The first Time

The First Time

The first boy I kissed, doesn’t even know

On his lips I did first bestow

A kiss from me, my lips did touch

Without much thought it was such

The first boy I loved, I knew it was fate

On top of a mountain, we parked was where we had our first date

We watched rain fall and blur the perfect view

In his arms, hand in hand something blossomed, something new

We listened to music, my favorite songs, and we talked

On that mountain now I refuse to walk

The first Boy I slept with was sweet as a chocolate chip cookie

I was the untouched, innocent virgin, the rookie

It was perfect ironically, just like in my dreams it went

That boy I used to think was heaven sent

The first man I married, was handsome and smart

In his eyes I could see our new life start

The first five years was such utter bliss

It was that infinite optimism in his arms I will miss

The first boy I kissed, was the first boy I loved u see

He also happens to be the boy who took my virginity

And then we married on a fine sunny day with flowers in my hair

And last night, he was in an accident, the pain I cannot bare

Cause for the first time I have news I cannot share with my sweet

For the first time in my body another heart beats

It’s a girl and I think he would be pleased

But my husband will never know that

Cause for the first time now the doctor said that he has just deceased!

They say Blogg are supposed to have real stories

But my imagination often runs away with me, none the less an announcement, I am goin to ANOTHER wedding.Ii usually average 1/2 a wedding a year, ie one wedding every two years but now that statitic has increased by hmn 24 times hence 2400% increase cause in the past 2 months I would have attended 4 weddings.

But i told u all about the one in my story a speech and a wedding, but this one is a buds wedding. Now She is my hmmmn sixth friend whose wedding i am attending.

The first one was Rahima, and she has a kwaai story cause her husband and her met over the internet, she was in CT and he was in Canada, he flew down to see her and well now, now my friend is married with two very pretty babies.

Next on board was Mehrun Nisa who is all the way in the UK now and what a pretty bride she did make and yes we knew she was first from the high school group to get married.

Next on board was my uni best friend Sumaya, now that was a cool wedding. You know when u there and everwhere, at the gardens, at her house berie night and all the gedoente. I am thinking of the time we were at her engagement, my only debut in an indian outfit. Anyhows, so we all at the engagement and we have to go up on stage every three minutes so she does not get bored and to touch up on make up. I think of when the imaam is busy making a speech and i burst out laughing at something me and Sumaya both would find hilerious, and she is looking at me and she cant afford to laugh. Notice how brides need to look shy and so together sitting on stage.I might need a sedative if i ever end up sitting on a stage.

Then there was ferzanas wedding, i heard shes having a baby now, so congrats missy, and that ma bru was a la di da affair, u can mos see her husband decorates for a living cuse ma bru the Bandekars at Elite would be impressed, what Gatis is mos his family or wat u say???

Then there was Sumayya's wedding, the first time i saw someone wear an indian outfit and not a wedding dress but very pretty and i must add the best bestman speech ever, her husband Sa'ad has a friend Waleed who got the whole audience in laughter, now come on if you laughing on ur wedding day it only means happiness is to follow.

But now its Naz's turn, and i must say her oak Shameer, is only kak funny on the occasions i have met him, so i skat this wedding is going to be dideluk, cause all of us are gonna be together, Ray came down from Jozi, pity Misa is till in da UK, but i skat Rabs has something up her sleeve, Naj will have something important to say, Raz will be giggling (as usual), Rabz will be her usual effervesent self, Ielie will be the only sane one there and Naz is only going to be over the moon, afterall it is her wedding day!!!

p L a Y e R S

Have you ever played chess? It’s a very interesting game of strategy with the object being to outsmart your component by maneuvering different pieces in such a way so to capture the king of your opponent.

The queen (self esteem) has the most power and is your strongest piece. Your pawns are your supposed weakest pieces, however if they reach the other side of the board then they become a queen or another more powerful piece.

Bishops are so cleverly disguised and make me believe that they really do care. I am quickly side tracked, tricked and trapped, I need to sacrifice my queen once again.

But Knights are the best, they pretend to rescue me from a fate worse than death. They are the biggest liars because you really believe they going to save you, instead they end up hugging you and stabbing you with a dagger in your back, yes die in my arms they would say smiling and kissing you as the blood oozes out of the wound you were waiting for to heal. That very wound that you had told the knight of, the wound he said he would tend to, only the tend you assumed he was talking of wasn’t the same one he had in his mind.

Come the trusty castle, that guy friend who was always your best friend, who protects your king (heart) who comforts you.

Unfortunately he also always gets seduced by your opponent’s queen and often leaves you in the lurch. Unrequited love leaves a bitter taste on the tip of your tongue and nothing tastes sweet thereafter even if it really is a sweet treat.

