit on benches and read. They read on the bus, the boat, the train. Men read, women read, children read and grandmothers read to children who can’t read yet. It is just lovely to watch this passionate affair the French people has with books!
It also seems that all people living in France can speak French. (It might sound obvious, but it is not necessarily a given that people naturally speak the language of the country they live in – see my observations about London later on.)
Being South African and coming from a country where the crime rate is unacceptably high, one of my first observations of the French countryside was the absence of fear. In the village where my friend lives, they don’t even lock their doors (as some of those hundred-plus-year-old houses don’t have keys anymore!) There is a sense of safety and also an absence of aggression – something I had recognised and acknowledged within myself for the first time. I am still shocked to appreciate how living in a society with no respect for life changes you and make you angry all the time. And I am deeply saddened by it, because it had become the psyche of ‘my people’ back home. It is something I have to ponder on and to do something about.
I’ve touched the point above already that the French knows how to dress. They really dress elegantly and if you are clothed in the most common South African brand winter clothing, you stand out a little bit. Luckily it didn’t rain much, so we wore our ‘classier’ stuff the two remaining days. But with my weathered hiking boots I still looked very Boer-like in the presence of all those designer heels. Anyway, my feet were happy. And so was I.
In spite of them not liking English, the French are friendlier than one thinks and they are pretty likable people in the end.
London
All I wanted was a beer in a real pub and sitting on the Underground, being in shops and walking in the streets of London and listening to proper English accents, like our friend Simon’s. Boy, was I disappointed! Only twice in the four days did I hear that. The rest of the time our ears were entertained by almost every language under the sun – Arabic, Italian, Russian, other Eastern European sounding languages, Greek, French etc. In shops, we were served by foreigners. The Underground was packed with people from elsewhere. London is a little world in its own.
In spite of not hearing much proper English, we really enjoyed our time in London. We walked, saw touristy places, we went to see Phantom of the Opera at West End, we went to the movies and checked out James Bond stuff in the British Film Museum. It rained and it didn’t and it rained and it didn’t. And we had that pint in a real pub – the Sherlock Holmes Pub, nogal!
I liked visiting London and won’t cry if I have to visit it again. I do still have a dream to go watch a tennis match at Wimbledon. And I want to still see the English and the Scottish and the Welch and the Irish countryside…
Things we Observed and Experienced while Visiting London for Four Days
There is no good coffee.
There is no good coffee.
There is no good coffee.
Did I mention that the coffee there isn’t any good?
London appears very orderly. Properly English. Things work. That’s nice. I liked that. Once upon a time, things worked well in South Africa too. We learned from the Germans and the Dutch and the French and the British. But somehow we’ve lost our orderliness. And a lot of other necessities too.
People flock to England to get an education. Some for real. Some under false pretences and get stopped at the airport – something we witnessed.
On that point, London had become a place of refuge for many people from many different countries. It brings along its own challenges for the authorities, because of socio-economic issues and increasing extremism, but for most people it had become a place where they can go to be safe and to make a new life. It might be a hard life and difficult to get ahead, but nevertheless, it is a place to where they can go to get saved from where they come from.
And also on that point. One gets a feeling of disconnectedness amongst the masses. Most people appear alone and distant and lonesome. Maybe it is because they had to disconnect from their roots and they just didn’t reconnect again. I suppose it is not out of the ordinary. Living in a foreign land does that to a person.
The Netherlands
Amsterdam was a breath of fresh air. Okay, with a hint of marijuana near the train station. We spend a whole day walking along the canals with our friend, Rudi, who lives there. We ate biltong at an Aussie restaurant/bar that is nice enough to sell South African delicacies for the homesick Springbok supporters who watch rugby matches there. It was bloody cold.
It must be impossible to know for real, but statistics shows that there are more than 600 000 bicycles in Amsterdam. They have their own parking lots – like those for cars. Everyone is riding a bike – young and old. And sometimes the young with a mom or a dad. It is an overwhelming phenomenon, the bikes of Amsterdam. We visited the places everyone visited, rode on a boat in the canals and we walked and walked and walked. And it was bloody cold.
I loved Amsterdam. It was fun, relaxed and relaxing and we just had a great time. And we would love to see the rest of the Netherlands. Maybe in springtime…
Things we Observed and Experienced while Visiting Amsterdam for Three Days
The Hollanders are super friendly. Maybe they are always a little bit high with all the fumes hanging around (wink-wink) or maybe that’s just the way they are.
They are helpful people. Apart from their friendliness, they have this wonderful way in which they serve you. Really caringly serve you.
There also is an absence of fear.
Order and education is a visible priority. It’s Europe.
In Amsterdam everyone speaks Dutch. The population looks a bit like that of London with white, black, Asian, Middle Eastern etc., working everywhere, but the difference here is that every white, black, Middle Eastern or Asian mouth speaks Dutch! It is so weird, but also so wonderful! And we can understand them a little bit. If they speak slowly.
As in the case of London, Amsterdam is also a sanctuary for people from all over the world. Their tolerance throughout history made people flock to the city and it harboured many people in need of shelter in the past and still in the present.
These were just a few comments. I’m still working on my observations about living in Egypt. Maybe I will only write about that at the end of our time here. That is after all a whole different ballgame.
Maybe you sit there at work today, wishing that you were rather writing that big dream novel of yours. Or maybe you are privileged enough to be busy writing that great novel, but are stuck a little bit and need a challenge to kick-start you back into literary action. Or maybe you have a bad attack of writer’s block and don’t know what to do to untangle your imagination. If you fall into one of these categories, then consider doing something else to get you mind off things or to rekindle your creativity. One thing you can do is to enter a writing competition.
There are pros and cons to writing competitions, but the pros outweigh the cons by quite a margin. A writer – either one just starting out or a seasoned one – can learn a lot by regularly entering competitions.
Here are a few of the pros:
Participating in competitions helps you keep to deadlines. If you don’t keep to the deadline, you have no chance of reaping any awards.
It gives you desperately needed writing practice.
You have to keep repeating the writing process – write, edit, rewrite, edit, rewrite, edit, rewrite, edit, rewrite, edit, rewrite… And then be able to let go.
It hones your writing skills.
It teaches concise writing, because words are normally limited.
If you are bilingual or write in even more languages, it is a great way to keep your writing skills up by entering competitions in all the different languages you are able to write in.
You build your writing portfolio.
If you win a prize, you gain credibility and prestige. Mmm, bragging rights…
If it is a paid entry, you earn money if you win!
