It was a cold November night and I was wandering through Times Square, having just sobbed my eyes out at a spectacular performance of the hit Broadway show Dear Evan Hansen…
I stopped, twirled around in a circle and took in my surroundings. Still feeling emotional after my sobfest and raw in a way I hadn’t been for years , I had a profound realization.
I was home. Home once again and I was impossibly, utterly, deeply in love with New York City.
For the third time.
This trip, my first one to New York shared with someone I loved, your godmom Leonie, was hands down my best. I loved solo travel, and I would soon venture off on another trip by myself, but a shared experience brought with it a sense of happiness, comedic moments of getting lost, frustation at losing each other at busy events, transcendent moments at a magical theatre show unlike any other we’d seen, discovering new places and showing each other our favourite spots.
Sharing New York with someone who adored it as much as I do, possibly even more so, made me love it on a deeper level.
Even if I never returned to the Big Apple in my life (Gods, I hope not! I still wanted to live my best upcoming writer and Brooklyn-living mom life there!), I was content to have loved this beautiful city and be a part of it at least thrice in my life.
Kids, in the winter of 2018, I was facing the very real and harsh reality that meeting a man, one who got my weirdness, wanted me, loved me for me and wanted to make you with me, wasn’t going to happen.
At the time, being part of a family where literally every single one of my female relatives met and married men at the drop of a f***ing hat, when my timelines were filled to the f***ing brim with ultrasound photos and every other couple on the street were seriously overdoing the limit on PDAs, researching sperm donation and IVF and worrying how in the holy f*** I was going to scrape 70K together to make you was how I spent my evenings.
It didn’t help that I couldn’t talk about these thoughts with anyone in my life because I was far too busy being the soundboard and emotional haven for those people (including the person I caught feelings for – he’d popped back into my life a few weeks before and was going through something major. Yes, I am aware of how f***ed up that is but I was young and stupid and had a major heroine complex so sue me!).
When you grow up in a family that accuses you of being a drama queen your entire life, you learn as an adult to keep your mouth f***ing shut about the heartbreaking issues and worries that keep you up at night. It made me so emotionally shut off that I automatically assumed my friends wouldn’t want to hear my fears about being so weird and unlovable that no man in their right minds would ever want to be with me or father my children.
On a morning following a long, long night of crying into my pillow about not being able to change who I was so I could be like my female relatives and friends, I logged onto Twitter where your godfather Leon had liked an epic thread.
The author of the thread had exchanged seats with another woman so she could be with her boyfriend and ended up inadvertedly setting this woman up with her co-passenger:
Last night on a flight home, my boyfriend and I asked a woman to switch seats with me so we could sit together. We made a joke that maybe her new seat partner would be the love of her life and well, now I present you with this thread.
Did this make me believe I was going to meet your father on my next flight or bus ride? No… but it make me feel slightly better and really, that’s all a single girl could ask for. Thanks Leon and Rosey!
Kids, I am no stranger to grief. Since my Dad died the week after my 11th birthday, I have been well accquainted with this gods-awful, sucks balls emotion. At age 32 and a half in 2018, though, I was f***ing done with it… DONE!
See, just when I was regaining some semblance of a normal life after losing my grandpa two years earlier, the loss of a huge part of my life was looming because of political reasons and that f***ing horrible feeling of hollowness and devastation had returned.
No, this loss wasn’t a person but it was something that I had loved, nutured, cared for, fought for and I finally felt as if I had found my place in and losing it or at least, the current state of it, broke my heart just as badly.
Death, in life or the ending of something was truly a f***tard!
I veered between not eating and overeating, not being able to talk about it without crying,not sleeping or oversleeping, being mad and sad and confused all at the same time, denying it was happening… basically, all of the stages of grief, except acceptance.
I wasn’t ready to accept the loss yet because it meant that things would never,ever be the same again.
Logically, I knew that this situation couldn’t go back to being what it was ever again but the idea of what awaited in the future just wasn’t something I could handle either.
