Kitty

Every time I look at you the world just melts away
All my troubles all my fears dissolve in your affections
You've seen me at my weakest but you take me as I am
And when I fall you offer me a softer place to land

You stay the course you hold the line you keep it all together
You're the one true thing I know I can believe in
You're all the things that I desire, you save me, you complete me
You're the one true thing I know I can believe

I get mad so easy but you give me room to breathe
No matter what I say or do 'cause you're to good to fight about it
Even when I have to push just to see how far you'll go
You wont stoop down to battle but you never turn to go

Your love is just the antidote when nothing else will cure me
There are times I cant decide when I cant tell up from down
You make me feel less crazy when otherwise I'd drown
But you pick me up and brush me off and tell me I'm OK
Sometimes thats just what we need to get us through the day

Sarah McLachlan - Push

Cherise

I know that you do it because you don't have the emotional attachment that I do. I know it's easier that way. But it doesn't mean that it's easy.

Thank you for always taking her calls.
Thank you for responding to her SMS's.
Thank you for buying groceries and supplies.
Thank you for buying her airtime.
Thank you for talking to Lynette, and Moshe, and the doctors.
Thank you for paying the bills.
Thank you for sorting out Medihelp and the Pharmacy.
Thank you for listening.
Thank you for visiting.
Thank for you storing everything in your garage.
Thank you for delivering and unpacking.
Thank you for your spreadsheet.
Thank you Simon.

Thank you for taking care of my mom. I can't wait for you to come play.

One Year On

I arrived in Toronto one year ago today. I remember speaking to people that had emigrated and they warned me that it would not easy. I was told to be patient, that my sense of values and morals in the South African context would take time to change and adapt to a more liberal Canadian one, that it could take up to three or four years for me to settle down and feel at home. How wrong they were!

I have always wanted to live in Canada. Something drew me here. Every time I came to visit I felt like this was home, not South Africa. I felt like I belonged here. My friends got tired of me saying that I was going to live in Canada. Nobody believed that I would actually do it. But I did, and boy does it feel good.

September was a rush and it felt like any other business trip. Thank god for Lisa who gave me her apartment in the very plush Yorkville. I arrived in style. A week later I was off to Russia and India on business. Before I left a dog bit me.

Keith and the dogs arrived in October and so did the first snow. The dogs loved it. We spent the next few weeks searching for a home and it was a crazy time. At first we were so disappointed in what we could afford but then we started seeing places that we liked and so the negotiations began. After looking at 64 houses, and losing two we finally had an offer accepted on Ontario Street in Cabbagetown. Little did we know how much that decision would affect our lives.

We moved in November and it was so good to have all our things from South Africa in their rightful place in our home. It gave us the stability we needed. We felt at home. We met our neighbours that day and within days they invited us to spend Christmas with them.

Doreen came to visit in December and we spent New Years together. I got my drivers license even though it was snowing like crazy that day. The three-month reality that I had been warned about hit and I realized that I was not in South Africa anymore and I missed my friends. I started to romanticize South Africa yet I knew that I didn’t want to go back. I was not in any way unhappy; I was lonely. Of course I had Keith and the dogs, but I am a social guy and I need people around me. Working from home wasn’t helping.

In January I flew to New York to surprise my niece and I reconnected with an old friend from South Africa. We carried on settling into our home and life, and Keith started renovating our house. We started meeting the people on the street and started going out. We were slowly making friends.

February brought heartbreak with news of the death of my sister. Within hours of hearing I was on a plane back to South Africa. My friends rallied around me and the week spent in Johannesburg is a blur. I didn’t have to lift a finger and for that I am eternally grateful. The love and friendship I experienced from people all over the world made me realize how lucky I am. Being in Johannesburg was awful and I couldn’t wait to come home.

March brought the promise of Spring but the cold lingered. It was a long month yet the winter had not been that bad. We had actually enjoyed it.

April was STILL cold! I started running.

Neil and Olga arrived in May. What a treat to have them come and spend time with us. Neil shopped, and shopped, and then shopped a little more. He also did some shopping. We explored, we ate, and we rode our bikes. Neil shopped.