You practice to keep writing, even if you don’t win.
And, hey, the best pro of all is that you don’t get rejection letters from competition organisers!
The cons:
Well-known writing competitions have entry fees. (Someone must get paid to read it all.) If you want to enter an international competition and your currency is as weak against the U.S. Dollar, the Euro and the British Pound, like mine is, you will be limited in your choices, because frankly, it will be just too expensive to enter every competition you want to.
You can get discouraged if you never win. Just get over it and try again.
You can get so absorbed that you spend all your time entering competitions and never have time to write your novel anymore. I know, because I can spend a month editing 2500 words. Keep your original writing goal/s in mind, do the math and decide when a pro is turning into a con.
I haven’t won a competition before, but I had a few pieces published as runners up. Currently my entry is in for a story in my native language, and we happen to be going home when the winners are announced. We plan to pass through Bloemfontein on route to the Cape the weekend when the winner will be attending a writer’s workshop presented by Deon Meyer. Coincidence? We’ll have to see. J
Take that first step today and do something to pursue your writing dream or to get you out of a writer’s slump. Enter a writing competition. For your convenience, I have listed a few links to pages where competitions are advertised. I included competitions for the Afrikaans writing scribblers out there too. There are more and more Afrikaans competitions available. Watch out for them.
Gewoonlik kom families bymekaar om troue of begrafnis te hou en net soms in hierdie gelooflose samelewing nog as iemand (klein of groot) gedoop word. By begrafnisse huil almal saam oor die verbygaande aard van ons almal se bestaan en ook oor die familielid in die kis wat eers weer in die lewe hierna te siene sal wees. Dan, daarna kuier hulle ‘n hond uit ‘n bos uit, sodat hulle nie eens die tannies van die sustersvereniging raaksien as hulle die stukkies verlepte blaarslaai wat uit die broodborde op die grond geval het, optel nie.
Troues is darem gewoonlik meer heuglik, want almal ‘oe’ en ‘aa’ oor die pragtige jong bruid en netjies gemanikuurde bruidegom in hulle ontwerpersklere – hoewel trou deesdae so duur geword het, dat net die mees bevoorregte familielede dit tot by die bruilof maak. Kinders is nie meer by onthale welkom nie en soos wat die jong geslag trou, word pa en ma se ooms en tannies ook nie meer genooi nie, waarvoor dié geslag nie juis kwalik geneem kan word nie, want families ken mekaar nie meer verder as pa en ma se broers en susters en kinders nie. Om verskeie redes natuurlik. Ons geslag het mos weer ‘n groot trek begin. Families raak oor die aardbol vesprei – van Kanada tot Australië, Irak tot die Verenigde Emirate en hier plaaslik enige plek van Pietersburg/Polokwane, tot in die Kaap. Dis nou uitgesluit die spul wat te kwaad of te skaam is vir mekaar (soos dit maar in die meeste normale families gaan).
Maar daar is ander tye vir families en vriende om andersins ook bymekaar te kom, hoewel ek nog nie by baie van hulle was nie. Ons familie het een jaar ‘n paar siekbeddens beleef. My tannie en niggie is deur kanker skrikgemaak, maar is albei na chemoterapie en bestraling ‘skoon’ verklaar. Ekself het my tweede hartoperasie gehad. En al het die operasie baie vinnig gekom en gegaan, het ek en my klein gesinnetjie van drie maar weer deur al die doodgaan-emosies en fases waardeur hartpasiënte maar gaan, gewroeg. Voor ek in is, het een aand vir my man en naby vriende gesê dat ek ‘n fees wil hou as ek oorleef om saam met hom en ons seun en die lewe te celebrate.
En ons het. Een aand, vier maande na die operasie, het ons gesin en vyf van ons vriende en hulle kinders, tydens ‘n toer in Israel, almal wit klere aangetrek en langs die Rooi See in Eilat, die lewe gevier – met een klein botteltjie J.C. le Roux, wat ons vir ons huweliksherdenking die vorige maand by ‘n restaurant persent gekry het. Dit was ‘n beskeie geleentheid, maar het ‘n groot indruk op my gemoed gemaak en daar gelos.
‘n Paar maande later was ons by wat my tannie se 75ste verjaardagpartytjie moes gewees het, maar my oom het die geleentheid eerder gebruik om my tannie se gesondheid te vier. En dit het my ook bygebly, want oupa Koos het ouma Mienie se lewe gevier asof hulle twintig is en asof die lewe voor hulle lê. Dié twee is intussen al mooi oor die tagtig.
Miskien moet ons minder ernstig wees en net so ‘n bietjie minder oor werk en geld en veiligheid worry en die familievetes vergeet en die mense wat ons liefhet die tyd en erkenning gee wat hulle verdien. En nie wag totdat die dood een van ons in die gesig staar voordat ons mekaar se lewens vier nie. Miskien moet ons net soms vir sommer geen rede nie, ‘n fees reël om saam die lewe te celebrate.
Sê sy wat in die middel van die wêreld weg van familie en vriende sit…
VRYWARING: The Writing Club/Die Skryfklub het geen amptelike verbintenis met die ATKV, óf tree as spreekbuis vir hulle op, óf doen reklame namens die organisasie nie. Die rede hoekom soveel van hulle hulpbronne in hierdie les genoem word, is omdat hulle aktief die Afrikaanse taal bevorder (wat Die Skryfklub ook ondersteun en nastreef) en hulle nou met skole saamwerk in hierdie verband.
Dit grief my dat Graad 1-leerders ‘n toespraak gereed moet hê twee weke nadat hulle vir die eerste keer skool toe is. Hulle kan nog nie eens self lees of skryf nie! So, wie doen hulle werk? Jy, natuurlik!
Ek sal nie dieper in my opinie van die skoolsisteem ingaan nie, maar tot die punt kom en jou ‘n paar idees gee om jou te help om jou kinders se toesprake te skryf. Sodoende, wil ek jou help om so min as moontlik onnodige tyd daaraan te spandeer, maar belangrikste van alles is dat ek jou wil help om jou kinders te leer om hulle eie toesprake te kan navors en skryf (sodra hulle kan lees en skryf… #sarkasties)
Dit blyk asof staats- en redenaarskole in Suid-Afrika meestal die ATKV-riglyne vir redenaars volg. Vir die jaar se temas, hoe lank die toesprake moet wees en ander hulpbronne, besoek hulle webwerf by https://www.atkv.org.za/af/taal/redenaars/atkv-redenaars-temas-2016.
