feelings – Honest Lies

The one with all the birds

Kites! First one is definitely a Red Kite, and the ones in the gallery are probably Black Kite(s). I can’t figure out the differences >_<

It’s my birthday today! Of course today has just been a normal working day, but I celebrated with my family over the weekend. I’ve been seeing a lot of birds of prey lately – I get red kites that fly over my apartment and around the local area. They are amazing to watch, but of course always so high up in the sky so that I can never see them up close, or appearing when I’m driving and thus unable to watch. So I requested for my birthday that we had a family trip to see some kites :) As luck would have it, there is a Bird of Prey center near where my parents live so, together with my sister, thats where we went. It turned out to be amazing – they had loads of different birds, the birds were well looked after and happy and the whole place had been put together nicely, with a cute little tuck shop, beds of flowers around the enclosures and friendly (and knowledgeable!) staff. We had a general look at the birds then there was a meet and greet where we could pet a ferret and a tiny owl <3 the highlight was then definitely watching them excercise the birds i.e a flying show!

Tiny Owl and some of the other birds. All I know is that No1 in the gallery is probably a Peregrine Falcon, and No2 is definitely a Kestrel.
They brought out a bald eagle, an owl, a raven, a secretary bird, a stork, two vultures and about twelve kites. Twelve! All at once! It was incredible. Hard to take in, but incredible to see them up so close. One flew right over my head! Seeing them up close in their enclosures and then in the flying show was really special. They are truly beautiful , elegant creatures. The other birds were also amazing – the secretary bird showed us how it kills snake using a fake snake which was hilarious (think of the way cats start viciously beating their toys with their back feet then return to cutely playing as if nothing happened), the raven was young and clumsy, and all of them riveting to watch. The keepers told us all their stories and their names which was really interesting too (and I loved their names – like Sharon the bald eagle, Scooby the raven, lady the secretary bird haha )

(Did you know Ravens have the intelligence of a 5 year old child? Isn’t that amazing? Scooby could fly off whenever he wants, but he knows he has the easy life at the center, so he willingly stays.)

Kite, Stork x2, Bald Eagle x2, Secretary bird inspecting the snake
Afterwards we gathered at a local ice cream farm for something delicious and cold then went back to chill at my parents house, sitting in the garden to soak up the beautiful summer weather.

The next day my sister couldn’t join in as she was busy :( but I went with my parents to a local National Trust property to eat cake (my mom very quietly sang me happy birthday before I tucked in haha) and look around the gardens. It was really pretty and sunny.

Then I just had to pack and slog home. Thankfully everyone was watching the football so my journey was quiet and uneventful.

As for turning a year older? Being 26? I honestly don’t feel at all different from last year….I don’t think I’ve really changed at all this past year. :/ It is a little scary how close I am now (and how quickly I am moving towards) the big 30 though.

Fear

Cotton Grass on the moors, Shutlingsloe from the distance, a resevoir, and sheep. This lovely, sunny bank holiday weekend I am stuck at home recovering from a particularly annoying cold. So I thought I would share photos from last weekend; I went home to see my parents, and my father and I went for a walk on Sunday to Shutlingsloe, in the Peak District, and a nearby forest. As I had a bus to catch home in the afternoon, we made our walk a very early one – starting at around 9am in the morning. We first climbed Shutlingsloe, taking advantage of how quiet it was in the early morning, and how cool it still was. There were flowers out even on the moors- sloeberry bushes beginning to form their fruits, and rogue daisies, and fluffy cotton grass. I picked a stalk of those, running my fingers through the soft flower. We ascended and it was still up there, for once, and we sat and snacked as we gazed out onto the countryside and the hazy profiles of Cheshire and Greater Manchester in the distance. We then descended and went for a long meander, country roads, bare and gloomy pine forests, and then a grove of sycamore trees where, to our surprise, a huge amount of bluebells were carpeting the forest floor. It was stunning. We continued walking, exploring more mixed forests and another pine forest, and were quite tired by the end, as the sun got stronger and stronger, but it was very refreshing, and very pretty out there.