June and July were beautiful months; warm days and nights that seemed to go on forever. We started sitting out on the front porch in the afternoons drinking wine and eating cheese and neighbours would join us. It became a regular thing and people would stop and talk to us and some even asked what they had to do to join the club. Would it be the same had we have bought on another street? I visited Germany and Holland. I fell in love with Amsterdam. I visited Merle, Sid and the twins in Vancouver.

We went back to South Africa in August. This time it was partly for work and partly for fun. We surprised our friends and family and it was so wonderful being with them. It was like we never left; yet it didn’t feel like home anymore. There is no doubt that we will never go back. I saw Nicki in San Francisco. It was so good to connect.

It’s September now. It gets dark earlier and there is a chill in the morning air. We have an amazing circle of friends here; some that feel like we have known them forever. I marvel at the thought that if we had never come here, we would never have met them. And that would just be tragic.

We are happy. We are content. Keith and my relationship has only strengthened. We just celebrated 5 years together. We are free and safe. We walk our dogs through the neighbourhood and in the parks. We ride bikes and take the subway.

I just read this to Keith. He told me to wrap it up. Im done.

Dear Baruch

You will probably never read this but that’s ok because while it’s directed at you, it’s not for you. You changed your Facebook status from ‘married’ to ‘single’ barely hours after she died so I cant expect you to ‘get it’. This letter is for me; it’s for my sister.

I don’t doubt for a second that you loved her. I am grateful that she found love, marriage and happiness with you because many people rejected her for being so fat. That’s the truth. Your relationship was certainly passionate; I remember hearing you screaming at each other when you would fight and I remember you crying when she was in hospital. You lead a simple life together, you were never able to give her everything she wanted, and often your lack of ambition or ability to sustain your employment frustrated her but she loved you. I wish you had supported her more in her attempts to control her health. Suddenly you are exercising and eating well, why didn’t you do it when she was trying so hard?

I am not angry with you. I am not angry that you lied and I am not angry that I had to find out about your engagement via Facebook. Your actions don’t surprise me but they disappoint me yet I realize that it is my own expectation that you have failed and who am I to place those expectations on you? There is no point in you mourning forever, my mother is a prime example of what a mess that can be and I have no right to stand in your way of a future, a wife and children. I wonder if you have ever thought how things would be if the circumstances were reversed? How would your family feel if it were you that died and if my sister got engaged 5 months after your death? Would your friends congratulate her? Would it matter if she were planning a wedding when your grave lay bare without even a tombstone? It matters to me.

Do you ever think that if you had died, you would have left her penniless? Does your fiance know that I furnished your home; does she know where all the money you have now, more than you ever had before, came from? Did that money buy her engagement ring? Do your parents remember that they refused to help you when you were stranded in Israel? I brought you home, I put a roof over your head for almost 4 years, and I paid off your car. I did it willingly; I did it for my sister who I loved more than you will ever know. I did it because I had the means. I would do it again. Will you remember?

As I write this, and read through it, and edit it, I realize how little it matters. It’s been eating me up inside but it really doesn’t matter, does it? What matters is that she is gone; some say she is in a better place, others say it was her time. I don’t know. What I know is that everything I have written above doesn’t really matter.

I miss her every day.

I dream about her every night. There is an empty hole inside me that doesn’t want to go away and I’m not sure it ever will. It goes wherever I go. I would give anything to have her back as selfish as that may be. I hope that she is in a better place. I hope that death is not the end. I hope she hears me when I talk to her. I hope she feels me when I cry. There was nothing left unsaid, but there is still so much I have to say.

I miss her every day.

Contractually Yours

I think that you need to have faith in order to question it, so if I am questioning it, then I must have faith.

I grew up in a traditionally orthodox Jewish home. In my late teens I became quite religious, to the point that some of my family joked that I was well on my way to becoming a Rabbi. Little did they know what I was getting up to late at night, and that becoming a Rabbi was never an option. The religious phase came and went, but at least I can say that I gave it a try. If asked, I would say that I prefer cheese with my burger and that’s why I strayed.