In the end all that remains are the pawns and they are disguised cause if they reach the end of the board they could evolve into queens, knights, bishops or castles, you never know which.

In the end, its all about strategy, love my dear is just a game of chess, and even if you do end up checkmating your opponent, you’re still just a PLAYER.

My Nine West Boots with Nine inch heels

So yesterday I have this interview in town at 12. I wear my Nine West boots which I got at half price in December, cause its the only boot high enough to wear with flared brown pants, which matches perfectly with my see thru white shirt which is so complimented by my black grey long tailored Marion Lyndie Jacket I get from My aunt Hanifa.

I am not a designer wearing kinda person, but I do have these occasional items Vogue magazines brag about.

My mother looks at me and says, " In that shirt, in those shoes?",

and my sarcastic know it all reply is, " Yes in this shirt and in those shoes."

" You are going to be late, you cant do anything in those shoes, and its cold outside"

and my sarcastic know it all reply is," I wont be late and I have jacket."

I walk down my road in pain and agony and I catch a taxi at 11.15. But it was a kind taxi, the "sliding door operator' sees me walking very slowly down the road and reverses for like 100m to come pick me up. Bless his kind soul. My feet are very grateful.

Unfortunately the taxi also takes all the "draaijies" into Brigetown, Silvertown and chases the rabbit down the hole only to find out he's on his way to Wonderland.

I get at the terminis at 11.45 and I got no idea where the building is.
It starts to drizzle.
I am "helilig " over my hair as everyone knows.
So drizzling waters sure as hell messes up my do.

But off I galavant, and a kind lady at a stall selling kitchenware tells me where I need to be.
10 minutes to get there, 9 inch heels, mincing hair and crazy traffic, obstacles which a Surrey Estate 'meisie' handles everyday.

I arrive five minutes late luckily the person conducting the interview is late!!

But everything goes off well, and I am on my way back home.

My feet are killing me, literally. I manage to get a Mannenburg Taxi, not a Heideveld one which means an extra 15 minute walk. Its starts to pour, and I mean buckets of water. Cape Town should NOT be worried about unfilled dams. I get off at my stop, and my mom is not even at home to pick me up (an ideal opportunity to complain on why she NEVER carries her bloomin cell phone). I mentioned its a see through shirt, its pouring, and my jacket is literally soaked.
I am dripping with rain, and a taxi passes me, and the driver feels sorry for me (oh at this point I should mentioned I forgot my purse at home, meaning I had just enough money for one taxi) picks me up and I say, " I have no money!"

He looks at me and asks, " Where did you go to in the rain all dressed up?"

"For an interview for a job." I replied.

At which point the 'gaartjie' chorused in and said, " You will get that job, but even if you do you might need to take a few days off."

Perplexed I turn around and ask, "Why do I need days off?"

His reply, " Cause girly, in this rain, and those heals you definately going to get the flu!"

Mums and 'gaartjies are always right, ATCHOOOO!!!!

PS: Nine West boots are no longer used for my job interviews, just letting you know.

London : Chapter 1 : The last Supper

The potent smell of dhanya and curry was in the air. If I closed my eyes I would pretend I’m at home. It would nearly be lunch time, on an Eid day, when my mum would make her legendary crayfish curry. My aunt Hanifa would of grilled a pan full of prawns in a delicious combination of garlic butter and chillies and our lunch table would be laid in such a way that a table separated the room in half. We manged to squeeze close to 17 of us on that table, cosy, clustered and cramped. But those were the only complaints, the food was good, company better and dessert with the after party the best.

For three weeks I have been in London, with my cousin Sadiqa. It was all per accident actually, she was a applying for a visa for the UK and I very spontaneously applied too. After being approved and granted the visa, I managed to find me a very larney job as a market researcher for the London Stock Exchange, my credentials and references managed to secure me employment for the next year or so.

So here I was at a friends of a friends place waiting for supper to be served. The house is nice and spacey not so cramped as our place in London. There are 4 of us in the house, luckily Dickie and I got to share our own on suite. We share a communal kitchen , TV room/lounge and a sort of dining area.

In it my room is a s a double bed, two cupboards, a bookshelf and desk, for my books and laptop and a mini hifi.. Sharing a house is different, sometimes the kitchen is messy, so messy even untidy I cant stand it. Breakfests are simple, cereal or toast. Lunches are at work, and suppers, is a twenty minute pasta, or if I’m lucky, ill fix up a curry or breddie. But today I had the luxury of being served and it was heavan!

Dika’s friends, well they a couple, invited us for supper, it was the guy (Cassiem) birthday. I was just tagging along to uhmn meet more people? Truth be told I was finding it hard to adjust, to the cold wintery winds, the few hours of sun, the desperate need to smell the ocean, hearing the words “kanala, vokol, jintu, kant and sumba” amongst other things. But I was here for just that reason, to find out what its like to live away from home, to pay bills, to take a subway (not a taxi refer to “different shit, same day).