Soos uit bestaande voorbeelde van toesprake blyk, is daar ‘n duidelike en eenvoudige struktuur wat gevolg kan word om ‘n praatjie te skryf. Die inhoud, tema en lengte hang van die ouderdomsgroepe af.
Hierdie skrywe is geensins daarop gemik om ‘n in-diepte studie of les oor toespraakskryf te wees nie, maar bloot ‘n hulpmiddel om besige ma’s te help.
Jy is dus baie welkom om hierdie wenke gratis, vry en verniet met jou vriendinne te deel. Moet asseblief net nie jou eie besigheid daarmee begin en dit verkoop nie. 🙂
Stuktuur van ‘n toespraak
Die basiese struktuur van ‘n redenaarstoespraak bestaan uit:
Die ‘kop’ van die toespraak
‘n Aanhef
Hierdie is basies net die ‘groet’ van die voorsitter (wat deesdae net in die manlike aanspreekvorm) is.
Inleidende paragraaf
In hierdie paragraaf word die tema aangespreek, sodat die voorsitter, gehoor, beoordelaars weet wat beredeneer gaan word.
‘Groet van die gehoor’
Voordat die beredenering begin, erken die spreker eers die gehoor se teenwoordigheid (“Dames en here” of “Seuns en dogters” of (“Dames en here, seuns en dogters” )
Die ‘lyf’ van die toespraak
Inhoud
Hierna volg drie of meer paragrawe na gelang van tema, tyd en ouderdomsgroep, waarin die tema beredeneer word. Elke paragraaf moet die volgende bevat:
‘n Standpunt of opinie oor die onderwerp, met ander woorde, jou (die kind s’n) mening oor die onderwerp. Jy sal eers hiermee moet help. (Lees meer onder Wenke.)
Elke punt wat gemaak word, moet met ‘n rede daarvoor of daarteen ondersteun word.
Ter stawing hiervan moet ‘n aanhaling (persoon, boek, gesegde ens.) en/of ‘n feit (met detail van herkoms – bron, datum, omstandighede ens) ter ondersteuning aangebied word.
Die ‘bene’ van die toespraak
Afsluitingsparagaaf
Die een been bestaan uit die afsluitingsparagraaf. Hierin kom al die beredenering tot ‘n punt. Los drade word saamgevat. Die finale argument word versterk, maar geen nuwe feite word hier genoem nie. Die afsluiting moet weereens ondersteun word deur ‘n aanghaling of gesegde deur ‘n bekende/beroemde persoon.
Die ander been is die ‘dankie’-groet. Hier bedank die spreker die voorsitter en gehoor vir hulle aandag. ‘n Eenvoudige, ”Ek dank u, voorsitter”, of iets minder formeels, soos “Baie dankie vir u aandag, voorsitter, dames en here/seuns en dogters” sal doen. Party skole/klasse/groepe kan voorgesê word hoe om te eindig. Nota: Maak seker jou kind vra haar/sy onderwyser.
Hier is ‘n opsomming van die struktuur om naby te hou of dalk op jou kennisgewingbord te sit.
Hier is ook ‘n prentjie om die struktuur vir die kleiner kind te verduidelik, sodat sy beter kan verstaan en haar later te help om haar toesprake self te skryf.
Wenke
Wanneer jy die toespraak skryf, laat jou kind bysit. Laat hy jou help om die onderwerp te kies.
Wanneer daar op ‘n onderwerp besluit is, vra die kind om te probeer om sy menings oor die onderwerp te gee. Bv. Tema: Moet ons skoolklere dra?
Laat jou kind eerstens sê of hy daarvoor of daarteen
Laat hom om dan drie redes te gee vir sy standpunt.
Help hom dan soek na aanhalings, gesegdes en/of feite om sy standpunt te ondersteun.
(Hierdie is ‘n goeie oefening om deurentyd met jou kinders te doen. Betrek hulle by besluitnemings in die huishouding. Beredeneer dit om die etenstafel. Onthou die reël: vir elke mening MOET daar ‘n rede gegee word. Draai die situasie soms om en laat hulle die teenoorgestelde van hulle mening verdedig. Dit oefen hulle ‘dinkspiere’ en leer hulle ook om empatie met ander se standpunte/omstandighede te hê.)
Daar word van die kinders verwag om hulle toesprake uit hulle koppe te ken (asof die graadeentjies ‘n keuse het…).
Ek het gevind dat die maklikste manier om jou kind daarmee te help, is om die toespraak in jou (mamma) se stem op jou foon op te neem.
Oefen die toespraak ‘n paar keer vir jouself en voeg die verandering in stemtoon, nuanses, beklemtoning in, sodat dit kind dit kan hoor en so memoriseer. Onthou, die kind memoriseer presies soos hy/sy hoor.
(Die ‘voordra’ van hierdie toespraak is presies dit – voordrag, so dis baie vol drama en handgebare en nuanses. Laat jou kind die toespraak stukkie vir stukkie memoriseer en soveel as moontlik vir jou voordra. Jy kan hiermee help tot die beste van jou vermoë. As jou kind deurgaan na ‘n volgende rondte in die skool, sal die onderwysers verder help afrig.)
Skryf in eenvoudige, onopgesmukte taal, sodat dit gepas is vir die kind se ouderdomsgroep. Lees die toespraak ‘n paar keer oor en verbeter wat jy kan. Sny onnodige woorde uit en maak seker dat jy genoeg beredenering in het, asook aanhalings en/of feite by elke rede.
‘Breek’ die toespraak in baie kort lyne op (sien my voorbeelde), druk en knip dit uit en plak dit op kaartjies. Plak net drie lyne per kaartjie op, sodat die kind nie hoef te sukkel om te sien waar sy is nie. Nommer die kaartjies, sodat jou kind dit maklik self in volgorde kan plaas. Jy kan selfs die lyne per kaartjie nommer as jy dink dit sal help. Help haar dan om die toespraak te hou met behulp van die kaartjies. (Elke keer as ‘n kaartjie se inhoud klaar voorgedra is, plaas sy dit onderaan al die ander.)
Doen jou kinders die guns wanneer jy hulle beperk/verbied om sekere dinge te doen of wanneer jy sekere reëls instel deur aan hulle te verduidelik hoekom jy dit doen. Gee hulle een of twee of meer goeie redes en moenie jouself skuldig maak aan ons Afrikaners se “omdat ék so sê”-sindroom nie. Dit suig.