In my mid twenties I found myself talking to an amazing therapist who taught me about self-exploration and different views on the world. In between talking about my childhood, my father and mother and my various “issues”, we discussed Buddhism, Taoism, Judaism, Christianity, Spirituality, Metaphysics and I read books, lots of them. The advise given to me was to take all the bits of the things that I had read that made sense to me, to put them together and create my own belief.

I soon met an amazing woman named Fran and together with my friend Cherise and two others we went on an exploration that amazed and thrilled me. Our weekly meetings consisted of all things unknown, we explored the Merkabah, Light Work, Channeling, Tarot, I studied Wicca, we meditated, we met in dark places, we spoke to Egyptologists, we ate very garlicky chicken, we made spells and bought crystals and we formed opinions on what we believed. We played for just over two years.

And so I created my own version of my faith.

I have always said that there has to be more to life than what we experience on a day-to-day basis, because if there isn’t, then I struggle to see the point and I would rather bow out gracefully right now than endure the mundane activities of most days. So for me, there has to be something that exists outside of what we know. And that something belongs in a spiritual realm. It must be pretty good on the other side, because no one has come back to complain.

I believe in too many things to write it all down here but the most important is that I believe in sacred contracts and in the fact that things are exactly the way they are meant to be. This does not mean that we don’t have free choice; in fact it is because of free choice that I don’t truly believe in religion anymore because why offer free choice and then punish you for the choices you make. But that is a discussion for another time and place.

I believe that we come into this world having pre-determined certain experiences and relationships. I say certain, because I also believe that some happen by chance or because of someone else’s contract. Our souls are far greater than we could ever imagine or understand, we exist on multiple planes and in multiple dimensions at the same time; in fact the past, the present and the future are all happening right now.

For example, I believe that the part of my soul that exists in this life entered into an agreement with the part of my father’s soul that existed in this life to have the experience that it did. That’s why him dying the way he did, at the time that he did, is ok. I believe that I similarly have contracts with each and every person that I feel a connection with, because somewhere there is a lesson for one of us. Sometimes the lesson is for me, sometimes I’m just a conduit and sometimes it teaches us both.

But despite the fact that this feels right for me I don’t always believe, and sometimes I question. I miss my sister more than any words can describe. I don’t feel that I can get past the fact that she is gone and I think about her every day. I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night because she haunts my mind so vividly. It’s not that I’ve suddenly realized how important she was to me and it’s not that I am having regrets about things not said or done. It is all about the fact that there is a humongous void in my life that I feel every day, the possibility that she is actually dead (the harshest way to describe it) is one that I struggle to accept and come to terms with. But, if I truly do believe in what I say I do, then I have to accept that this was a sacred contract that came to it’s rightful end at a time chosen by either me, my sister or both of us, in a time and place far removed from this world. I have to accept that whilst I may not understand it now, that in time I will come to understand or I will understand it when I leave this life, before I make my contracts for the next.

The part of me that still believes, is the part that helps me go on, laugh, enjoy, love and live despite that horrible emptiness, loss and sadness.
The other part of me questions.

I guess that’s what it’s really all about.

The more we ask, the more we are forced to evaluate our existence, make decisions, form opinions and hopefully realize how lucky we truly are and live the opportunities we have to the fullest.

Sunday, bloody Sunday (or not quite)

Sunday started off as most days do, with some cleaning.

We then got our bikes and joined Lou and Deb for a ride around the city, stopping off at the Danforth for brunch and making our way home through the beautiful Rosedale suburb.

We walked the dogs. After about an hour we slowly made our way home.

And ended off the day with cheese and wine on the front porch.

Being neighbourly (sp!)