As per my personality, I was at first very quiet in London, everyone thought I was unhappy and sad. But I wasn’t, I was just getting used to my surroundings, trying to figure people out and select friends.

Someone whom I had gotten very close to was Ashiqa, a fellow CT gal, who had been in the UK for two years now. She was also working in the finance world, we worked in the same building (but not the same company) and lived like three blocks away from each other. She was sweet, quiet, funny and very soon I realized a good confidant, a fellow “china”. We did all the girly stuff, movies, shopping for clothes, facials and she loved museums and galleries which was so cool so we planned to check all the galleries out, well in the year I had ahead.

Leaving home was anything but easy, I missed home, I missed mum, I missed mums food, I missed dad’s talks on UFOs, ghosts and life, I missed my siblings quarreling, I missed my cousins birthday parties and braai,s, I missed my friends and I missed my ex boyfriend even.

Two weeks ago I was at theairport with half of Rylands waiting at DF Malan Airport.

Uncle anwar was their with his digital camera, my mum cried causing Sitchie mamoe to cry, mumany gives me a prawn solomie as padkos, Aunt fowzie gives me some magazines, Aunt Zaida is snapping away and my Uncle Riedwaan arrives with a box of Biltong and Droewors.

Goodbyes are teary, I chunk as I say goodbye, Toughedah and Sumaya my best buds in the mix, and then my aunt Hanifa gives me a reassuring hug telling me I will be just fine.

I know I will be.

Im sitting in this lounge, on a red sofa. I’m wearing my dark blue levis, the brown Nine West boots I got at half price sale, the white jersey with fur collar I bought with my friend Nuri just before I came to London. My hair is longer now, almost on my shoulders, all blown out, two shades lighter than it used to be. I’m wearing eye makeup and a pinkish red lipstick I got from My aunt Hanifa in my very chic Bobby Brown case.

I am feeling a bit awkward, I don’t know anyone here but luckily Cassiem and his wife Fatima has two very cute little girls, I smile at them and quickly we become friends. Kids can be so cute, and so easy to befriend for me. Very soon, they are laying either side of me wearing pink jamies and big slippers, whilst im reading to them a story of Barbie and the nutcracker very animatedly. Barbie always fascinated me, have u seen all the bloomin barbies you get, my one intention was to go to hamley’s just to check a whole floor of barbies. That would be so awesome, in my next life im going to be a Barbie, like paris Hilton, I think he is just perect. She’s blonde, got blue eyes, legs that reach my neck, models for Guess, this having brains and being clever is so over rated! Then Fatima comes over and tells them to go sleep. Momies do that brilliantly, they just say, “ Come girlies nite nite time” and they obey. Im not a mommy, im the aunt that spoils, that paints and plays, but give me a kid to live with for more than 24 hours I’m sure I would feed her a Bar one for lunch so they can have a 25hour day.

“Aunty Julie, you goin to come visit u again hey, and we goin to watch the new Barbie movie next week, Mummy doent need to take us you can!” a five year old doesn’t ask but commands. She reminds me so of my little cousin Sara. I smile and tell her I will make a plan.

Whilst playing with the kids I did not notice that more guests had arrived and were sitting on the other side of the room. Three guys and two girls. Sofia was one of them, I knew her cause she had come down to CT before and stayed with my cousin.

Sofia knows them and is chatting and hugging and laughing making me feel even more out of place. No one introduced us as with the others, perhaps its because I was busy with the kids, I don’t know.

Im busy taking my phone out , cause I heard it beep and can imagine it’s a long sms from one of my CT friends, when a guy comes up to me, very good looking, tallish, well built with nicely styled hair and eyes that remind me of Seif Ali.

“Hi and you are..?” he asks me in that dashing Hugh Grant British accent.

Stunned and shy as always, I smile and reply, “ Zuleigha”

“Julie” my cousin rushes in, “Sameer don’t flirt with my baby cousin” she adds.

Two things I hate, firstly I’m 24 not a baby anymore, and secondly my name is Zuleigha. All my old friends know me as Julie, but I prefer to be called Zuleigha here in the UK. I’m not sure why, its just a preference I guess, cause there were millions of Julies in the world perhaps.

“ Whos a baby, Dika?” I ask her.

Sameer is very charming, too charming if you ask me, he ends up sitting next to me, and right opposite m are the other two guys whom I’m still to meet. When I finally do look up to see them and be introduced properly I am stunned to see him. What was he doing here?

The wedding and a speech

Sunday at 5.30pm

I couldn’t believe my cousin was getting married. He was the little boy who used to scare me with spook stories when we slept over at my grans place, but there he was with this smile, so huge if it could it would have engulfed the room.

