Caution; Rambling reflections of a literary heart

It is in our inherent human nature to take stock at this time of year and reflect on what we have lost and gained. Not the accumulation or discarding of things material but what has ultimately altered the landscape of our hearts. With as equally as many manifestations as love, loss has proven itself to be one of the main arteries of the beating and pulsating heart of literature and poetry. I could not afford the luxury of reflection a year ago as I was in the midst of experience which was tainted with the denial of loss. Today on this not so sunny December day I can do a double take of how through its many different guises loss has undeniably altered the person that sits here today. As throughout my life I have found solace though through music, mainly Florence, Mumford and sons and old Sarah Mclachlan songs and literature, most recently Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguru and the heartache that accompanied me has led me to the discovery, not only the reading of poetry, but the poet within where loss has been both fuel and driver of the metaphorical vehicle.

Its been a year and a half since I have seen my best friend and I wonder can I still use that term to refer to her if the friendship doesn’t exist any more. Perhaps it is a term that supersedes time and events, like the word brother or Lizette . Or perhaps it is a term that can only lay claim by mutual agreement in which an absent party nullifies it. Whatever the case may be it has proven to be the biggest continual loss of my life thus far. Through its manifestation of friendship how easy it was to love, how easy it was to destroy a thing of beauty and extreme depth which had the fragility of paperweight porcelain. How easy it was to be unforgivably faltered and misunderstood.How hard it is to grasp that an accumulated and compounded,misinterpreted few days outweighed 4 years. How hard it is to explain the ache and pain of the shards of the sharp edged paper-thin porcelain stuck within my flesh that pricks a little harder and deeper at the thought and sight of what has been lost. The emptiness of her absence is vast and has left even the most general attempts at friendship and bonding, hollow. The fuel, however, that taps from it is rich and rewarding and through words comes healing, and through new life comes a chance to be and do better. The crushing blow comes not from the realization that I am not perfect but that my imperfections are intolerable and unforgivable when weighed against the essence of who I am. Even though a certain light within in me has been diminished forever as soon as this concept began to hit home. I miss her and if she would let me reinterpret the broken shards to sand them to rounder edges I would but ultimately I know that this present, this void, will remain my reality.

On the 23rd of Decemeber someone who was very dear to me would have celebrated his 30th birthday but as fate would have it he will forever be 25. And how he has shaped my life for the few years he was present in it. He very harshly awoken a very naive self to the fact that life was not only black and white but an endless colour chart of grey. Although I should probably give half the credit to literature and Bernard Schlink for this as well. He forced me to think about things rather than just accept them and uncovered and instilled a sense of adventure in me that lay dormant for far too long. I am better for having met him even though I know I will never have the chance to yet fully understand his complicated heart.

In May 2010 my almost biggest lost became my biggest gain. My mom had a double heart attack and had to have and angiogram to open up one of her arteries. What was considered to be a simple procedure caused her heart to stop on the operating table. The doctors and nurses struggled for 20 minutes to resuscitate her, in other words her brain was left for 20 minutes without oxygen. After reviving her they had to induce a coma and bring her in a state of hyperthermia to save her brain and heart. They gave her a 1% of survival and if she did manage to survive, they prepared us for major brain damage and that she would never be herself again. It was hard to come to terms with these statistics but the unfailing support from my friends carried me through a time where I was incapable of anything accept begging prayer and hope. I could not lose my rock in life it just wasn’t an option, having that phone call come through to say she didn’t make it...not an option. As it is with grace that is undeservingly bestowed on us, and after what felt like an eternity my mother awoke from her coma unscathed. Her 1% survival rate didn’t even cause her a 1% loss of her brain capacity. I have never witnessed the kind of strength with which she manage to carry herself through her recovery. And I have never felt the intense agonizing pleading and bargaining within myself as I did in that week of hell. Her presence in our lives reminds us daily at what her doctors scientifically described as ‘impossible’ and a ‘miracle’. There are people who do believe in miracles and people who don’t and then you get us, people who get to witness one. Being able to still share in the bond between mother and daughter, stronger than ever, has been the biggest gain this year.

The last two years has taught me that I am person of strength, that I can be wrong and learn from it to be better, and I have learned to be patient with myself, with others and with life which I now discover has probably prepared and led me to be more ready to for this moment where life and another gain is rapidly growing inside me with every breath. I am still aching from past events and with some I carry a perpetual pain which on days leaves me grasping for my crippled altered heart and pleading with it to stop yearning for what no longer is, but I can also state with confidence, crippled heart and all that I have managed to be happy and content with what I have.

Even though it is loss that fuels the pen to create the metaphors to understand human emotions, it is from the strength that we witness in others and ultimately gather within ourselves as a result from these experiences, that inspire us to have the confidence to pen them down and carry on through the loss, use it an channel it, even if it is through a forever altered version of ourselves.

Holiday reading spots

It's at last holiday time and I am armed with my favourite holiday indulgence Phillipa Gregory, my half finished Haruki Murukami's Norwegian Wood, Milan Kundera's Unbearable Lightness of Being and and my Everest, Marlene van Niekerk's Agaat and this is where I will be enjoying them: Old Mac Daddy Luxury Trailer Park.





I can't wait, just a few more things to pack then we are off tomorrow morning on an early flight. I can't wait to see our quirky For Better or Boerewors suite and unwind swimming, hiking and of course reading.



(images; Old Mac Daddy)

The rest of my reading will be happening between Christmas and New Years here:


A work in progress, my own little makeshift bohemian reading spot at home for the hot summer days. I am sure here I will make a considerable dent in Agaat, as well as making some progress on our new and improved upcoming website.

I remember fondly our holiday reading spot from exactly a year ago, Koh Lanta Thailand which housed us and our companions, The Girl who Played with Fire and Shantaram for hours and days on end.



Happy reading this holiday and here is hoping that you find your perfect spot.
From the lazy bloggers of The Paperhouse Review