Keith is on a course this week and anyone who knows me, knows that the way to my heart is directly through my stomach (Stephan - NO FAT COMMENTS! Have a bit of dust). This means that I get a cooked meal every night and on nights that I dont, I buy it ready made. Cooking has never been something I enjoyed nor was I ever good at it. Sure, I can make something; but usually only palatable to me. I have this need to do everything well, I am extremely hard on myself so when I have tried to cook it has always been elaborate and complicated dishes that rarely turn out as Jamie (Oliver) would have wanted. I realised that simple is better. Anyway, there is a great little deli/caterer down the street so on Monday Keith got lamb shank and on Tuesday he got lamb curry and on Wednesday he announced that I had better cook something! So on Wednesday I bought a raw chicken, I really did, and I googled "roast chicken" and watched a YouTube video on how to truss and roast it and I did, I really did. I went for my daily run and when I got back Keith was sitting on the steps of the front porch with our neighbour having a glass of wine and a "kuier". I joined them, and so did our friends two doors down and two hours later we were still chatting and drinking and watching the people and the dogs walk by. Long story short - we ended up sharing and thoroughly enjoying my roast chicken (secret secret recipe) and roast potatoes. And a bottle of white, and two bottles of red and half a bottle of grapa. I have never seen Keith that drunk before, it was very cute.

Today I decided to try my hand at my culenary skills again, this time it was home made fish burgers and fries. Keith got home at 6 and two hours later there were 9 people sitting on the front steps of our house drinking wine, playing with Petra's 11 week old Pug, chatting to people and dogs walking past and eating fish burgers and fries.

I've noticed when I go for my run, or when we walk the dogs that it is pretty commonplace in Cabbagetown for people to sit out on their front porch in the evenings, when the sun is out till 9pm.

It still amazes me and I hope that I never take this for granted.

14 double vodkas drunk

I was supposed to go to a work dinner tonight. It's a monthly meeting and I actually sit on the executive committee. So much for that. I met a new friend for drinks after work at a local watering hole on Yonge and Bloor and 14 double vodkas later I had missed the monthly CRAC meeting. Come on, it's called CRAC for god's sake (Clinical Research Association of Canada).

I had a great time, we drank copious amounts of alcohol and exhanged stories about our lives and our partners. At this point I must pay my sincere thanks to Rolly G without whom I would not have this new drinking buddy and friend. You see David, I remembered, despite my state of inebriation. And I met Zara, and she barked at me.

On the way home I was fortunate enough to be on the same streetcar as Mr Crazy who was telling a story, and balancing on the balance beam. The driver asked him to please sit down and behave like the rest of the passengers but he needed to balance on his balance beam whilst he was telling his story.

It is for these reasons, that I am so in love with the city that I inhabit.

I got home and devoured the rest of the roast chicken in the fridge. Drunk sms'd a few friends in South Africa and it is now, time, for bed.

G'night

Anger, or is it?

Sometimes I feel consumed with anger. At the same time I am filled with contentment. It's a true dichotomy and one that is difficult to explain. When I tell people that I am angry, or miserable they immediately think that I hate being in Canada. I don't. I love it here and that's where the contentment is.

I have always believed that my mother does not take responsibility for her life. Granted, her life has not been easy but no harder than most people I know. No harder than mine. I've blogged before about her "turning a negative into a positive" but those who know her, know that she doesnt believe this to be true. My mother's true belief is "I am a result of circumstance". She claims that it is not her fault that her husband died, that her mother and father died, that her child was morbidly and fataly obese, that she gets and got depressed, that she is always ill, that she has headaches, that she had a brain AVM, that she hasn't been able to work for 12 years (even though she really wishes she could - ja right). It was all circumstance. Yes, circumstances occur and shape our lives. But we also have a responsibility to deal with those circumstances and I have always believed that the way in which we do that, leads to a successful control of our life or lack thereof. My mother's choice has always been to go to bed and mine has always been to get on with it. She has often said that I am cold and unemotional. I call it being practical and realistic. She believe's that she had no choice, because circumstance caused things that made her depressed that forced her to want to lie down for a few months. I believe that lying down was her choice.

Today is two months since my sister passed away and I still don't quite believe that it is real. Her dying changed my life forever in a way that I can't explain, but my choice is not to give up. I am angry though about so many things, but I won't give them credence by putting them in writing.

I am angry about other circumstances that I find myself in but I wont give those credence either. This morning I was working out at the gym and this is my me-time, when I have headphones in my ears, when I think a lot and focus on working out. I thought about all the people that make me angry, and all the circumstances that make me angry and I wondered if my anger is rightly directed or not. Is it circumstance making me angry or am I angry at myself? Am I directing my emotions away so as to avoid taking responsibility? What can I do to change things, because I have a choice whether I like it or not.