His bride looked beautiful; she glowed, like brides are supposed to. I smiled to myself and stopped the tears from falling but when the couple walks in to the music of Veer Zara, it is hard for one not to get sad with nostalgia knowing that the person is starting a new life.

Sunday at 11.30am

My uncle Adil and Hanifa dropped us at the hall. We folded serviettes and placed them in long champagne glasses. We tied organza bows around white chair covers. Aunty Shami skillfully arranged flowers and scanned the room, her eye for feng shu or just decorating was excellent (I got jack talent in that department), the way it looked at 11am and the way it looked at 3pm was amazing. Rest assured it looked gorgeous, and I felt proud, after months of talks, here we were at the wedding. My stomach grumbled, in an hours time I needed to be back, I needed to bath and do make up and hair all in an hour. Where was my mum with that car?

Saturday eve around 8pm

We pick up Reyaaz, and he seems eager to join. I am glad he is, taking a guest along who is not sociable would only make it harder for me to mingle. But I needn’t worry, when we arrive, he befriends them all, and my uncles start to talk to him. My mum introduces him to all and chats with him. I’m running a bit around between cousins and aunties, we having a braai. Tomorrow is the wedding.

The table is decked, full capacity, with meats, sosaties, every salad mentionable.

We drink coke and eat cake for dessert. Everyone is there, and all these little kids running around. I like little kids, they have an interesting perspective to life, so new, fresh untainted.

There is always a fascination with my beauty spot (moesie). I have three little boy nephews (well they my cousin kids) all so cute and tiny, asking questions requiring you to think of a proper answer.

The boyz, my three little cousins I grew up with are now big boys, 17,14 and 11. They all sitting on Mixit! All of a sudden they grown up and I realize I’m nearly 25.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, time waits for no one they say, in ten years time I will have wrinkles.

Sunday at 10.30am

My aunt saves me. She brings me a beautiful wrap dress to wear the one I got made just doesn’t seem appropriate anymore. She brings me some makeup as well, my sister and my 5 year old cousin (Sara) mess around with it.

Sara approaches her dad (who can’t refuse) and she puts some blusher on his cheeks. It does not do him justice

Sunday at 5.45

Reyaaz my Mauritian friend is sitting next to my brother and they are talking of the stock market. My mother is fanning herself with the fan, Reyaaz’s sister, Farha had bought my mum. My gran is sitting silently and people come to greet her

But now there are speeches being said so everyone is silent. Junaid, Shaheens best friend is saying a few words. I think of who will say a few words at my wedding. I’m hoping its Farha or Toughedah. I would say Sumaya but I know its not her cup of tea. She will be the loyal one at my side, fixing my hair, telling me to smile, telling me to make a shy face, brides have so many faces. Noticed how they pull the “I’m so shy and innocent one” I think you have to practice for it, I know I would.

I think of her wedding and it feels like yesterday but it’s nearly two years ago. Marriage scares me, yet I’m so surrounded by it.

It’s my turn and I get a few jitters.

My uncle ,Sitchie Mamoe, calms me, and I start bit rushed at first. But once the formalities are over I just start talking.

I offer him some advice (“the wife is always right”), and I relate to a humorous story when he was 7 and I was 5. I then go corny and soppy, I recite a poem by Khalil Gibran and I officially invite the bride to our family. I totally forget to say Asalamualaykum!!!

Sunday 9.45pm

We drop Reyaaz at home, well at his hotel and I say my goodbyes including the traditional kiss on two cheeks. It was a nice weekend with him. I miss my friend Farha, whom I last saw three months ago in Mauritius.

But such is life when there are vast distances between u. Sms’s, phone calls and e mails substitute chats and sleepovers.

We had visited the bride and grooms new house which looks beautiful, new, fresh and clean. I wish that upon their marriage, I mean after all that is what its about, it’s a new start to a new life, you start from a clean slate, a fresh beginning to a beautiful life with the one you love.

Maybe I sound like a Daniel Steel novel or an Indian movie but hey, weddings are supposed to sound like fairytales.

the traveller

sometimes im not sure anymore
at first all i wanted to do was explore
so i gave more than i intended and i got lost
in a snowstorm, fingers cold, iced with frost
i found a river warm and abundent
in a dessert of sand no more redundant

oasis seduce travelers passing by
rivers arent rivers they are tears of people who cried
who got lost in seduction, cheated and robbed

indifference is what i feel for him
a warm coffee in a snowstorm he did bring
U see traverlers only see what passerbys give
its a way certain people chose to live

but im not a traveler i need roots, in the ground
i need apples that arent, huge, pink and not round
i need people ho love me since i was two
i need SA's oceans, skies all blue

i need to say goodbye to my addiction
its causing way too much friction
im pathetic again, it s happened just like that
i dunno how, i dunno where i smelt the rat
the rat of deception brings a diesease

a virus that spreads ur head with lies
i despise
the mess it brought
with an AK47 it cannot be sort

