New Year, Stay You

It’s the whole #newyearnewyou epidemic that hits the shores of the world annually.

Thanks to 2019 and dreams for 2020 are overwhelming all social media platforms as I write this.

I had quite a great 2019 with plenty of newly- created memories, firsts, different experiences, and further developing dreams.

As much as I love delving into pasts, happy has- beens, and laugh- inducing photos, my blog post is going to have a look at the year laid out in front of me: empty, clean, undiscovered, waiting for our steps to imprint stories over it.

It’s corny, cliche, and eye- rolling, but u really do believe that there is a place for New Year’s resolutions; it creates a hopefulness for our futures and dreams that we are willing to fight for.

Maybe these resolutions will collapse at the base, but maybe (like I’ve actually done before) I will succeed and plant seeds that will bud and bloom in the future, be it this year or in the years to come.

• Tick off the days on a calendar that you went without processed sugar, and try have more ticked days than unticked (I usually am pretty good with this, but Christmas did dent my 80% processed sugar- free days. I’m quite looking forward to getting back to healthier eating patterns and clean skin)

• Exercise four days a week (I run four mornings a week and follow that up with Kayla Itsiness workouts, which I love, but I am quite keen to switch to Pilates this year for my posture and cyadica)

• Don’t buy meat (after spending the Christmas holidays with my flexitarian parents, the health benefits of this lifestyle have crept into my way of thinking)

• Research and find online job/s to supplement my salary (as a past university student with a current study loan standing like a mountain in front of my dreams, I am desperate to find ways to pay it off as fast as I can)

I hope that you dream big plans and cultivate the strength to see them through. I hope that this year is an adventure. I hope that you are brave. I hope that you don’t change for others but that you stay your beautiful self.


There is fear jailed between my eyes and eyelids,

Torturing my nightmares,

Stress eats the butterflies in my stomach,

Anxiety bullies my sore heart.

Softly, I whisper hope for layers of peace.

A layer of peace to silence the fear, a layer of peace to shatter the stress, a layer of peace to snuff the anxiety.

Whispers of hope to fall asleep beneath a warm and safe Comforter of Peace.

I am Mist

I am mist

Here today, gone tomorrow

Hiding blemishes in the landscapes

Letting the sun mix with my murky white to create quiet, hopeful beauty

The trees look more magnificent, the mountains look more majestic when the sun and I play around them

“Back to school, back to reality”

Back in reality, so distant from hyena calls at night, glorious purple beach sunsets and slow- morning sleep- ins. Life is accelerating into needing a weekend after the weekend; “should I really eat another piece of cake?”; early nights for early mornings.

The lazy holiday feels have evaporated and I find myself arguing with my student, “I know your mom said you can eat when the food is ready, but I said you can eat when your work is complete.” Unfortunately my anger levels never reach above a 2 out of 10, and I can’t stop laughing at her death stare that she so kindly and perfectly shares with me.

We do have a lovely relationship with lots of giggles and disses and hard school work, and after our little tiff she walks me to my car and asks me to stay a little longer.

Even in the busy mundane of working days, there are moments of true hilarity where water snorts out your nose, true understanding where you watch the animated light bulb atop their head ‘ting’ on, true friendship where a secret is shared with you that you promise to keep safe.

I’m so corny, it’s face flushing. I always get sentimental when the holiday comes to an end.

“I guess things were just going too well for me”- Ross

I shut the door and immediately realised that I had done it wrong. I looked down at my four fingers, wishing that the littlest one wasn’t hiding between the door and the rest of the car. In other words; I slammed my pinkie finger in the car door.

I looked around soundlessly distressed, willing someone to read my mind and open the door again for me, but alas, they were all engrossed in getting each other and what’s more, they’re all useless at mind reading.

I had to pull up some courage, bravery and even some stupidity out of my characteristics bag and open the car door myself. On three.

I freed little pinkie and found my voice at the same time, screaming, “is it straight, is it straight???” To my chosen nurse. I was laughing hysterically to cover up the fact that all I wanted to do was cry.

Allow me to remind you of the level of my pain threshold: it is non- existant. Consider yourself caught up.

