March 17, 2006
An Attempt At Creative Writing (Okay, who am I kidding? It's an attempt at WRITING, never mind trying to get all creative about it.)
Re(d)patriation

I have recently returned to South Africa after almost a decade of living abroad, and since I have family here, I decided to try and become part of the colourful, quilted patchwork of valleys, vineyards, mountainous and sweeping oceanic vistas of the Western Cape. So I came to see if this land would adopt me and allow my vagabond soul to anchor here and find rest.

At first, I was the proverbial prodigal daughter who had returned after a long absence, but after being away for so long, I felt a bit out of sync with the rhythms of sun-drenched South Africa and family life.

And so before the novelty of my homecoming had even begun to wear off, loneliness crept up and enveloped me in its snare like a heavy and unsettling cloak.

I wasn't necessarily bothered by the fact that I was single in a world that suddenly seemed to be teeming with couples. With baggage containing the shards of several shattered relationships trailing in my wake, I was willing to travel emotionally light for a while.

Besides, in attempting to repatriate and reconnect, I had more than enough on my plate to redirect my mind away from my forlorn, tattered heart.

But then…

Shortly after my arrival here in the heart of the South African wine country, I made a rather thrilling acquaintance. Maybe I'm confessing this a bit prematurely, but I would like the world to know that I have been completely swept off my feet.

My family has known him for longer than I have, and I'm afraid that they don't quite share in my adoration. In fact, they have made it clear that they find his presence a bit annoying.

Maybe my former rebellious streak has reappeared in full force after abandoning me in my late teens, because much to my family's dismay, I find him to be a breath of fresh air.

They have warned me of his fickleness; told me that he is notorious for turning on a dime, for blowing hot one minute and cold the next.

I say that he gives me gooseflesh when he does. (Somehow they do not find this amusing.)

They're not even impressed by the fact that he is a rather renowned doctor who is helping me to heal my heart. They still think he is an airhead who talks about nothing.

I surprise them and lead them to believe that they've finally managed to sway my opinion when I answer that they're right, but immediately dash their hopes when I add: "Especially when I consider the sweet nothings he whispers in my ear!"

Alas, some things one just can't explain to one's family.

Like how, whenever I hear him outside, I fling open my bedroom windows, allowing him to slip in and stay the night.

And even if I had wanted to tell them, how could I translate into words how he sometimes gently caresses my skin, without sounding like a love scene from a cheap paperback romance novel? How do I prevent sounding as sappy as a smitten schoolgirl when I describe how he languidly combs his fingers through my hair, leaving me flushed and giving me chills and making me feel reckless, wild and free?

I don't think they'll ever know how he has this disarming way of just sweetly sighing when he looks at me.

Or about the mournful, melancholy melodies he sometimes whistles late at night, when he thinks that I am sleeping.

My mother says he is too petulant and temperamental. She worries about the startling violence with which he slams the doors whenever he gets riled up. She also accepts as fact all those lingering rumours of how he has driven scores of people to insanity.

I don't believe the silly gossip, but like my mom, I'm not particularly fond of his flaring outbursts. I know he isn't destructive at heart, so I really wish he wouldn't slam the doors with such deafening force that they are left rattling and trembling in their hinges.

I also despise the childish way he has of jealously demanding attention by grabbing my writing papers and strewing them about when I'm trying to work.

But no one is perfect, and other than his occasional temper, I really don't have any complaints about him. Besides, in my opinion we have enough in common to make this relationship work.

Like me, he isn't at his best in the mornings, rarely stirring before late morning or noon, and definitely only gaining momentum as the day progresses.

There are days when he just takes off like a whirling dervish. At times like those, he seems utterly boundless: partying until dawn and kicking up dust with the best of them.

I think he is merely energetic and passionate, and therefore often misunderstood.

I wish others wouldn't be so blind to his lighter side. Then they'll see that he is a harmless, if relentless, tease with a wicked sense of humour. I wish they knew how mischievous and playful he gets. How he sometimes sneaks up from behind and like a real devilish flirt, tries to lift up my skirt.

I know that not everyone is immune to his charms. I have seen the visible effect he has on others as well. I know that I'm not the only one who loves him, and that my family isn't the only ones to despise him. It's interesting that I've never encountered anyone familiar with him who is indifferent towards him.

As he has been darting in and out of my days, I have found a solace and peace in his free-spirited presence. He has whipped my blood and stirred up my senses. His contagious vigour has left me breathless, yet he has filled my heart and cleared my head and blown new life into me.

No wonder he's been dubbed the Cape Doctor.

Southeaster wind, whisk me away…

Redsaid | 12:49 AM