Kinders so klein as twee/drie kan verstaan dat hy een dag winkel toe kan gaan om ‘n swietie of ‘n speelding te koop en ‘n ander dag net mag rondkyk. Ek het dit getoets. As kinders gevolge kan verstaan, kan hulle jou reëls insien. Dit help hulle om nie so maklik rebels te wees nie en om vir hulleself te dink. Ons het denkende jongmense in ons land nodig. Voed asseblief vir ons ‘n paar op!
O, jinne, laat ek ophou voor ek preek.
Nog oefeninge om jou kind te help
Speel speletjies wanneer julle in die kar oppad is of in ‘n wagkamer moet wag.
Vra jou kind om die omgewing of ‘n voorwerp vir jou te beskryf. (Hoe dit lyk, wat jy daarmee doen, ens.)
‘Dwing’ jou kind om buite te speel, waar hy sy verbeelding moet gebruik.
Verbied digitale speletjies (rekenaar, foon, PS, Xbox ens) as die volgende dag ‘n skooldag is en beloon hulle met langer tye van ‘n uur en ‘n half op ‘n slag of so, tydens naweke en vakansies.
Maak ‘dinktyd’. Geen mens kan opinies hê sonder dat hy voorkeure of afkeure het nie. Ek ontmoet baie kinders wat nie weet waarvan hulle hou en waarvan nie. Ja, regtig. Ons kan nie opinies vorm as ons nie onsself ken of weet wat in die wêreld om ons aangaan nie. Die enigste manier om jouself te leer ken, is om gereeld tyd te neem om net te dink.
Maak dagdroomtyd. Met my skryfklubs doen ek ‘n les oor dagdroom. Daar het nog na elke werkwinkel ten minste een kind die volgende week teruggekom en gesê: “Ek weet nie hoe om te dagdroom nie.” Dis hartseer, want dis ‘n kind se enigste rêrige werk. In plaas daarvan om vir jou klein kindertjies ‘n fliek aan te sit om hulle besig te hou, laat hulle eerder hulle eie ‘opmaak’-stories speel. Hulle is baie goed daarmee, maar kinders word deesdae so geentertain, dat hulle nie meer hulle eie verbeelding het en hulleself kan entertain ‘n Goeie manier om kreatiwiteit aan te moedig is om een sinnetjie uit julle gesin se woordeskat te verban. Dit is: “Ek is verveeld..!” Daardie sinnetjie moet net op een manier beantwoord word: “’n Kind mag nie verveeld wees nie. Dink iets uit om te doen.” Hou vol daarmee. Dis ‘n gewoonte wat vinnig afgeleer word as ouers die moeite doen. En dan is dit natuurlik altyd goed om deur voorbeeld te lei…
Kinders en grootmense het ‘aftye’ nodig sodat ons breine kan rus en energie hernu. Maak tyd ten minste eenkeer per week vir die hele familie om niks te doen nie. Al is dit net vir twee ure. Verban selfone, TV en ander elektroniese goed en lê net leeg!
So, mamma, oor ‘n maand is dit tyd vir jou kinders se Engelse toesprake. Jy is nou toegerus om dit self te skryf. Pas net dieselfde beginsels toe. Byt vas, een van die dae leer jy hulle om dit self te doen!
Daar is ook baie Engelse webwerwe wat uitstekende hulp bied, maar dit verskil van hoe Afrikaanse skole dit doen. Persoonlik verkies ek eersgenoemde meer, want kinders word meer aangemoedig om hulle eie werk te doen, interessante onderwerpe te kies en meer vir hulleself te dink.
As jou kind een van daai oulike, bekkige, dramatiese outjies is en as ‘n kampioenredenaar ontluik, gaan jy baaaaaie toesprake in 12 jaar nodig hê. Leer hulle so gou as moontlik om hulle eie ding doen, maar help altyd met die taal, redenasies ens. en as jy vasbrand, is daar hulp op die volgende plekke.
Voorbeelde van toesprake (Hierdie toesprake is spesiaal vir twee kinders geskryf, so moet dit asseblief nie gebruik nie.)
Voorbeeld 1 Met grysheid kom die wysheid
Voorsitter,
Daar is ‘n spreekwoord wat sê dat grysheid wysheid bring. Is dit so? Dit is soms so. Maar ook soms nié.
Dames en here / Seuns en meisies,
Eerstens is daar ‘n verskil tussen slim en wys. Slim is as ‘n mens baie leer. Jy kan nog baie jonk en baie slim wees. Soos Bill Gates van Microsoft wat dit regkry om die hele wêreld op rekenaars te laat werk. Hy is baie slim, maar ook wys, want hy sê kinders moet baie lees. Ek weet nie of hy dit gesê het toe hy al grys was nie.
Die wetenskaplike, Albert Einstein, was baie slim én baie wys. Hy het moeilike probleme opgelos en ontdek hoe dinge werk. Hy het ook gesê dat verbeelding belangriker as kennis is. Al was hy grys, dink ek nie hy was dan ooit ‘n grootmens nie, want grootmense sê soms anders.
(En), voorsitter, Dan is daar my ouma, Antjie. Sy is grys én slim én wys. Sy is so wys, sy is sommer een van ‘n tweeling. Ouma Antjie kan koek bak en stories vertel en grappies maak en einas regdokter en baie mooi prente verf.
Dames en here / Seuns en meisies,
Daar is altyd uitsonderings. Jesus was die wysste van almal en Hy het hemel toe gegaan vóórdat Hy grys was. En soms as kinders iets ouliks sê, dan sê die oumas:
“Is sy nie te grys nie?!”
So, ek is nie heeltemal seker dat alle wysheid met grysheid kom nie. Maar één ding weet ek! Dit rym!
Baie dankie, voorsitter
Voorbeeld 2 Een vrot appel steek al die ander aan
Voorsitter,
Kan één ou klein appeltjie nou regtig ‘n hele boks vol appels vrot maak? Volgens die Bybel en baie slim mense, kan dit!
Dames en here, Appels en Pere / Seuns en meisies,
Op die webblad – todayifoundout.com – skryf Daven Hiskey dat ‘n slegte appel gewoonlik ‘n siekte het of dat dit oorryp is. Daardie één appel kan regtig al die ander appels om hom aansteek en vrot maak! Hy weet, want hy is ‘n baie slim man wat met met appels werk.
(Maar), voorsitter, Dié idioom praat nie rêrig van appels nie. Dit gaan eintlik oor slegte mense wat goeie mense leer om slegte dinge te doen. In 1 Korinthiërs 15 vers 33 in die Bybel staan: Slegte geselskap bederf goeie sedes. Die Bybel sal weet. Dis die slimste boek op aarde.