Bluebells. *_* We have done that walk, or a walk like it, Shutlingsloe and the surrounding area, so many times now, so familiar now, there’s probably an entry on this blog with photos like this, but it’s still one of our favourites , and there is something to be said for the familiar. Even that can surprise sometimes, such as with the unexpected swath of bluebells. I was sorting through some old files the other day and stumbled upon a video of my father, my sister and I climbing Shutlingsloe several years ago, I was still small and chatting away to nobody, my sister was a teenager, whiny and annoyed, and my poor father meanwhile was just trying to film some scenery. It was snowing. And it surprised me to see us out in that weather, to see myself so confidently striding through the snow , ascending and descending what surely must have been a slippery path, surely, without concern. It’s amazing how fearless we are as children, and I wonder when fear and worry begins to set in? When do we become aware of danger? I wouldn’t go out on a walk like that in the snow now; I’d be scared of slipping and hurting myself, of getting stranded in freezing conditions. Younger me clearly wasn’t so concerned – even in simple trainers, she was happy to just walk. I guess that’s ultimately all there is to it, but it’s our minds that get in the way as we get older.

I recently went to see a new therapist and we were talking about my history and she asked me when it began – my anxiety- and I wonder too. It feels like it’s always been there, but when I look at pictures and videos of myself when I was younger I’m so bold and outspoken that clearly there was a time I was not? I must have just taken growing up a little too hard, or something. It’s puzzling how different I am as a child and as an adult. Something must have gone very wrong somewhere along the way.

Stack of fresh cut pine logs – my father and I counted the rings of the bigger ones and estimated them to between 50-60 years old. Forest scenery, an old road, and a small abandoned house in the forest. Someone had gone to the effort of researching the owner of that house, printing out and laminating a small information sheet and laying it at the base of the house. Very interesting. Anyway, to go back to the topic of therapy – I decided to go private this time, sick of NHS waiting lists and the inflexibility of treatment options, and it’s very expensive, possibly too expensive to be feasible in the long run, but very thought provoking. I hope this time I can get a handle on my anxiety. Life is still not going well. I am grateful for the good moments – for forests full of bluebells and my family, and an hour with a therapist (an impartial voice) who understands. Life did not go the way I expected after graduating, and being an adult is hard.

I wish I could go out and explore this weekend – to another forest, another moor, to the seaside. It’s so nice to get out and breathe in some fresh air when your brain is all anxious and unhappy. Alas, stupid cold. I’m going to have to waste this weekend. :(

Colors

Moorland+Neolithic Stone Circle
Last weekend was a busy one: I was determined to make the most of good weather on Saturday, so I went for a walk on a nearby moor. It was tough going at first as I climbed up onto the moor, and I wondered if I would cope with the rest of the walk, but thankfully once up on the moors it was flat and fairly easy going. I saw a stone circle, some grouse, and various other (mostly unknown) birds. I went out quite late in the afternoon, which made for a very atmospheric walk. At one point it was just me, walking through the moorlands alone, the sun low, bathing everything in soft, yellowish light, everything quiet apart from the rustle of the wind through the heather, and the occasional chatter of a grouse or burst of song from a skylark. I walked slowly then, enjoying the warmth and the peace and the fresh air. I really needed it. I tried to hold onto that feeling of peace and contentedness as long as I could once I was off the moors and on the bus home and throughout the week, but it somehow escaped me as the week dragged on.

At the opera.
Anyway, back to that weekend. The next day I went out to the opera, which was fantastic, although I somehow thought wearing sky high heels was a good idea, which was not fantastic. Ouch. I went to see “Salome” and I loved how dark it was. That, and it was a full orchestral staging which was just epic, really. It’s funny, I find opera annoying to listen to, but I just love to watch it. It’s so dramatic and almost over the top, but in a good way.

It was a good weekend all in all, but a little tiring. So this weekend I did nothing. I nested at home – doing chores, giving some TLC to plants and fish, lazing around idly watching YouTube videos. It was nice.