So goodbye to my travels i'll stay on this land
and remain cause i cant expand
horizons as yet my plane has not arrived
of departures and standbyes i am not deprived

i go to other places to run away from here
but once i come back, its till here, my fear
it cannot follow me to lands over seas
i cant get away from this sick, fermenting disease

i run and i hide and it finds me where i go
however high, between cracks, however low
so i fly cause its faster further and im gone
even though its so wrong

one conclusion can only be drawn
its forlorn
ure dead
u always were but i no its true
i no longer think im inlove with u

No Electric and a Vote

Its 7 o clock in the morning. My father is already working on a car in the yard, and i can smell kidneys being fried in a pan. My parents like having loud conversations in the kitchen, it is either that or they both going deaf. It does not help that we did not have a architect design our house, had it been so they would of advised not to have my bed room next to the kitchen.

Today is not Sunday, the only day none of us works (apart for my father and his odd hours as a mechanic), its ELECTION day.

For some odd reason, my father and i have to drive out to Mannenberg school (5 minutes away from home but if u from the flats you would know where and what Mannenberg is like) and my sister and mum vote in Surrey Estate my home town. Different areas/zones are allocated different voting stations and apparently these barrier lines separating the various zones runs through our house. The logic I cannot fathom but so do the posters hanging on the electric poles!

My father thinks that the world should wake up when the sun rises. At six in the morning you will awke to the sounds of a Bollywood hit or memory (not by Mehboob Bawa on KFM tho) on his magic radio which can pick up frequencies from here till Timbuktu!! On one occasions I was having an in depth conversation with a friend on the phone when I heard my voice echoing in the room, my father had managed to pick up our conversation on this radio. I don’t know how and I don’t wish to know, all I do know is , it must never happen again. But today is different, today there is an added bounce in his step, its election day.

So he drags me out of the bed just past seven, before I managed to grab a cup of java or any other stimulant to wake me up from a late night out with some colleagues, with my hair resembling Marge Simpson on a good day, off I go to vote.

I feel a bit proud as I get to the station, as my father predicted we are the only cars parked but then again, people here mostly travel with the infamous taxi.
There are people who are in wheel chairs, old people, aunties and uncles all coming to make a cross or a tick next to a person who has promised them a better South Africa.
I am proud in their faith, i am proud that they realize that they can make a difference and that their vote does count.


there are people out there, who complain about the state of the country and comment on Tokyo Sexwale and why he is so rich. Jealousy makes u ugly, i want to say. I am not naive i no that there is a lot of corruption, i know what the state of the country is. But people seem to forget, people forget we lived in a country of oppression where I would not of had the opportunity to study at UCT, or go to Mugg and Bean and have a much needed cup of coffee.

So now i am walking around with a black mark on my thumb nail, returning home very quickly to have a quick breakfast before the electricity cuts again.

The night before i am sitting at Spur canal walk with these above mentioned friends, and there the electricity cuts. I cant believe it!!
The waitresses hurry around lighting candles, some people rush off without paying and the entire eating arena is making a raucous noise, Pandemonium.

Twenty minutes of huddled in the darkness we contemplate on what is really happening at ESKOM and we agree that, "EKS DOM" is a new more appropriate name change. Sabatoge before elections, spare parts we Eskom cannot afford, the only person who can fix the reactor terminal is on holiday in France and his cll phone is off cause he cant afford cell phone roaming are all plausible possibilities however, the real reason is discovered or uncovered)Homer Simpson was employed at ESKOM! It might have been funny at that time, but the inconvenience is phenomenal, especially in the evening when I chose to check my mail and surf the net.
No TV, no warm coffee, one is resorted to either talking with your family or fall asleep at nine!

So I want to get home before the electricity cuts, and manage to make it is time to make a warm cup of Nesquick and a slice of toast and Nutella.

As I sit at the table, with my mum on the other end, cutting biscuits for a wedding on Sunday, there the electricity cuts.
My mother shouts something I dare not repeat, and I say those words she so often tells me, " i mos told you so, but noooo you dont want to listen."

Two hours pass. My aunty (my mums sister) comes to visit with her two parrots, Raja and Rani, drink tea made on a gas stove (every Indian house has to have one, the reasoning is beyond me, but at times like this, one ponders less on it, and is grateful for its existence irrespective of its origin) and resort to eating lemon creams (no baking required).

My sister hops around the house listening to her new MP3 player, my brother skids off on his bike off to play cricket with my cousins in Rylands.

My father listens to Indian music, on a radio powered by a huge orange car battery looking very out of feng shui, in my parents bedroom.