‘n Anonieme aanhaling sê dat ‘n mens se gesin jou eerste vriende is. Ons familie is die mense wat ons die liefste het. Hulle sal ons nie leer om slegte dinge te doen nie. So, as ons eerste vriende ons familielede is, sal ons nie vrot appels word nie!
Dames en here / Seuns en meisies,
Meneer George Washington was ‘n Amerikaanse president en nóg ‘n slim man. Hy het gesê dat dit beter is om alleen te wees as om slegte vriende te hê. Maar ek sê, kies van jongs af goeie vriende en jy hoef nooit alleen pret te hê nie! Is ek nie ook slim nie?
An article worth reading if you are dreaming of turning your blog into a book -http://www.writersdigest.com/online-editor/7-tips-for-turning-your-blog-into-a-book
There are so many quotes and writings about the almost ‘magical’ thing called travelling. Much is said about the wonderful things you see and hear and how it opens your eyes and your mind and broadens your horizons and gives you insights into how the world works that you would otherwise not have had. So much so that when you dream of visiting France for example, you unquestionably expect to hear beautiful French theme music starting to play in the background the moment you set foot on French soil.
Most of the things one hears and reads about travelling are certainly true. It makes a difference about how you look at and think about the world. It does broaden you horizon. And it gives you insights you would probably otherwise not have required. The reality about travelling though is that there is reality. Surely, sometimes you hear French music play in the background (when you sit in a restaurant) and you may have a holiday romance with an Italian heartbreaker or you might travel without any trouble, lost luggage or stomach bugs and you will meet people who will stay friends with you until the end of time. But most of the time, travelling can be very, very hard. So, if you haven’t travelled much yet, here is a shortish version of how a typical day of a travelling transpires.
Even if you knew the day would come for months in advance and planned accordingly, you will still have a hundred and three things to do on the day before you leave. Somehow visas can be the main devil in the traveller’s Garden of Eden and you sometimes have to wait until the very end for the British Embassy to open again after an unexpected closure in Cairo to get your UK visa. Or it can be the Colombians or Algerians or Mauritian authorities causing you problems. The fact is – visas are the traveller’s number one enemy – and friend, because without them, you’re going nowhere.
On a normal day of travelling you will eventually leave for the airport by car, taxi, bus, train or whatever, armed with you passport, your ticket – or the electronic confirmation of a ticket, money, your luggage and those precious visas safely stamped or pasted into your passport pages. You will arrive and queue to book in electronically at a machine or otherwise at a counter, depending on the airport you fly from. While you stand in the queue, you will pray that your bag is within the weight limit. You will ban the question out of you mind of how you are going to manage not to go overweight after ten days or three weeks of buying cute, but in a year’s time totally forgotten memorabilia. You will be thankful when the bag goes through with no problem and you are awarded with your boarding pass.
Then you get out of the line, say the goodbyes to those who brought you, if you didn’t come on your own, and you enter the door leading to the world! But first, you will have to queue for passport control. After the customs officer stamped you out of the country, you are as free as a bird in that wonderful no man’s land called ‘Duty Free’… We normally like to be there long before we have to board, just to get the emotions of the goodbyes behind us and have a coffee or a beer while breathing the busy day out of our bodies and starting to focus on our tip ahead. This is where you realise for the first time that you are on your way.
Your next queue is when you wait to go through the security check to your boarding gate. You remove your camera, jacket/s, shoes and belt, take your wallet and cell phone out of you pockets, remove your laptop, tablet/iPad and your other cameras from your hand luggage, put it in a tray with your passports and walk through the scanner on your still-clean socks, hoping there is nothing left on you that will make it bleep. If you’re lucky enough to go through without a bleep, a person of your own gender awaits you with a hand scanner and two gloved hands. In Europe, this search stops just short of a gynaecology examination. Literally. Then all your scanned stuff and those of the people behind you causes a traffic jam on the x-ray machine, while you try to grab your camera, belt, shoes and jacket’s all at once and try to get dressed while going through the checklist in your head trying not to forget anything:
Passport
Camera
Jacket/s
Shoes
Belt
Other camera
Cell phone
Tablet/iPad
Wallet
You make sure to look back to see if you left anything and check the person behind you to see if he may have taken something of yours. When you are certain of this, you are perspiring a little bit and ready to board your flight.
Note: Sometimes this step occurs after leaving passport control and before you enter Duty Free. It depends on the airport. After this you are happy that it is over, yet you know that this is going to repeat itself over and over during the course of your trip in every airport you visit – when going in and when going out.
Another note: If travelling in or out of Egypt add double the amount of passport checks mentioned above, add two more and multiply the sum by three.
Your next wait is in the room at the gate before boarding. When you finally hear the boarding call, you get up excitedly, because you know, that the journey is finally to begin. You queue in the boarding line, get you passport checked again and your boarding pass scanned. Then you follow the line to the airplane. Finally.
Depending on how far you have to travel, you will be caged into a small space (except if you fly business class of course) where you will try to watch a movie, try to sleep, don’t like all the food the airline serve you (except if it is KLM, then you would want to try the tray too) and probably be stuck behind or next to an unmannered co-passenger or one who’s breath really pongs. This is the less enjoyable part of travelling, especially if you travel five hours and longer.
On the other side, you will have this whole process at the airport again, just in in reverse. Then you have to find transport to your place of accommodation, travel there, queue to book in, move in, unpack or not, get cleaned, connect to Wi-Fi, contact home to let them know that you are safe and try to get a good night’s sleep.
If you travel for ten days to three weeks, the pace can get to you, because you will wake up every day, get cleaned, go for breakfast and travel by car, bus, train, tram, boat, taxi, motorcycle, bicycle, plane, underground (also train) to your next destination. You will queue, you will buy tickets on busses, in museums and on boats. You will always be looking for coffee or beer and wonder where the next toilet will be. You will run not to miss your next bus ride, train or plane, and you will hope you and your luggage arrive at the same place. Which sometimes don’t happen and then you have to spend a night in your day-old undies and a t-shirt from Heathrow’s ‘overnight’ pack. You will queue to see the small, insignificant, but well-marketed painting called the ‘Mona Lisa’ (in English) and take selfies with known landmarks in the background.