“Can I kiss you?”, he asked, and I nodded yes before he laid one on me…
Kids, it wasn’t the best kiss of my life (that had been Myles a lifetime ago at my TV job) but it was my first since my Harlem hottie in New York three years prior and well, sometimes a girl just has to get her smooch on, you know?
It was my birthday weekend and while I was finally coming into my own as a woman and writer after Argentina, I needed a reminder that I was young, hot, single and free to do what and whomever I damn well pleased.
Your aunts Cynthia and Lee-Anne were the perfect partners-in-crime for my night out on the town, making friends with random strangers, laughing all night and dancing like no one was watching.
It’s ok to let go and be young every now and again. It’s a lesson I’d need to remember often over the year to come…
Kids, on the eve of my 32nd birthday, I was feeling particularly thankful for all of my many, many blessings and it made me feel a little bit nostalgic.
I started thinking about the very best birthday gifts I’d received over the last few years and here are my top 5:
The gift of a social media blackout: In 2016, I practiced the first of my no socials on my birthday cleanse and by Gods, it was fantastic to have the silence! What’s more, people actually took the time to call me and what’s better than talking to your loved ones on your special day? I was going to do the same in 2017!
The gift of being surrounded by friends and family: Each year, I had birthday parties surrounded by the people I love… whether it was an intimate dinner where the whole #howimetyourfather campaign kicked off or high tea with your Spirit Mom at the Mount Nelson Hotel.
3. The gift of a kickass studio tour and being on my own show in New York: In 2016, my f***ing amazing Wyrd Sister Leo gifted me with a NBC Studio Pass for my upcoming trip to New York. It was by far the highlight of my solo Big Apple vacation AND I got to record and star in this epic mock late night show interview:
4. The gift of a fantastic 30th island holiday: My angst at turning 30 in 2015 was majorly alleviated by the incredible week-long birthday celebration and vacation your Nan booked for us in Mauritius. Your aunt Sam, Nan and I really reconnected, doing aqua Zumba, snorkelling, catamaran cruises and water side dinners. It is also where I learnt to appreciate the art of going solo and lessons I have implemented in my life ever since.
5. The gift of love and life: Kids, in the spring of 1985, your Nan risked her life for mine with a two month hospital stay and a risky emergency C-Section. She’d regularly remind me of the crazy circumstances leading to my birth:
When I look back at photos of my birth I can’t believe how incredibly strong my then 24-year-old Mom had to be to care for a baby born two months early:
I’m so thankful, though, for her bravery and for always being there for me. I love you, Mom!
Kids, as you know Halloween is my absolute favourite holiday of the year… not least of all because it is when the undead rise in the Mother City for the annual Zombie Walk Cape Town event!
My zombie personality had been everything from a cheerleader to a nurse to a bride so what to go as in 2017? Well…
I was a precocious five-year-old who a) was convinced that big school would be like an episode out of the Wonder Years and b) was determined to be a police woman.
Never mind the fact that this was pre-1994 South Africa and women, let alone women of colour, were not allowed to be officers of the law.
Your Grandpa, though, liked to encourage my big dreams and, in addition to getting me a toy cop police set with handcuffs and a baton, let me tag along on his early evening neighbourhood watch patrols. Man, were those exciting times!
Fast forward to 27 years later, and with a little help from your godfather Leon, and I was ready to embrace my inner Zombie Cop:
My more-than-willing rocker zombie prisoner was your aunt Lee-Anne and damn, was she dead hot:
It’s actually quite intoxicating. So much so, that when it is time to leave their beautiful city, one really does want to say “Don’t cry for me, Argentina!” :
Be in the pursuit of magic always:
I’ve seen jaw-dropping magic shows in Las Vegas and New York so I was quite keen to see one in South America. As my journey came to an end, time constraints were real and it didn’t seem like I was going to find my taste of magic in Buenos Aires.