My online withdrawl symptoms starts to kick up and I retire to a sun lit lounge with the Da Vinci Code that I have been reading since 2005.

The streets are quieter for some reason, and as the night creeps in there is an eeriness outside, like in a spook movie.
At 9.30pm, I hear my pc switch on and smile to myself inside and out.

My sister is happy (relived and orgasmically ecstatic), just in time for Desperate Housewives, my brother is on his PC playing his computer games.
My father turns the battery off, plugs the plug into the socket and listens to his Indian music, and my mother, well my mother can finally bake the Blooody (oops) biscuits!!!

Jus another poem

He's okay and thats enough
I dont have time to worry of other stuff
We over, we have been for a long time now
The play is over, the actors have taken their final bow

At least he's still alive, at least he's fine
I just need to think of him less of the time
I dunno why now memories tumble in so fast
and I keep reminding myself taht romance would never last

At least he still breathes, at least he still smiles
Even if between us there is thousands of miles
It makes me reminise of times past by
Of soft kisses, of shy glances, oh time did fly

At least he still talks, and least he still laughs
At first it was impossible, really hard, really tough
To believe I would ever live without him by my side
I couldnt understand where else i could find someone to confide

He never speaks to me, I haven't seen him in months now
I would like to speak to him, i just dunno how
I wouldnt know what to say, and if i did it would sound wrong
I think of him playing our favourite song

I think of many things that make me sad
I think of just meeting you would make me glad
I know its over, I know it went bad
I know I messed up, I know i was mad
I know I'm irrational, undecisive too
I know sometimes you never knew what to do
I know all this, I created the situation as well
But on a past, you have forgotten I canot dwell

So I move on, and remember you as a memory gone by
Four months ago i stopped crying
But you okay and that makes me feel fine
Even if no longer you are mine
I still want for you only the best
I still love you, always will, only now its becoming a lot less....

Random Thoughts: October 2005

I am not sure how the situation became what it has become.

Our song plays and I am not sure anymore on whether it still is our song.

All of a sudden I am unsure on whether what was, ever was true. I do not know what is anymore.

Perhaps I would undo and redo a lot in these last three months.

But it doesn’t matter anymore, you wont reply to anything, so I see no point in speaking with very little hope of being spoken to.

And if I were to say a line I am not sure on what that line would be or the one thereafter.

All we do is fight, there is no more fight left in me.

I do not know if you lied or if you spoke the truth or if she lied and was confused of the truth. I know neither and am therefore transported back to Limbo.

But even then I must let go and pretend that you are dead as you pretend I am dead.

Yet I don’t blame you, cause I have behaved most inappropriately I know.

But no more sorries can be said, I have exhausted and abused the word so much so that its meaning, no longer means what it used to mean.

And in the midsts of this confusion, I must let go on the thing I hold so dear and tightly.

I wish you could understand, I wish I could explain but if I cant understand it, and if I cant even logically converse it with myself, there is very little hope if not any that you will ever understand what I am going through.

That was neither an excuse nor an explanation, it just is what it is.

Oh god, help me understand love because I am drowning ithout the instruction manuel, I am commiting a slow suicide as I tortue myself with thoughts of a past which I thought would forever last.

Blood stains smells and if enough is lost, can be fatal.

I am dieing a slow death, but I cannot live with you. I neither love or hate you, it just all is what it is.

Valentinesday

Its a comforting laugh, that subdues my fears
Its a gentle caress that stops falling tears

Its the way you slant your eyes when you stare at my face
And that feeling of contentmnt i get from your embrace

Its the late chats we have before we sleep
Sometimes funny, sometimes serious, sometimes very deep

Its the way i just feel knowing that you care
And my ghut and my instincts promise youlle always be there

Sometimes we fight, sometimes im wrong i know
its the promise that you will always stay and never go

You're the best friend ive been searching for, far and wide
You're the person i envisioned to always be at my side

im so happy i found you, i cant think its true
but darling, i must say, i love you!!

Arranged Marriages...and the like

My paternal grandparents had an arranged marriage. She was 12 and he was 16, and they were betrothedt o each other I cannot tell you much on their love lives, as many people who come from India, their generation did not show much affection as they do today. WAtch any indian movie where you will find the guy to be so romatic he would and does die a couple of times for his 'jhaan'.

Titanic looks like a joke compared to Indian movies. Sharukh is a hero like no other hero, he seduces with his smile and quirky expressions, wherever he goes has an adoring fan base.

Yet in the end love does not win at the end.

A friend's ex girlfriend ended a two year relationship when she married someone her parents chose.

And now a boy whom I lost my heart to is marrying a girl his parents have chosen.