You will ask strangers to take a pic of your family, so that you are in some of the pictures too. You will search the map and the Internet for directions and you will learn how a country’s public transport system works within hours after arrival. You will walk or ride from site to site, drinking coffee or beer or wine in between with ‘n light lunch and take more pictures, because you never know if you will ever see it again.
It’s not that these places are so important to you personally or that they speak to your heart, but that you have seen it with your own eyes. There is something in seeing well-known places and things with your own eyes. Even if you feel too uneducated to appreciate every old painting in the Louvre or the Rijksmuseum – or know who the painters were. It is a weird kind of privilege to visit places and share the soil where so many good and bad things happened in the past and to know that somehow your life had cross the paths of those who lived there so long ago.
In the evening you put your photos on Facebook and Instagram and WhatsApp and chat with your family and friends and go to bed too late, because you don’t want to waste a moment and you want to try and put what you have seen and experienced in perspective. The next morning you wake up and the routine repeat itself – but in spite of the repetition, one day is never the same as the previous. So, you get up, brush your teeth, go to breakfast, start travelling, drink coffee, go to the toilet while you are in a restaurant, travel to a site, take too many pictures, walk, ride bus, ride boat, walk more, eat lunch you can’t really afford, drink beer, go to the restaurant toilet, walk to the next site, take more pics, ride bus to the next, take even more pictures, look for a place to get food, have more beer or wine and go to the toilet, ride bus or underground or walk to your place or accommodation, bath, download photos, upload photos, chat to family and friends, go to sleep too late.
And you repeat this until the tour is over. There is no rest, because what South African can afford to go to London for three days and lay on a hotel bed for a day’s rest at times 18 of your currency for everything you do. No, there will be no rest. You will pack in, no matter how tired or sick you are. You will go on. You will get every cheap South African cent’s worth out of your too-expensive trip!
Sometimes while travelling it feels as if you are not taking it all in. You think that you just travel and look and see and don’t think. But when you get home, you realise how much you have thought about. You learned that you never stopped thinking. Your thoughts were transformed somehow by experiences you didn’t realise your brain had recorded. You are a changed/changing person. You realise how much you have learned and how little you really know. Even now. No, especially now that you know how much there still is to learn. And you realise all over again that all of life is a journey. That this little piece of your life, called a holiday, is part of that journey to make your life expand. And you appreciate that you may never, ever see those places you have just visited again. And you are also confronted with the very real possibility that you may never travel to all the places you still dream about seeing. That’s a reality of life.
You also find that being home, is the biggest part of the journey. And you realise that it is a privilege to have a place to come home to. Even if we have never travelled, or is just a couch traveller or if we don’t want to travel, we are on the trip of our life, because being alive and living life is the journey.
So, are the endless, tiresome movements from one place to another just to see it with your own eyes really worth it? It is. Because you learn a lot about the world, but you learn even more about yourself.
What a curious phenomenon this thing called ‘travelling’ is.
At the end of a year and before the next begins, it is a good idea to spend some time ‘taking stock’ of our lives. During the next few days, get your journal or a notebook, go and sit in a quiet place and contemplate. Then make two lists.
List 1
List the following in your ‘To think about’ list:
Difficult choices you had to make;
Changes that occurred in your private and working life;
Mistakes you made;
Names of people you have to ask forgiveness for or to forgive. (Then forgive them.)
Bad things that happened to you or around you;
Problems you have that is still unsolved;
Good surprises;
Good things that happened to you or around you; and
Things you are thankful for.
Take Time to Think in Between
Take some time to think these things over. If you have gone through an exercise like this last year, go through your lists and mark the things that you wanted to do, but didn’t.
List 2
Make another ‘To do’ list about the following:
Things that you really wanted to do during the last year, but didn’t;
Things you want to change – personal and workwise;
A few things on your ‘bucket list’ you want to do the coming year;
Things you want to do for someone else; and
Solutions to solve those unsolved problems from your first list.
Get into Some Creative Action
Now that your head is (hopefully) clearer, turn the page of your journal or notebook and write down as many story ideas you can think of if you are a fiction writer.
If you are a non-fiction writer, jot down ideas for articles, booklets etc.
From then on, take one idea per day from your last list and free write about it.
After free writing, tackle one thing on your ‘to do’ list and write down what you are going to do about it. Write down small goals and keep to it. Revisit this list weekly to see how you progress and make adjustments if needed.
After you have done this, take time to sit somewhere quiet to think and relax.
Spend some time with your loved ones.
Make a habit of these four steps by repeating it at least weekly.
I, Fielies (Riëtte) De Kock tries hard to be a Proverbs 31-woman – excellentest wife, finest mom, greatest lover and successful ‘wordpreneur’ all at the same time. I temporarily share my living space in Cairo, Egypt with my husband, almost-university-student son, the building’s ginger cat – and the space in my head with way too many ideas and multitudes of story characters to live as a normal functioning human being.
I have slowly started to spend time writing again. Now that Michael had finished school I am supposed to have more time, although the functions accompanying Deon’s job here in Egypt distracts me from writing as ‘full time’ as I want to. But, I appreciate and cherish every moment I can use to write. I am working to finish my novel, Change of Heart. It’s at 81000+ words now which makes about 356 typed pages. Not bad, but there’s quite a bit of writing to do still.
I am also reading a book Why Authors Fail by Derek Doepker. (Available from Kindle ebooks at Amazon http://www.amazon.com/Why-Authors-Fail-Mistakes-Self-Published-ebook/dp/B00L9GM1RO) I can tick off almost all 17 of the mistakes he discusses. It is tough to realise that I have so many flaws as a writer and worst is that I knew all these things before I read the book. It is as if he just summarised all my shortcomings in book form. So, aside from writing, I would have to work hard to fix those mistakes and inadequacies. But in the meantime, I have more important things to do. Like writing.
One of the questions asked by Mr. Doepker is why is becoming a successful author important to me?I thought that I should do the exercise and write down my reasons. It will also serve as motivation. So, here’s my reasons:
1. I don’t have a choice. I write because I have to – because I love writing. I have stories and ‘people’ living in my head which have to get out. Some I hope are good. Some are horribly sentimental and will never be written. They would always have to linger oh, so sweetly in the matter between my ears. My poor brain! Writing energises me. When I write, I exercise and I cook and get compliments from my family for the nice food they get. It makes us all feel good.
2. I want not only to write and publish a book – I want to write and publish books. I have written a few books and quite a few longish short stories already – it is the publishing part which lack seriously in the picture of my dream job. I want to be good enough a writer to have at least more than ten books published. For that I need to write more regularly. More and regularly. And I need to muster the courage from somewhere to get the first one published.
