Step 7: Write about number 5 – free write

This was my second last trip to Joeys – July last year – 2 days before my birthday:

Once again I was at the airport. Watching the emotions of others, feeling their feelings. more than once I’ve wanted to cry because of the overpowering emotions others have in this place.I wonder why I could never cry like that for me? I guess I hardened myself against airport emotion years ago.

But this time was different. Monkey had just called me to tell me he has the job! He was offered the job in Cape Town! O was excited beyond anything I’d ever been before! He was really joining me. This would be my second last visit to him there. I just wanted to get to Joeys so I could celebrate with him!!!

This news was better than any birthday present I could ever have received. Yahay!!! I was so happy I could’ve cried. Yes. Even at the airport. This meant no more long distance. No more telephone calls to a voice on another planet. He was going to be here soon!

As I sit here today, the space inbetween him getting and starting his new job, I sot with excitement building, but also nervous. Nervous at the change in the nature of the relationship. After 3 years of taking each day, each challenge as it comes, this is something new. This is more mature, more grow’d up and deeper than anything I’ve ever known.

Of course I can’t tell him that, he’d run a mile, but then again… he is packing up everything and leaving everyone to be with me.

I have a feeling thorugh, that this won’t be the last of the airport saga. When I was younger it was my and Boetie flying, as I got older it was me flying solo and now Monkey is here. My flying partner. I don’t have to go places, or make decisions alone. Or should I say I no longer want to.

The airport has always been “Leaving on a jet plane, don’t know when I’ll be back again” and what I’ve realised is that no matter where the plane takes me, where I choose to be is my home. And for now. Cape Town is it.

Step 6: Write about number 4 as a monologue

This is step 6 from the writing exercise post below…

This is a moment at the beginning of last year – when I moved down to Cape Town. I flew down, and flew my kitty’s down… I couldn’t stand to have them in a box for the 14 or 15 hour drive… I thought a 2 hour plane ride would be better – at most, they’d be in a box for 5 hours… turned into 7…

The phone rings. The landline. Ugh. Do I really have to get up and answer it?

“Hello? Hi Mom. Yup, I’m all in. Just waiting for my stuff, but that will only get here in a few weeks. Did I tell you what happened at the airport yesterday?  I was soooo upset. You know I flew SAA right? Well, I flew SAA because I didn’t want my flight to be delayed like some of those other airlines always are. I wanted something a bit more erliable because the people who were sending the kittues told me that they flew either BA or SAA, anyways, so my plane lands at the Cape Town airport and I go to see what’s happening with the plane the kittys are on. Kulula. Dammit. Delayed. Double dammit. My lift has arrived. I told them the cats were delayed and asked of they wanted to go home, and I’d come straight back here to come and fetch them. But they were happy to stay, they had no-where to rush off to. We had to wait an hour… so we had some food and has soon as the plane had landed we went to fetch my kitty’s. Jane came up to stairs to the loading doc with me. I could see their boxes, but not their faces. I spoke to the guy at the counter and he pointed them out. I just had to sign some silly forms and then I could fetch my babies. We looked into the boxes. They looked so dejected. My babies. I just wanted to take them out and give them love. But we had to get home soon. So we loaded them in the car, Jane taking the smaller kitty and me picking up fat cat. Ma, they didn’t make a noise. Not a single sound. They were so unhappy. My heart was breaking for them. We got to their new home and we opened their little doors. They didnt’ want to come out. I am so glad that I brought some of my bedding from our previous home. Something that smelt familiar. I picked them both up out of their cages, one by one and put them on the bed. On something that smelt like home. They were so sad. So upset. So stressed.”

Step 5: Write about number 3 as if you were writing a letter (or email)

This is step 5 from the writing exercise post below…

The date: July 2007. My first trip overseas:

Hi All,

I just wanted to let you know that Monkey and I have made it safely into and out of 3 countries, with an unplanned stop in Paris happening on Tuesday.  These last 2 weeks have been fantastic!

Monkey’s dad dropped us off at the airport and we went through loaded with baggage. Check-in went fine, although we were a bit overloaded – could be problematic coming back, but I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

So. We arrived on the Saturday morning in the UK. Gatwick airport. My mom and uncle wwere waiting to greet us (the flight was way to long and boring to tell you about it, I’m sure you understand). They bundled us into their car, man but these parkings here are tiny! I wouldn’t be able to park!.

Off to my aunt and uncle’s place, to our home away from home. It was really nice to see them again! It has been years! My cousins and their girlfriends all came over for a braai…. There was no rest for the wicked!