Spring is finally here! It’s wonderful seeing so much color in the world – cherry blossoms lined up on avenues, patches of daffodils below said cherry trees, city and town plantings, fields full of flowering rape seed…. That, and there’s lambs in the field and they are the cutest. :3

I’m still commuting to another office for work, which involves a much longer commute. I switched country roads for dual carriageway which is much easier and smoother to drive on, but it’s still very long. It leaves me feeling tired but also, strangely, a bit restless, as it’s also rather boring. I feel proud of myself for managing it (as I’m such a new driver) but at the same time not so proud for not managing it very well- it’s a struggle to be on time. It’s a bit different in many ways and I’m enjoying it, sure, but it’s not without its challenges.

“It’s so painful, it’s so joyous, it’s so difficult, I’m yearning…”

I arrived back into the UK yesterday after two and a half weeks back home in Cape Town, South Africa. Where I was born, partially raised, and where most of my relatives are. It’s been a weird two weeks, there have been awkward moments, but also amazing moments, and it feels like I was just begining to settle into it all when I had to leave again.

It had been about seven years since I’d last been back. It’s a very long time and a lot has changed in that time. Two and a half weeks hardly feels enough to make up for it. (Though it is better than nothing, of course.)

In many ways, I have made peace with my dual nationality. Too South African to be British, but too British to be South African. I am South African/Scottish but I sound neither, and I can joke about that now. When we first immigrated to the UK I had no idea what was going on, I thought it was just a big fun holiday and everything would go back to how it was. Realising that it was not any such thing, that I would have to stay in a place where no one liked me and nothing felt familiar was pretty awful. I wanted to go home. For years I was determined that I would go back. I had no appreciation for adult concerns – finance, healthcare, social security. I was lonely and sad and I didn’t fit in and I just wanted to go home. Home became something magical to me, took on a brighter tinge. I wanted to escape back to what I had, which of course was wonderful and perfect. As I grew older I had to face reality. And now, coming back to South Africa and seeing the lives of my family there, I can appreciate reality even more. It was a good thing my parents did for me, to take me to the UK. Free healthcare and schooling and benefits are nothing to scoff at. No power cuts or water restrictions too. I have an independence that maybe I wouldn’t have, and I have a very good job, a very good home. I know these things. I was grieving for a long time, angry and sad and resentful, for the loss of what I could have been and the life I could have led, whatever that would be. I wondered how I’d look, if my personality would be more extroverted. I’d try to picture it, even though it’s impossible. But I’ve finally come through to the other side of my grief. The last stage is acceptance, right?

I have accepted the immigration and its benefits. and in many ways it’s freeing. It was brilliant going home with that acceptance. I could struggle to understand people in my home country and laugh it off. I could speak without feeling ashamed of my accent. I could embrace my otherness, and be a tourist in my home country, and not let it get to me. I surprised myself with just how well I did at not caring about it all. That was good. That helped a lot.

And I tried to enjoy being with my family, and reconnect with them, without all the miles and years between us getting in the way. Tried to have the same easy going acceptance of what is, is. That was a lot harder.

There is a distance, and it hurts. And it’s not just that, it’s hard to be with someone on borrowed time, hard to slip back into their lives and then out again. Especially as my grandparents grow older I am left sitting there wondering – is this the last time? There is a pressure to have everything just so, because of the limited time, and it ends up feeling a little forced and sometimes, yes, it was awkward. Wearing a mask and putting on your best behaviour. It shouldn’t be that way, really. We don’t really know each other, but yet they are family, and I love them, and I know they love me, despite all the thousands of miles between us, and I can’t bare the thought of losing them. I lost two of my grandparents in the last seven years, without being able to say goodbye, and I’m not sure I could do that again.

Even as practically I can appreciate my privileges and all that I have, nothing can take away the pain of having to say goodbye to your grandmother at the airport, not knowing if it’s the last time you will ever see her. It just hurts. It’s a stone embedded in my heart, a wound that won’t heal or allow itself to be erased. It’s home, and that’s just the way it is, and although I have boxed up my grief and loss and tucked it away, it’s still there.