During a night out at the Tango Porteno, in the middle of a tango extravaganza, female magician Inga Savitskaya appeared and dazzled us with her Invisible Partner act. Lesson learnt: always be in the pursuit of magic!
Embrace your sensuality:
From shamelessly indulging in dulce de leche, the sweet caramel treat Argentina is famous for , to giving into the erotic tension of a tango show, the Argentians are decadent, hungry and sensual beings.
After watching the intensity of dancers on a lunch time wander through La Bocca, a colourful downtown neighbourhood, I wandered down the cobbled streets of Galerías Pacífico .There, the most handsome, well-built men made a point of stopping what they were doing to openly stare and appreciate the sight of me.
Bearing in mind that I was in work travel mode and didn’t do anything fancy to my appearance, other than tie my hair up in a braid, I was equally flustered and flattered at the same time.
Far from being creepy, these men’s visible appreciation of me made me rediscover my sensuality. I made a promise to myself then that from that moment on I was going to embrace my inner sensual self by wearing sexy underwear and make-up and styling my hair everyday. Not for any guy but for myself – to celebrate the strong, independent, creative, free-spirited, beautiful, sensual, world traveller and woman I was.
To paraphrase your uncle Herman, I was in the prime of my life and I should be out in the world, swinging from the chandeliers ( or at least taking life by the horns!).
Kids, on a cold Spring Saturday evening in Cape Town in 2017, I found myself waiting in gale force winds for yet another no-show online date.
Joe (31) , a lawyer from Tinder, had aggressively pursued me online the week before and, after moving to Whatsapp, asked me out on a date.
Safe for work photo-exchanging occurred quickly:
Him: “Wow! You’re really attractive!”
Me: rolls my eyes but blushes because: “Awwww”
During the course of our conversations, he revealed that not only was his name Yusuf (already a red flag for me because as you guys know, my type was most definitely more the blue-eyed, agnostic, tall and handsome kind); he’d unknowingly had an affair with a married woman (another red flag for me since infidelity is a major trigger point) and he was looking for friendship fun (his definition of going on dates and kissing… right, brother man, that’s swell but I date with a capital D).
I know, I know… why the f*** did I agree to go on a date with someone who was obviously so wrong from the get-go?
Well, because after Brazil and Argentina, I’d rediscovered my sensuality and wanted to test it out on the male species. Also, I hadn’t been on a date since the catfishing episode. A girl has to get back on the dating horse sometime and Joe , though flawed, seemed like a good practice buddy.
After confirming the day before with messages in which he genuinely seemed excited for our date, I spent the afternoon taking in the Cape Town Buskers Festival at the V&A Waterfront before meandering down to the Green Point Lighthouse.
Our date was supposed to be a walk along the Promenade before getting ice-cream.
I arrived 10 minutes early and texted Joe to let him know I was waiting just beneath the lighthouse.
10 minutes after our agreed time, I called and left a voicemail…
And still the wind blew with a mighty force. I began making alternative plans, thinking we could move to Caffe Neo across the road and still admire the sunset while getting to know each other.
20 minutes and another text….
30 minutes later and I realised that this f***ing coward wasn’t going to show at all. I’d been stood up AGAIN!
Look, we all get nervous about meeting new people but what grated my tits was that he didn’t have the f***ing decency to call or text and say he wasn’t coming.
You know things were bad when my Uber driver had the grace to let me know he was running late to collect me but my goddamned date did not.
Women were screwed because 21st century men had no f***ing manners! It was unacceptable!
After sharing my shame at being stood-up with your Spirit Mom, Uncle T and aunts Yoli and Lutfia, I went home and cried.
I cried because dating was hard, Kids. Putting myself out there, time after time, only to be catfished, rejected, stood-up, felt-up inappropriately, time after f***ing time by cowards was demoralizing and for what?
So that I didn’t have to listen to family and smug marrieds ask me why I was still single? To have to nod politely at their god-awful comments on my life, attractiveness ,personality and being too damn fussy?