Now I sit and wonder is there some truth some secret power to this arranged marriage concept. I am plagued by the West and the East, movies dictating, stating no PROMISING that LOVE WILL concur all, yet in reality, loe exists for a fleeting moment and then its gone.

I always believed in love, but today I admit its nothing more than a chemical reaction as the pessimistic masses have been saying for a long time.

I have fallen inlove out of love! I have sworn to give up on it, I have dared to be different and not carry my heart on my sleeve.

I have contemplated friends with benefits, I have tried to understand what love is before so wrecklessly engaing in it, playing a game whose rules I know nothing of.

But the kama sutra shows u love making but not love. Philosophers have debated it, and yet still its unexplained, unexplored yet experienced by the masses.

There must be some kind of formula, there must be some hidden secrets, codes, passwords to this unexplainable phenomena.

But now I will yet again mend a wounded heart, with a needle that prinks and hurts, with a thread that leaves an ugly scar but a heart that continues to beat…

Papa dont preach...

Im sitting here wondering whether i should even bother telling them.
I will have to eventually. I just never ever expected to be in the position i am in.

I come from a carefree happy family, actually they are close to perfect. Through all my difficult moments they had been there for me. Support and love i never was short of. My family are good people. They dont lie and steal and are respected by all in the community.

My grandparents will be so dissapointed I am happy they are not alive not now, not when im pregnant. Im 20 and pregnant. I still have two years left of my degree, i dont know what to do.

It all happened so quickly, he was so sweet, rough and uncultured, i think thats what attracted me, the dysfunctionalness, the total opposite to me. He was older than me, maybe too much older, working already.

I met him at Exclusive bookstore when we both reached for the same book. When our hands touched and eyes met in a permanet gaze. I fell inlove instantly and that it was recipricated only made me more happier.

I met him on the sly, bunking lectures, talking, whispering enjoying his company and being enjoyed.

My freinds didnt like him from the start, he was not like me they would say.
He didnt have a similar upbringing, didnt have an education.
He had a mother whom he had to look after since his father had left them a long time ago.Hhe had a younger sister to care for, all of a sudden education becomes a luxury.
He was troubled, and was betrayed so many times, i wanted to fix him up, give him love and attention he was so deprived of.

Why could any of them not understand that?

So i see my freinds less and less, i become more quieter at home, i feel guilty that im lying to them but at the same time I feel guilty having all this around me when he has nothing.

Im sitting in my room thinking of the day that has passed Tears roll down my eyes, i saw him this morning. I tell him i have taken three tests and im pregnant.
He looks shocked as expected, he screams, he shouts and he says it not his.

One night, one moment, three minutes and he now claims its not his.

He was my first everything, my first kiss, my first love, the first man i trusted who wasnt my family, the first person who really knew me, who knew my soul, my mind my innermost secrets and dreams. We couldnt get closer.

But love is very blind.

I have really good freinds at least that i chose well.

They come and tell me a ugly truth. His mother is not sick and his father did not dessert them. He's got older siblings and he's the lazy spoilt brat who messes with girls minds as a recreational activity. They met three girls who he has whood and dumped after they served their purpose.

I feel sick and run to a bathroom to vomit. They comfort and hold me as i cry. They say its okay, they say at least i found out the truth. They dont know its morning sickeness.

Little do they know, its too late.
Im sitting in my room still hoping for my phone to ring, for him to say its all a mistake, that he loves me.

Three hours i stare at this Samsung phone that i eagerly spent most of my nights with smsin a certain someone.
My mother comes into my room and asks me what is wrong, am i okay?

I lie and say im fine. My older sister comes in with my cute three year old newphew. She is also worried of me. How do i tell her, " Im pregnant" and i hate the father.

I had my whole future mapped out for me, finish my undergrad in Law, work in a la di da firm and eventually become a top notch advocate.

I pick up a pamplet i collected from the clinic this afternoon. I pick up my Samsung and dial the number.

The guilt will kill me i am sure, but the pain and agony to break my parents hearts, the dissapointment will be too much to bare. Worst still to be constantly reminded of HIM, growing inside me, makes me nautious and suicidal.

" i dunno what to do, but i think im pregnant but i dont want this child. Do you do abortions?"

Different Day, same Shit

i gran taxis primarily because they make it their misssion to get you at work on time no matter what obstacles lie in their way.

The scenario, I have overslept, i wear whatever needn't be ironed, grab a chocolate steri stumpie and run like zola bud on drugs down the street to Klipfontein road.

I anticipate that 50% of the Ct population are heading in the same direction as me. There is a Cape Town bus coming along, at a very slow pace, but its so full i know that if i enter it I'll get out looking as if i never bothered to iron my clothes which would defeat the purpose of wearing clothes that looks like its just been ironed.