This is the difference between me and my mother. I am angry. There are reasons for my anger. Some are caused by people and some by circunstance. But I am in control and I have choices. Just knowing that already makes me feel a little better.

Loopy-Loo

Keith and I have a name for the people that wander around talking to themselves and gesturing. We call them the loopy-loos. The fact is, that it's become a term of affection and we often wonder why it is that we see so many loopy-loos in our neighbourhood. South Africa was full of homeless people and beggers, but they weren't loopy-loos. These guys (and girls) are entertaining and include the guy talking to himself on the streetcar, and telling himself jokes, and laughing at them, the very cute guy standing at the street corner grabbing his crotch and doing karate, the military guy in the park with his pram and white bunny, the jogger that has different coloured shoes, the bag lady on the subway that walked up to people and grabbed their stuff, then offered them food. According to Deb we live in the "corridor" - the inbetween the place where they sleep and the place where they eat. That's why we see them and I wouldnt have it any other way.

At peace

We decided to take the dogs for a walk tonight after supper. It was almost 9pm and because spring is in the air there is a light breeze and the sun is just going down. We closed the door behind us and off we went. We forgot to check that the door was locked (it was). It was quiet and peaceful, there were people all over (with and without dogs) and the best part was walking on the streets past people's houses that have no burglar bars or curtains. We watched people making dinner, drinking wine, we saw them watching TV, some houses were in the dark and some had all the lights on but nobody was home. We walked through a dark alley. We weren't scared at all. We wished that our friends back in South Africa could experience this. We're at peace.

Being happy

Recently I read a blog update that someone wrote on their birthday, summing up the last year in a (pea)nutshell. I thought that I should do that (‘cos I do like to copy other people’s ideas) but then realized that I would rather do something else; something slightly happier than my recent posts. Despite the last month, that has probably been one of the hardest and saddest of my life, there is so much to be happy about. I thought I would jot down 100 things to be happy about but it turns out that it’s not that easy and rather than make up 72 arbitrary things, I would write down those that came to my mind first and post it before I changed my mind. Some of them relate to my current situation, others to things I have done in the past. So in no particular order (as they come to mind):

I am happy because:

• I have Keith. He is the best thing that ever happened to me. He radiates warmth and comfort and everybody loves him.
• I have fur children. Dexter, Jessie and Troy are a close second to Keith although sometimes I think Keith suspects that Dexter comes first. There is nothing better than the love of a dog. Nothing better at all.
• I have the most amazing friends. They are my family and there are no words to describe how important each person is to me. Maybe my next blog will be a tribute to my friends.
• There is nobody that I hate, and that is not an easy feat these days.
• I live in what I think is one of the most fantastic countries in the world. Wait, I know it is. Canada is resource-rich, has vast amounts of space and land, an incredibly liberal and tolerant attitude to people and unlike South Africa (whether you want to admit it or not), is a much safer and happier environment to live in.
• The squirrels are coming out much to Dexter’s joy.
• The birds have returned from their winter get-away.
• I have no regrets.
• I get to say the things I feel without the fear of consequence.
• I have travelled all over the world. Some of it has been for unbelievable holidays and many of them with friends. I love travelling with people. Other travels have been for work, which I would never have done had someone else not been picking up the bill!
• I have worked in Africa, in the middle of a forest, in a field, near a hut, in a hospital. I’ve seen the true beauty of countries untouched by technology and violence. I have marveled at the brilliance of some of the people I have worked with in those countries.
• I have taught.
• I have learnt.
• I’ve taken drugs and never had a bad trip, only bad comedowns.
• I have always done the work that I love, hardly ever hating the fact that I had to work.
• I’ve flown first class.
• I’ve been to the Sydney Mardi Gras, the Vancouver Mardi Gras and the MQCP parties in Cape Town.
• I’ve drunk Vodka in Russia.
• I’ve ridden a Vespa in Italy (and in Parkhurst too).
• I’ve jumped out of an airplane at 12,000m and free fell for over a minute.
• I’m a qualified Rescue Scuba Diver.
• I’ve swum with dolphins.
• I’ve dived with sharks.
• I’ve eaten spleen in a pita and I enjoyed it.
• I’ve fallen in love, and out of love. I’ve had my heart broken, and I’ve loved again.
• I’ve been betrayed.
• I’ve learnt to trust.
• I’ve betrayed.
• I’ve learnt integrity.
• I’ve been able to support my mother.
• I’ve acted in a play.
• I’ve played the piano.
• I’ve studied all the way to PhD. My mother get’s to say “My son is a doctor” (even though I’m not a real doctor).
• I’ve studied Wicca.
• I’ve studied Reiki.
• I stayed in a Bedouin tent in Israel and rode a Camel.
• I learnt to water-ski and I learnt to ski in the snow.
• I’m sure that if I thought enough (and despite what I said at the start) I could write another 100 of these, but I’m happy to quit while I’m ahead, because as much as I can think of the happy things, I can also think of the sad and this blog is not going there today!