Monday my mom took as traipsing around London. We saw the changing of the guards (that was so crowded! I guess maybe July’s not the best time to go if you want to see all these things…). We went to Madame Tussauds and took some photos with the wax figures! Robbie Williams is DIVINE! and Monkey just loved Keira Knightley (apparently he even felt her bum! Men!). We went to Hyde Park and sat for a picnic lunch just besides Speakers corner (apparently there are people who just speak from there on certain days of the weeks…. Really interesting to find out these little facts).

We really walked/travelled London broken. The whole day! We saw the London eye, Big Ben, walked back and forth over bridges over the Thames (saw the Harry Potter movie as he flies over the Thames… Wow. To know that we’ve been there… loved it!). We even took a boat trip on the Thames…

(and that is where I ran out of time… it was a timed exercise… and if you are interested, I can talk more about the overseas trip, and put up some pics at a later stage… )

Step 4: Write about number 1 as a diary entry (from yesterday’s writing exercise)

Number 1 was a scene from 1986. I was 6 or 7 years old. One of our first trips travelling to Joburg to go and visit my dad…

What I didn’t mention yesterday is that each “entry” had a 5 minute time limit…

Diary entry:

1986

We flew so early this morning. mommy had to wake us up before the sun was even up. We were super excited. Coming here to see Daddy. Its been forever since we see’d him last. When we got to the plane they said my brother (Boetie) couldn’t sit with me. He had to sit at the back. I was so scared. Boetie is always with me. I don’t know why he couldn’t be next to me. He even asked the tall man next to me in his business suite if they could switch seats. The ugly man said no.

The stewardess ladies were pretending to be nice about it. I didn’t cry though. Boetie says I was very brave. I sat so still for so long. The ladies brought us some breakfast. Eggs, bacon, tomatoes. i don’t like cooked tomatoe, all squishy and yukky. I didn’t eat that and Mommy wasn’t there to moan at me.

Maybe I should have eaten the breakfast though. Because as we landed the plane I was sick all over the tall ugly man. I couldn’t be sick on me. I couldn’t mess up my favourite pink corduroy dungarees. I couldn’t change. I couldn’t see Daddy all smelling of sick. Besides, I would have been in trouble for being sick on me. Then Boetie would have had to clean me up. I can’t help it if the man was sitting there instead of Boetie. Boetie would have helped get me to the toilet. I could have told him I was feeling sick. He could have helped. It serves the tall ugly man right for being so mean.

A writing exercise

In July last year we had to do this writing exercise. And I wanted to share it with you…

Step 1: Draw a timeline.

Step 2: Insert 5 memories.Number them, in “date” order, 1 to 5.

Step 3: Write about number 2 as if you were right there (at the time, explaining the scene)

Step 4: Write about number 1 as a diary entry

Step 5: Write about number 3 as if you were writing a letter (or email)

Step 6: Write about number 4 as a monologue

Step 7: Write about number 5 – free write

This workshop took me into all my trips in and around airports, and each memory is an airport memory. Going somewhere, and leaving someplace else.

I wanted to type these up here, in the order we were given to write:

Number 2: I was about 18 years old ~ moving back to Joburg to move in with Chap 1:

We’re back at the noisy airport. I can feel mom’s anger. I don’t need to look at her to know she’s dissappointed in me. But I know I’m doing what’s right for me. Giving up my dream for his. Isn’t that what you are supposed to do for love? Big Red (my massive red suitcase) sits faithfully at my side as we wait inline at the check in counter.

My mom hasn’t spoken to me all day. I can see that if she does, she’ll just start crying again. I guess I can understand where she’s coming from, but I’m not going to make the same mistakes she did. I want to live my own life.

“Next please”. I hand my suitcase over, the feeling that I’ll never see it again almost overpowering. I put the big brown box that contains my young life on the scale as well. “Too heavy. You have to pay for extra luggage.” “How much?” I ask, “You can go over there to pay, they will tell you,” she says, pointing to the ticket purchase line that’s about 5 times longer than the line we’ve just waited in.

“Come,” my mom says, pulling me towards the queue. “Mom, I can leave this stuff her, I can get it next time I come to visit.” “No. I don’t want your stuff in my house, you must take it all”. Oh shit. I’ve really done it this time. We stand in silence again…

The father figure

I’ve been sitting here for most of the day, wondering what I was going to write about today… I read AmberMoons post on Dead beat Dads and it made me sad. Really sad.

Don’t get me wrong, my dad never abused me, physically or sexually, or, I guess you can even say, emotionally.  As a child I don’t really remember to much about my parents divorce. I was 5 going on 6 when my dad left.