I want to go back, I don’t want to go back, I should go back, I shouldn’t go back, I can go back, I can’t go back.

It feels like I’ve just been woken up from the most beautiful dream.

My head: it’s ok. Time to get on with reality.

My heart: I want to slip back into that dream.

(Home is still something slightly magical, something otherly to me. I said to my coworker before I left that it, the holiday, won’t feel real until I see Table Mountain appear out the plane window as we circle to land. But I lied. It never felt real. There was so much that was so wonderful, and South Africa is just too beautiful for words. I love my home and I hope I can go back again, just have this at least once more…)

(Why does it have to be so expensive and time consuming to go home? It’s so frustrating.)

Post Title: Plastic Tree - Andro Metamorphose

“These contradictory feelings…subdued, I stand here all by myself. Time passes quickly…”

This week has been a pretty stressful one. My fridge started playing up last weekend and by Tuesday, had given up the ghost entirely. I came home late on Tuesday evening to find the fridge silent, water on the floor and my food defrosting. Cue panic. Thankfully my landlord has been amazing in getting it all sorted out and quickly, but it was still awful chucking out bag after bag of uneaten, inedible, soggy food. It was also kind of gross. It hadn’t started rotting, thankfully, but that kind of smell was starting to set in as I cleared the last of it Thursday morning before work.

It was not a good time for it. I’m going on holiday very soon and I did not need to be dealing with clearing out and cleaning my fridge, I have so much else to do. I am thankful it didn’t fail whilst I was on holiday but I’d rather it would not fail at all.

My thoughts on my holiday have been changing a lot these past few months – excitement, nervousness, maybe even a tiny bit of dread, guilt for feeling that, more nervousness, and now pure stress. I have such a long to do list. I honestly thought I had so much more time than I ultimately did. I did not expect it to come round so quickly. I have not yet come to terms with the fact that I am going home in less than a week, and before that, less than a month, two months. It seemed so far off. I am not prepared in all the ways.

The house is kind of messy and unorganised, I am not packed, I only just finished off my laundry today and bought my travel insurance today too. I haven’t yet gone to the doctor to sort out my travel sickness meds and it’s looking increasingly likely I won’t be able too (good job, self) I wanted to get my hair cut, didn’t happen, though I did manage to get my brows waxed at least. I think I have mostly bought everything I need, apart from a couple of items, but of course it’s too late now. One item is stuck in the post and I’m very worried it won’t come before I leave and what if the postman can’t fit it through my letterbox? I am worried about all the food rotting away in my black bin outside, which won’t be collected for three weeks (thankfully it’s still winter…) I am worried about coping with the hot weather in Cape Town, and with the water restrictions happening over there right now. I am nervous about meeting my family again for the first time in years, and staying with them (especially with my odd eating habits ) I am feeling self conscious – about my weight, about my acne and my eczema, just how I look in general. When you meet someone again in a long while you want to look fabulous. I don’t feel particularly fabulous. Just tired and a little run down. That, and I am dreading any questions about the vertical scars on my wrists. I do not want to talk about those. And it’s not like I can hide them in the heat (It’s going to be hard enough hiding the scars on my thighs. I’ve got maxi dresses and loose cotton jumpsuits so I’m hoping I will not have to resort to shorts. Please no. Between my scars and my cellulite I just cannot.)

It’s so hard to focus on work right now, all I can think of is I am going home. I am being really obnoxious and talking about it at every opportunity I get, like a child counting down to their birthday. I just, I can’t believe next week I will be going home. I wonder how much it has changed? I wonder how my family are, and if we will get on? I wonder if I will enjoy it? I hope I enjoy it. I hope I don’t embarrass myself or my parents in front of my family. I feel like, this is either going to be amazing or a complete disaster. I feel that either way this is going to change everything, but that placing that kind of gravity to it is only setting myself up for disappointment.

Either way, it seems to really be happening. Ready or not, I’m going home.

Post Title: Dir en Grey - Garden

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