I am happy because I am still young, I have plenty to be thankful for and I have so much still to do. I am happy to be able to experience most of what I want to.

I am happy to be able to share this with you.

Facing my own mortality

My sister passed away last week. Deep down I always knew that this would happen and I warned her about it. She was overweight and unhealthy. I tried my best to help her and for a while it worked. But I guess she was happy and didn't really want to change. Did I really have the right to impose my needs on her? I guess all I was imposing, was the wish to have her around for a little longer.

I am totally devastated. I feel empty and numb. I think about her every minute of every day. That's not to say that I didn't before. The difference is that before, when she was alive, I could send her an email or a text and she would reply in her crazy manner, with some mad rant about life and the Russians (you wouldn't understand). We were very close, we loved each other and we told each other that. I have no regrets and nothing was left unsaid. For that, I am grateful. I hope she knew how much she was loved, and how many people are mourning her loss. She has truly left a void in the world.

I don't know how to get past this. I know I will. I know it's too soon but I want the grief to go away because it doesn't feel nice. How do I accept the fact that I will never see her or speak to her again. She will always be young but will I always remember?

My family is broken. It's our destiny and it started when my father passed away. My mother is old and frail, way beyond her 62 years and I have had to put her into a home to be cared for. I always thought that my sister would look after her, like I did when she lived in Israel. But the lesson here, is that it always has been, and always will be my responsibility. I hate that I have left her behind in South Africa. Knowing that it's the right thing to do, and feeling it, are two different things.

Being back in South Africa was good for me. It proved immediately that our choice to leave for Canada was a good one. South Africa is not a healthy place to live in. The hard part, i s leaving behind the people that I love. At the moment I am torn between loving my life in Canada, and wondering if the sacrifice is truly worth it. And at the risk of being somewhat naive, I blame that entirely on a country that has forced families to split up.

I am facing my own mortality once again. I am not part of the societal norm, although that's not to say that there arent plenty of gay couples of couples that do not have children. I guess I look around, and always have, at my friends that are part of a proper family unit and feel sad for the one I didn't have. It's no excuse to run out and get (make) myself a kid but a part of me mourns the fact that I wont grow old, surrounded by children, and cousins and family. I truly am blessed to have the friends and family that I do, and this week was proof of that. I guess at a time like this, it's normal to ponder the future, with a touch of apprehension.

Aparently 144,000 people died in the world today. Somewhere, someone lost a sister. I know how that feels. I can't say goodbye. I miss you CaroLearn. I always will. Life will never be the same.

The Good, the Bad, the Abusively Ugly

Free to a home (note that it doesn't have to be a good home):
a deliquint, sad, demanding, bi-polar, uninterested, selfish, over-medicated mother. Requires little attention and a pharmacy close-by. Offered up by a son that cares more than he would like to but just can't do it anymore.