Packed buses is not the reason i prefer taking a taxi, the real reason is the music. Now you might ask me how do i select a taxi, easy depends which taxi vibrates and 'skuds' more.

Now taxi drivers only play two types of music, either old school, Good Hope Stuff but including the latest taxi numbers like, "Pussy Cat Dolls, Shaggy and Enemim, and Destinys child" or SLOW JAMS which include any DIva who isnt white, like Mariyah, Tony Braxton, Aretha Franklin and oh yes, Vanessa Williams. Actually i lie, there is one white diva which taxi drivers do listen to, Celine Dion, that Titanic song was played one too many times, i wished that Kate Winslet died with Leo.
But have you ever gotten into a taxi to hear Barbara Streisand or Allanis Morrisette play.
Unlikely, impossible, aint happening.

But i like taxi numbers, the music is always too loud and the 'gaartjie' goois chorus to the slow jams and i only laugh.

Excuse me, did i say gaartjie i meant 'sliding door operator'

So im standing at the bus stop, and shake my head to the sardine packed bus. A taxi passes by, hooting like a lunatic, and i hear Beyonce only 'klopping' and the gaartjie smiles at me with his one gold tooth and ferari cap.
"Cape Town, kanala" i say and he organises me a seat, the single one on the left handside. If u drive in a taxi you know what im talking about, and off i go.

I close my eyes cause i can imagine how many points hes losing breaking every rule in that yellow "learners book" i studied so religiously.

The driver stops in the middle of Klipfontein to pick up an old lady that just shopped at Elite, with three big packets of groceries, i can see the fish oil in one. Im thinking, its 7.45am who shops at that hour, but she answers my question when the gaarjie inquisitively asks it. She replies, "its a specia, R3.99 for the fish oil,l seunjie' and gets off near Bridgetown. He politely helps her with the bags and adds a 'totsiens ma'.

At Athlone terminus four people get out but six more get in which means those magic seats which comprise of a piece of wood covered in material gets slotted in the empty space next to me.
Now im all squashed and no better off than in the bus, but at least here i can listen to music.

The traffi is thick but the driver is persistant and takes every conceivable free road driving through pinelands escaping the highways traffic. Cars hoot as the taxi squeezes into the tiniest of places without even putting an indicator on. I failed my licence because of that move but thats another story.

8.15 and I am in one pice in Town on time. Mt stomache grumbles, so i decide to quickly go to the Golden acre and grab a lekker doughnut frosted with chooclate icing. As i bite into the delight that weigh less and even more so my dentist would not approve of, i see that same bus full of even more people pull up into the terminus.

I slowly walk towards the Shell house building, licking my lips which are covered with icing, singing the sweet tunes of Beyonce. A different day but never the same shit in a taxi!!

My Mauritian Tale

PART ONE

im sitting at the airport watching the planes enter and leave the strip. ive been wanting to do this since the first time i saw hafa off. But i always leave the airport clutching a sweet from Sweets from Heavan. This time round i got an oprah mag and a pkt of stimorol. I greeted my parents like 20 minutes ago, now im alone and its ilent and empty. But silence and empytiness never made me lonely, i love silence and i like being alone where u can can console with ur soul.

My gate opens and i get an uneasy feeling in the pitt of my stomache.

Five months ago, im in the bathroom crying. i need to stop, i need to go back to work, i got management accounts to complete, but i cant stop thinking of him and i cant understand. last week he came to visit me at home, all of a sudden hes just gone out of my life.

The bathroom in the plane is small and akward.

The music on the plane is cool but the headsets are crap. I smile at the baby infront of me, playing "peek a boo i see you"

Ive read the oprah magazine twice, i look at the clouds outside and smile to myself.

Makes me think of the time we were at chapmans peak when he kised me so softly on the lips and held me so tight like it would last forever. Its the song tahts reminding me of that time, that song and looking at the blue sky and marshmalowy clouds.

The mild vibration of the plane wakes me and i look at the watch on my arm. Its nearly landing time two hours had passed so very quickly, im excited now.

Customs is a nightmare, with my surname and oh o muslim name, im attacked like im Osama Bin Ladins daughter, my preseants are opened and luckily they dont confiscate the nandos chicken ive secretly brought along. Probably cause i smile sweetly at the customs man, youngish, cutish, im soooo on holiday!!

After ten minutes of interogation on whether i have a kilo of coke or dagga in my toiletry bag they let me go. Im off now, and as i walk into the airport i see a colgate smile in the distance, its my freind Farha.

My Uncle Adil said Mauritian boys take two weeks to wink at a girl s imagine my surprise wen Farhas brother gives me two cheek kisses on my cheeks, i need to get used to that.

It feels like 12 months have not passed. It feels like yesterday we were at Penmaric drinking Vanilla Mauritian tea and those left over labarang (Eid) buscuits.