He moved to another town. And up until my brother was 12 years old (and I was 9) we saw him every single holiday… I don’t really remember much about those times… I remember flying to see him, and my brother and I were seated far apart, and the business man besides me refused to exchange seats with my big brother. Little did he (or I at that stage) know that dear sweet little pig tailed me suffered from motion sickness. As we landed, my breakfast ended up all over his smart business suite. I bet that’s the last time he said no to a kid!!

Another memory I have is of my dad giving us walkmans. They were so cool. They were blue. And he made some tapes for us with all old music on. I loved listening to that stuff! Another memory with him is staying up and watching all sorts of movies that were not suitable… gremlins… 10 to midnight (I think that’s what it was called…) but more than 20 years later I still remember that the movie was about a guy who used to murder girls. But he would do it naked all the time so he didn’t leave evidence. He was a serial killer. I can’t say that I had nightmares, (heck, I’m the kid that got nightmares from bettlejuice)… but I’ve never forgotten the movie.

I know that when my brother turned 12, we stopped going so often, because my dad had to pay full fare for him, and that was just a little bit pricey. So we saw my dad once or twice a year. He’d phone maybe once or twice a year. I would of course get so excited. And be let down. He’d say he was going to visit, and never pitch.

I remember one birthday present he gave me was a garfield puzzle. I must have been around 11 years old. I did that puzzle every single night for at least 6 months. I could do it in my sleep. I loved it. And the puzzle was the only thing I had that showed me that my dad loved me.

Years later, after I moved to Joeys to be with him and my brother, and my sister was still much littler than what she is now… and I lived with my dad and brother and she was there every second weekend (my dad had divorced her mom by this time). I was living on 2 or 3 slices of toast on most days, and what ever my friends decided they didn’t want in their lunchbox. I wasn’t really hungry. When I was unhappy I didn’t really eat anyways.

But I remember things like I asked him for some money so that I could go and buy food, and he would tell me he didn’t have any, or he would give me enough to go and buy some more bread, and then that weekend he would take my little sister out to restuarants and movies and things like that. So here I was living on bread, and my sister was having money spent on her without a thought. My dad was paying for horse riding lessons for her and I don’t think I even got pocket money. If it wasn’t for the boyfriend at the time I might have been completely starved.

I knew though that it wasn’t my sister fault, and I rationalised this behaviour by telling myself that he feels bad because he missed out on my brother and I at that age and was making it up with her. My mind is incredible. I can rationalise anything and everything given enough time. It is sometimes a curse… but other times, its what got me by.

When I was in my early twenties and my sister was in high school, I did turn around to my dad and question him about it… and his answer was as I’d figured… and I turned to him and said “But Dad, me and my brother are here now, we’re living here now, you can make it up now by being a part of our lives”. I can’t remember him trying. Not then at any rate.

I’ve also always viewed my father somewhat differently to what my siblings have. Perhaps its because when I was 20 he and his fiance’ cancelled the insurance on my car without telling me and they still took the money I was paying every month – only after I told them that the boyf at the time would be driving it down did they tell me that for the past few months my car hadn’t been insured. In this country, without insurance, its just insane.

Anyways, another time my dad asked me to take out a cellphone contract in my name for my sister because he was black listed, so I did it… and he paid me for about a year… that was 6 years ago… I’ve renewed my sister contract since then, and she knows that I pay for it… and that’s her gift from me every year… but what I’m trying to say, is that when it came to money. He wasn’t the best example… he didn’t always pay what he should.

About 4 years ago the shit hit the fan for him a little. And he had no job, his fiance left him and he needed cash. I couldn’t bring myself to “lend” him money, and I also couldn’t bring myself to lend someone money who refused to help himself. Who refused to do what he could to make ends meet. He was no longer supporting my brother or myself, but he was still supporting my sister.

And, well, a long story short, he let both my brother and sister down in a very big way. And they finally saw the father I did. And I never wanted that for them. I was heart broken for them. Devastated. My brother was unable to pay back money, my sister had to stop doing the things she loved because he could no longer afford the costs involved… she was so angry with him for taking away her horseriding – the only thing that made her feel good about herself, the only thing that made her feel happy… that she could escape to.

And me, I just stood back and watched it happen. I stayed distant – everytime I came into the foreground, my dad would ask me for money… which I couldn’t give or lend. I was happy to cook him meals… but I couldn’t bring myself to hand over cash. I just didn’t want to feel like I was buying his love and attention. Like I had to pay for him to contact me. I just couldn’t do it.

This year has been very strange for me. My dad has always been my dad, and I’d like to think I’ve accepted it along time ago… but for christmas this year he gave me some Crystal cards, and I find myself feeling the same way over these cards like I did over the garfield puzzle all those years ago. He gave me some dream cards for my birthday this year… He’s thinking, paying attention and he almost seems to be trying.