The Good
I am enjoying my life. I worked in New York City last week; Manhattan to be specific. New York is a great place to visit, but to feel like part of the city is exhilirating. I woke up and walked through Manhattan to work. I felt like I was part of the workforce. I was. I went out for lunch and I went to a meeting. I walked amongst the tourists, the locals and the yellow cabs. I loved every minute of it. The city has an energy that you cant ignore. That night I ate out with friends in Hells Kitchen. We drank cocktails and enjoyed eachothers company and then we cabbed and subway-ed home. To be (relatively) young and be able to experience New York City is amazing.

The weather is good. It's warmer than usual for February in Toronto. When we left South Africa, people asked how we would deal with the weather. When we arrived in Canada people warned us that by February we would be crying out in frustration. We're still wondering what the big deal is. In South Africa you are cold in Winter. The houses are cold, the beds are cold, the toilet seat is cold and your toes burn when they hit the hot water in the shower. You have to wear a sweater indoors and keep the heaters on. In Canada you dont feel it. I wear a tee-shirt inside all day long. I put a jacket on when I go out and if its really bad I wear a beanie and gloves. I dont have a car so I have to wait on the corner for the streetcar, in the snow, in the cold, and it's still not that bad. Spring is almost here. It really isnt as bad as its made out to be. In fact, it's the least of my worries.

We have met some really nice people. In fact, the other day Keith called me to find out if we already had arrangements for Friday night because we had been invited out to dinner. A month ago we had no plans, ever! Now we have two dinners this week. We've met a wonderful couple two doors up who are warm and fun to be with, who drop by when they feel like it , to have a glass of wine and who have made it their mission to invite us over and introduce us to their friends. We have been made to feel incredibly welcome.

I've been driving around Toronto, figuring out where things are and avoiding getting lost. Despite its size, this is an easy city to navigate. South African cities make no sense and are much harder to learn. I love being in the car (on the wrong side of the road) and sitting in traffic and thinking "wow.....I live in Toronto".

The Bad
Emigration is not easy. Leaving friends and family behind is the hardest part. Not having our Saturday lunches makes me sad. I miss getting angry at Parea because someone decided to order for the whole table. I miss Espresso's Village Salad with extra Avo. I miss breakfast with Renzo at Nice. I miss lunch with Carolyn at M&A. I miss coffee with Terri at the Michaelangelo. I miss Simon's braai's. I miss sitting around the kitchen table and bantering with Kenneth. I miss it all.

The Abusively Ugly
My mother has stooped to an alltime low. Before I left South Africa I settled all her bills, paid the humoungous pharmacy account, gave her some money and told her to start acting like an adult and taking responsibility for herself and her finances. I have been suporting her for years. I have paid of hundreds of thousands of rands worth of debt. Keith constantly tells me that she will never learn because she knows that I will always bail her out. He is right. She knows that all she has to do is cry, apologise and promise never to do it again. Inbred Jewish Guilt forces me to make that transfer each time she tells me she needs money even if I dont have it because despite how I feel, I could never take the chance that she is going hungry or without something that she needs. I have never been able to save because every extra cent goes to either supporting her or to pay off some form of debt that she has created, be it a doctors bill, the phone account or her overdraft. Granted, my mother has never taken the money and used it for clothes, holidays or extravagant items that she did not need. And therein lies the problem because its always been things that she needs. I have tried many times to take controld but but she becomes nasty and absuvie and to be honest, I dont have the energy to manage her life. Before I left South Africa I told her that I would give her a monthly allowance that she had to manage and that was it. Naturally she agreed but every two weeks I get the sms or call telling me that she needs more money because the pharmacy bill was high, the phone account was high, the medical aid went up. And I pay up. Turns out, that she has no fucking clue whats happening with the money because about 6 monthys ago she handed her ATM card over to Jonathan, her "who knows what" that lives with her and hasnt bothered to check up on her finances since. Typical behaviour of a victim that isnt happy unless somone else is recsuing her. So not only has Jonathan been receiving free room and board, but he has also no doubt been helping himself to cash whenever he needed it. I didnt mind him living there for free because I liked the fact that she had company but I made it very clear when he moved in that he needed to pay his own way when it came to food and his own living expenses. But things dont always go according to plan and Lawrence, the sucker, now owes the bank a fortune.