3. I want to be a successful author because I think I write good enough stories to receive at least some income from it. This will make me feel useful. Not that I’m not. I am a mom, but the boy is all grown up now and I want to ‘redefine’ myself as a wordpreneur who actually sells my words.
4. By being a successful author I will thank God for giving me the talent to write.
5. I want my husband and son to be proud of me. I know they are already, but I want their pride being expanded to the gifts given to me.
6. I want to get my writing published, because it depresses me when I read or watch programs about other people doing what they are good at and succeed and I have still ‘done nothing’ about my dream. I want to live my dream of being a paid writer.
7. I want my children’s story, Yeovangya, made into an animated movie, because every time I see a new animation movie it frustrates me that my movie is not yet out there – and it take. So. Very. Long. To. Make. Yeovangya is available as a Kindle ebook at Amazon at http://www.amazon.co.uk/Yeovangya-Riette-De-Kock-ebook/dp/B008CP2RQ0. (See, Mr. Doepker, I’m marketing. I’m working on at least one of my weaknesses.)
8. If I don’t at least get one book published, I will feel very disappointed – maybe even a bit like a failure.
9. I must at least try. If I don’t make it, then I know I wasn’t good enough. There will be closure in that. But if I don’t try, I will always feel regret and dissatisfaction. And there’s nothing worse than living a “What if..?” life.
10. If I don’t make it as a successful author of formally published books, I can always keep on publishing ebooks and hope my family and friends love me enough to buy my electronic scribblings for forty Rand or so…
What I have to do now is to do something about the shortcomings listed in Mr. Doepker’s book. And then do my best at succeeding. WOW, this is a very close-to-home confession. Now my big dream is out there for the world (or the few loyal family and friends at least who actually read my blog) to see and hold me accountable.
Eish!
I, Fielies (Riëtte) De Kock tries hard to be a Proverbs 31-woman – excellentest wife, finest mom, greatest lover and successful ‘wordpreneur’ all at the same time. I temporarily share my living space in Cairo, Egypt with my husband, almost-university-student son, the building’s ginger cat – and the space in my head with way too many ideas and multitudes of story characters to live as a normal functioning human being.
Since my first blog entry about our new life in Egypt a lot had happened. Our small family was transformed from overwhelmed hotel dwellers, into residents living in a house and becoming streetwise very quickly.
Our house is a ground floor ‘apartment’ as it is called here and not a ‘flat’ as we South Africans would call it. That earlier blog entry was written by a person new and still very confused by her surroundings. Since then I learned to find my way around our neighbourhood and can even navigate the way home when entering the beginning of our suburb. And I am starting to recognise roads previously taken. That is what is called forward motion in such a large city as this one.
It was a crazy, busy time these last almost seven months. We had stayed in hotels, did house hunting, moved into a house, furnishing the house, living in it and learned to breathe in it. (Which is not as easy as you think in a climate that requires 24/7 air conditioning.)
Work-wise things had gotten direction too. My husband is settling in nicely and I am playing my supportive wifey role pretty well, I think, attending dinners and receptions and other events and making a lot of small talk – because in the ‘business’ we’re in, that’s called ‘work’. And sometimes it is real hard work. Most of the functions we attend are in other parts of the city, a mere ten kilometres or so away, but going there three, four or five times a week, means travelling in peak traffic, which takes an hour and a quarter to an hour and a half. Fortunately, driving back only takes half an hour or so – normally. Sometimes we do this twice a day.
We have travelled a bit for official purposes, as well as for leisure and have seen quite a bit already of this vast and intriguing country. We’ve made our way to Alexandria and were happy that the sea there was more like ‘ours’ – with actual waves and sounds. We’ve made a stop at El Alamein and found the grave of my great uncle who died there on 23 November 1941 in WWII in one of the battles. We went to the Red Sea at Ein Sochna twice and we have flown over the breathtakingly, beautiful Sinai desert to Sharm Al Sheikh, from where we drove the 50km to Dahab – a diving and snorkelling paradise, where we lazied away five wonderful days in the very, very, very hot sun.
A few weeks ago we visited El Alamein again for the commemoration ceremonies. It was a touching experience, sitting there in the blistering autumn desert sun, thinking of the many people who lost their lives in those wars and wondering what life would have been like if they didn’t sacrifice their lives for us. I also couldn’t help to wonder what the future holds for us with the threat of fanatic terrorists taking lives as if life was theirs to take, not so far from us in the Sinai, Iraq and Syria. The previous night twenty plus Egyptian soldiers were brutally murdered in the Sinai, making the day of remembrance much more of a reality than just remembering history. With the young soldiers standing guard around us in a church service, I couldn’t help wondering what still awaits us in the near future.
Since being here, we have met with friends from South Africa visiting Egypt for various reasons. Some were old friends of ours, some were friends of friends and others were new friends, like Foeta Krige and Barend La Grange, who were finishing a trip from the Southern-most tip of Africa in L’Agulhas to the northern-most tip in Ras ben Sakka, Tunisia.
My brother-in-law, John, was our first stay-over guest. Our spare room was ready just in time for his visit. He stayed three weeks, but it rather felt like three days. Our son was in the last three weeks of his school career and we couldn’t entertain him as a guest should be entertained, but fortunately he is a seasoned traveller and no stanger to Egypt , so he entertained himself. He went about his own business and even went to the desert for a few nights. At least we took him for his first-ever quad bike experience to Sakkarah – something he took to enthusiastically and enjoyed immensely.
Michael’s friend, Wilhelm, is currently visiting and the two of them are enjoying their first few months of adulthood together. Both just finished school and turned 18 recently.
Life is treating us well and we feel very privileged and thankful to be able to have this experience. Things aren’t always easy and we miss ‘home’ and our family and friends and our pets. (We are warming up to the building cat however – or is he warming up to us?) And we miss the tastes and sounds and sights and everything that is familiar. But it is a fantastic experience to live abroad for a while and to experience so many different people from so many different nationalities that we socialise with on a regular basis. One learns so much from other people and from visiting other places. And you learn also to appreciate what is dear and sacred to you. One has to learn to live your faith, rather than just practice to believe. It is good for the soul. Very good.
Travelling, in my opinion, must be something that every person aspires to – even if you can do it only once in your life, you should. One should save as much as you can and travel as far as you can on what you have. Go experience the world and its peoples. Learn about new places and taste new tastes. And broaden your horizons. And if your savings aren’t enough yet, get onto your feet, onto your bike, or into your car, or on a bus or train and just go to a place in or out of your town or your city and experience something new. Go see how people who are different from you live life. It will change your opinions, views and just maybe, your life also.