My friend pulled me by my finger to the tap to run it under cold water until my other “nurse” wrapped my flattened appendage in an open packet of frozen peas. One or two sneaky peas made their escape and obnoxiously clattered upon the hardwood floors like green icicles.

The whole fingernail is now black

My male friends awkwardly patted my back and tried to make jokes about it while I sat shivering on the couch with my iced hand cradled in my lap.

At one point I even said to one of them; “I can feel my heartbeat in my finger!”

Isn’t it funny how the smallest finger on your left hand can cause so much turmoil. A mere door- slam and all I can think about is my finger; don’t jostle it, don’t touch it, don’t bump it, don’t use it. Pain pain pain.

How many times do we allow the smallest instances to shake us, to stop us, to derail us?

As my freshly pounding finger kept me up all night and my bored brain went all philosophical; I tried to identify what I was letting stand in the way of my dreams and goals. What door- slammed, left- hand pinkie was I turning into an insurmountable mountain?

Maybe this is your wakeup call to strap your sore little finger and move on to bigger things, or maybe this is you reading my wakeup call. Take what you want.

“It’s time to settle down, make a choice, pick a lane.” “Who’s Elaine?”


I stare at shiny iPhone’s back as he lies face down on the ground. I’m whispering, “Please be okay, please be okay!” As my shaky hands reach down to pick him up. The screen flickers twice before giving up and ghost, and I hold my lifeless phone in my hands like I’m holding a flightless baby bird.

Goodbye photos, contacts, communication with the outside world, hopes and dreams. Goodbye details of the date I am going on in two hours time.

As if I wasn’t nervous enough already, I know have a dead phone and no way of contacting anyone. I send messages off of Facebook and hope that there’s a somebody out there who will reply. Luckily my mom is on the ball and sends me a game plan in terms of getting a new phone. Also Luckily upstairs housemate arrives home to a stress ball Jordy and she quickly hands me the phone before the tears can build up.

I tell date that I am phoneless and therefore he will have to make sure that he’s on time, I’m not waiting on the street for him to arrive. I’m finally calm enough to get changed, get make up, get ‘hair did.’ He has told me that I need sturdy shoes and casual clothes. I have no other instructions or hints as to where we’re headed.

He arrives on time, flowers in hand, and opens the door for me in true gentleman fashion. I’m awkward and a non- conversationalist in the car, completely out of my comfort zone and out of topic ideas on what to talk about. Why is it that you can have the most casual, easy conversations with a friend, but the moment you term your hang- out time as a date, your mind completely spazzes out?

He wants us to walk up a rock- clad koppie (little hill) and, backpack on back, he glides up that thing like a mountain goat, with unfit me panting behind him, tripping and hanging on to branches to steady myself.

At the top he unpacks fruit, Savannahs, chips and a blanket that he spreads out on the rock. Poor guy really had to carry the conversation while I tried to remind my lungs what oxygen felt like. We watched the sunset go down, and my nerves took over, not letting me eat much and making me look ungrateful towards his thoughtful spread.

Before it’s completely dark, we head back to the car and stop at an American- style old- fashioned restaurant. We order decadent, over- sized, over- embellished milkshakes. Delicious! And yet, I struggle to drink even half of it, my jumbled thoughts not helping a girl out with words that make sense to say to him.

Eventually the painful, stunted interaction comes to an end and he asks for the bill. I want to apologize to him for being the world’s worst conversationalist, but no meager  “sorry” could undo the damage that my evening- long silence has created.

When we get to the end of the longest drive in the world, I mumble something about it being super late, and try leaning over to give him an awkward goodbye hug, while being restrained by the seat belt. Important dating rule: always remember to unbuckle your seatbelt before saying your goodbyes.

Important dating rule number two: always always remember to unbuckle your seatbelt before getting out of the car.

All in all I made for a pretty bad date, and yet even despite this, I got asked out by the same guy a few weeks later.

My stupid 22 year old brain wanted some rebellious, ‘bad boy’ kind of guy, and so I turned down the second date. If only I could tell past me that I would later be hurt by such a guy.

Take it from me, you want the fun, adventurous guy, the gentleman guy, the good guy. But then that’s just my two cents

Some fantabulous sunset views