My mother is not a mother. She has not done a motherly thing for me in over 20 years. She is the person that gave birth to me. Would I walk away if she were self-sufficient? Possibly. But despite how I feel, she is a sad, lonely, bitter and emotionally ill woman and she is my mother. I have a responsibility to look after her. How do I reconcile that internally? How do I say No. Our relationship is purely one of give and take, I give and she takes. It is not a happy one, nor is it a mutually rewarding relationship. It is based on need. I have long given up the dream that she would be the parent I longed for. All I try for now, is to ensure that when she is gone, that I never regret the things I didnt do. Like she did with her own mother.

Painful karma?

I get these attacks. Last night was by far one of the worst. It’s a weird unexplained thing that I have had since childhood; a mixture between a spastic colon and an abdominal migraine but doesn’t fit the symptoms of either. It only happens at night, does not seem to be related to anything specific and basically my entire abdomen goes into a spasm that it feels like I have knives being pushed into and out of me and that I have acid eating me from the inside out. Sounds dramatic but there is no other way to describe the horribly excruciating pain. It lasts for about 4 or 5 hours and then I literally pass out from the pain. I usually take some kind of anti-migraine and/or pain killer which also helps knock me out but doesn’t seem to take the pain away and I usually take it way too late.

I think the attacks started after my dad died but I cant be sure. At the time it was put down to anxiety and stomach ulcers. When I was in matric my doctor decided that my appendix was causing this and promptly removed it. The attacks continued. In the back of my mind Ive often thought of these attacks as karmic. Like something that my body needs to experience and it happens once every three months or so. Sometimes I feel it coming on and either its mild or I take something to stop it but then it comes back the next night even worse.....as if by preventing it my body is getting me back because its something I need to go through.

I know I know, my mind is disturbed! But when its all over I feel quite energised and almost cleansed. Go figure.....

Seeking out the Same

I flew to New York this weekend to surprise Natalie and her mom. New York City has always been an exotic destination for us South Africans. It’s a city we watch on television and in the movies, and many of us only dream of visiting. Things seem different though when you live an hour away and going to New York was like hopping on a Kulula flight to Durban, made so much easier now that I am permanently resident in Canada and not seen to be any kind of threat as I was when I used to enter the US on a South African Visa.

I arrived at Newark Airport in New Jersey and took the train into Penn Station, which is in downtown Manhattan. I SMS’d Doreen to let her know that I had arrived and she sent me the address of the restaurant where they were having brunch. Ive been fortunate enough to have visited New York enough times to know how to get around and which direction to go in. The surprise was such fun and well worth it. My biological family are scattered around the world and for various reasons we barely communicate, with each other so this family mean the world to me. I’ve been said to liken us to an episode of “Brother’s and Sister’s” and I say that with pride and affection. Watch any episode when you don’t have a big family and it’s all you want. The other day I was on the phone to one member that was SMS’ing another, had a Skype video call going at the same time to another and had Keith shouting in the background. We were all talking about the same thing, to each other! But I digress…

We spent most of Saturday wandering around Manhattan. Natalie and I got dressed later that evening and headed out to a bar in SoHo to meet an old school friend at a birthday party. We arrived early, had no idea whose birthday it actually was, lied ourselves into the private party and headed straight for the bar. A couple of vodkas later we joined the birthday group made up mostly of ex-South Africans now living in the Big Apple. Soon after that the Tequila made an appearance and at 3am I was outside looking for something to lick. Nats and I then made our way to Times Square and after unsuccessfully licking a NYPD cop car (visit We Lick Anything on Facebook for an explanation) we met up with the ex-South Africans again at a diner uptown and had an early breakfast.

I realized something that night. I could never understand why South Africans that emigrated actively seek out other South Africans, forming little South African communities all over the world. I always said that if I left, I would avoid that and integrate myself into the community that I had chosen to emigrate to. But four months into my own emigration I realize now how familiar and safe that group of fellow South Africans feel, the common bond is immediate, the accents are comforting and there are no questions or explanations of why we are here and who we are. I get it. We are human beings that like to seek out the same.

P.S. Read “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time”. What an amazing book.