And my little heart smiles at that… But its also scared because it knows that it can go so wrong so quickly. It also knows that, with my brother out of the country, and my sister not being easily available… my dad calls me these days… just to say hi. To see how I am. To see how the siblings are. And a part of me things that the only reason he’s calling is to see how they’re doing… when he would phone all his children (rarely) I would always be the last of the three to be called.

And somedays I blame myself… thinking things like… well, I am the one with my head screwed on straight… or I am not easy to talk to… or … well… I’m sure you get the picture. And other days, I hope he sees me for what I am. His daughter. plain and simple. Always his daughter. A child that just needs some love and attention. A child that needs to know that when she phones, her daddy will be there.

This year has been interesting. He has helped me a lot when I moved down here, the whole famdamily just left Joeys, and the three of us (my dad, sister and me) came to Cape Town. He’s helped me with little things, that only boys can really do… and I’ve actually spent time alone with him. Not me and him and whomever I drag along with me… I just couldn’t see him by myself for years… of course I never really told anyone that they were being a buffer… they all loved my dad and thought he was really kewl… which I guess he is, if you want a friend…

So… my mom has told me time and time again that I need to speak to my father about how I felt… because, with his new attitude… I am hopeful that he is going to be my real dad. That he will start calling, and get used to calling, just to say hi… I have never been ready to tell him anything. And I guess I’m still not… but I am a lot happier at how things stand now.

We talk. He phones. I phone. He visits. I visit. Its still a little strained, and I still have my freaked out a bit moments… but I like to think that things are getting better… that one day, maybe one day, we will be as a true father and daughter are intended to be… and maybe, just maybe I’m setting myself up for a fall… I guess, after 29 years of being put aside… I know that I AM worth it… and I’m hoping that this time he sees it. And I guess, if he doesn’t… then that’s his perogative. And I really shouldn’t take it personally… only, how can I not? when he is my father…

An introduction to the Airport

I’ve spent a lot of my time at the airport. Saying hello, saying goodbye, sometimes not saying anything at all.

Throughout my life I’ve gone between two towns, early on in life I had no choice, but later… later it was my choice, and I continued doing it.

For me, there is no reason to go back to Johannesburg. But for my partner, well, he left everything behind to start up in a new town. His whole family is still there. So of course, we will go back… but this time its not for me… its for someone else.

And this, in a strange way, is a sense of relief for me. I guess its because I don’t HAVE to go. I’ll go because I want to, not because I’m obliged to go. Which is odd… I’ve always felt I’ve had to go back and forth, to visit one parent or the other, or for funerals, mother’s day, special birthdays, weddings etc… I’ve “had” to go (“had” to like that because I felt it was my “duty”).

And now. Now I’m free… obviously I want to go for weddings and children and stuff… but there’s no family to “have” to see… not for me at any rate… we’ll be going to celebrate things… celebrate people… I’m already definitely booked In Jo’burg for May as a bridesmaid… me in a dress… jeepers I really got to love the bride now don’t I??? Anyways….

I wanted to share with you a moment that I wrote about a while ago… a moment I spent at the airport. It was my “home coming” flight… and before I say anymore… here it is:

The intercom announces “flight 1T112 is now open for boarding at gate 12″. I look around and see a few people getting up off their chairs, gathering their belongings and start heading for the gate. Its my flight as well, I should follow their lead, but I hate standing in queues. If I sit for 5 more minutes I can be there in a flash, having my boarding ticket docked in and entering the bus before the last straggler is in the bus.

Why does everyone stand in line, the way I see it, we’ll all get on the plane, no need to rush to the front of the line. Ours seats have been allocated already, whether we’re first or last in line. We’re going to sit where we get to.

I sat watching those around me on the uncomfortably dirty blue airport chairs. They make a nice change though from the floor at the Cape Town airport. There is a group of girls, talking and laughing at each other. I hope they’re not on my flight. I don’t want to laugh right now. I’m leaving my life. The life I’ve spent 12 years making. And in 2 hours it will be over. A new journey will begin. And for now I wish to mourn the passing of my Jo’burg journey.

I know that I haven’t lost the friends that I made there. They will always be a part of my future, there is no doubt about that. But I just want to feel sad that I won’t be seeing them as regularly. My friends. My self made family. My housemates. My life lines.

There’s another lady sitting in front of me. It looks as though she’s been crying. Red puffy eyes, tissues in her hand. She looks like I feel. I also just want to cry. But not in public. oh no. Never in public. Not me. I’ve just said goodbye. And I can’t even allow myself to grieve….