I have a young friend who was a member of my writing club, who is exploring the world right now. She is only 19. She is beautiful, a talented writer and this is what she said about travelling on her Facebook page the other day:
With travelling there are many things that go along with it. Once you have been somewhere so different you undergo a form of transformation, a loss of innocence. You realise how messed up and beautiful the world is at the same time. The more you see, the more you realise how little everyone knows. It makes you want to live for others and not for yourself. You realise how little it means to have a lot of money or a nice face. To realise this at an early age of your life will change the way you think forever.
I, Fielies (Riëtte) De Kock tries hard to be a Proverbs 31-woman – excellentest wife, finest mom, greatest lover and successful ‘wordpreneur’ all at the same time. I temporarily share my living space in Cairo, Egypt with my husband, almost-university-student son, the building’s ginger cat – and the space in my head with way too many ideas and multitudes of story characters to live as a normal functioning human being.
This might just be the most awkward love letter I have written to you so far. Today is our wedding anniversary and I realised last night that today, I will be married for longer than I have been single. And that we know each other now for a quarter of a century already.
It made me think, because it feels only like a blink-of-an-eye away that I was woken by my sister with breakfast and sparkling wine in bed, excited that day big day had finally arrived! But, thinking about it a little bit more, I realised that quite a lot can happen in a ‘blink of an eye’. I remember (not necessarily in the correct order…)
Communism fell and so did the Berlin wall.
We watched the war in Iraq on the TV in the evenings after work.
You went on a course to Chile for four months and five days and while you were gone, the world seemed to turn asymmetrically around me.
Your youngest sister got married while you were away.
There was conflict in the Middle East.
You came back and the balance of my little world was restored.
We became engaged without you ever asking me to marry you.
We got married. In between these two undertakings, I don’t remember anything else happening.
When we got married it was trendy for anti-marriage campaigners to say that “marriage’s purpose had been served”.
The ANC had been unbanned and Nelson Mandela was released from prison.
There was conflict in the Middle East.
You travelled abroad for work.
Apartheid had fallen and we (South Africa) had our first real democratic elections.
Three new babies had been born into the family in the meantime.
Racism started to change its face – not just in South Africa, but all over the world.
You travelled abroad for work.
Political correctness entered our world subtly.
There was conflict in the Middle East.
South Africa had been allowed back into the sports world and the Springboks had won the Rugby World Cup.
We had misfortunes at getting pregnant.
I had a heart operation…
…during which I was pregnant and didn’t know (the hospital made a God-intervened mistake by not testing my urine before the operation)…
…and medical experts advised us to have our son aborted…
…which we refused…
…and he survived and was born healthy…
There was conflict in the Middle East.
I left my job after ten years.
I got another job.
There was conflict in the Middle East.
You travelled abroad for work.
Our son grew up to become a lively toddler and the love and centre of our lives.
I had another traumatic operation, but by God’s grace we go through that too.
My father died.
You and I travelled abroad together for the first time. We vowed never to travel without our son again. So far we haven’t.
Crime became profitable in SA.
There was conflict in the Middle East.
You went on a year-long course – fortunately close to home.
My beloved brother died.
India had a huge earthquake.
Our son went to school.
You travelled abroad for work.
One day planes started flying into buildings in the USA. More than 3000 people died.
This started new wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. We watch it on TV. Again.
Al Qaeda became World Enemy no. 1.
Crime became worse in SA.
There was conflict in the Middle East.
I quit my job.
I had another heart operation.
Pluto was downgraded to not being a planet anymore.
It became legal to murder your own child when he/she is still a foetus.
There was conflict in the Middle East.
Saddam Hussein vanished.
Saddam Hussein was found.
Saddam Hussein was executed.
The Springboks had won the Rugby World Cup again.
We travelled abroad for the first time as a family.
We decided that I would become a stay-at-home mom.
Iran had a huge earthquake.
Our son got it in his head to be home schooled.
There was conflict in the Middle East.
We started home schooling.
You travelled abroad for work.
We travelled abroad six times more.
Turkey had a huge earthquake.
The world learned about tsunami’s when more than 230 000 people died in South Asia.
During the course of the last seven years four family weddings and three births occurred.
You travelled abroad for work.
There were divorces and remarriages in our family.
Uncles and aunts died. The older generation was leaving this life. A younger generation was getting older.
There was conflict in the Middle East.
Marriages between men and men and women and women became legal. Marriage was suddenly popular again.
Your father died.
Arafat died.
South Africa had hosted the FIFA Soccer World Cup.
Crime had become an epidemic in SA.
One day a man in Tunisia burnt himself to death and started a revolution in his country and in Libya and in Egypt.
Syria became a blood bath.
Mubarak resigned, Gaddafi was murdered.
Our son turned 16.
Governments in North Africa changed.
Osama bin Laden, the alleged brain behind the 9/11 tragedy was killed in his hide-out in Pakistan.
Governments in North Africa changed. Again.
Our son got his learner’s driver licence.
There was conflict in the Middle East.
We moved to Egypt.
A plane vanished in mid-air, not to be found.
A few months later, the same type of plane from the same airline was shot down over Ukraine.
Boko Haram in Nigeria kidnapped 200 girls and caused havoc in the country.
Ferries sank.
Planes crashed.
Volcanoes spewed.
A Muslim extremist group, who make Al Qaeda almost look polite, arose and wants to take over the world. They kill as far as they go.
Our son finished school.
Pluto may be promoted to become a planet again.
Our son turned 18.
(There will probably always be conflict in the Middle East.)
These were only a ‘few’ things that came to mind while I was pondering last night away. Through all these years we celebrated anniversaries and births and birthdays and cried at deaths. We have made the best of friends – which we still have – and we had family joys and tragedies. We laughed and we loved. And now we are 25 years older. In the blink of an eye.
One thing we know, and that is that change is constant and that everything changes. The world changes. People change. Ideas change. Trends change. Laws change. Life changes – in the mere blink of an eye.
Even love changes. My love for you changed. I love you more now than I loved you 25 years ago. Thank you for not asking me to marry you and then did it anyway 23 years ago.
You are the love of my life.
Always yours,
VrouQ
‘VrouQ’ can roughly be translated to the English non-word ‘wifey’ (from ‘wife’)
Fielies (Riëtte) De Kock 