Recently in Re(d)patriation Category

Just returned from a dinner party at my sister's and brother-in-law's and I'm so upset that I'm in tears.

No, not at the family. The dinner was lovely as always, the company was stellar and apart from this one girl whom I had never met before, I am acquainted with everyone else who was there.

I actually like(d?) her. Spent a long time chatting to her because she and her boyfriend were the first guests to arrive and since my sister was still getting ready, I kept her company.

She spent the whole evening talking about herself. I didn't mind, because I thought she was interesting. I'm only mentioning that she was talking about herself because of what happened so entirely out of the blue later on.

Before I get to that, here's something else that has happened to me over these past two weeks (it's related to this story). My little old car almost died last week. The mechanic managed to resurrect it for an incredible amount of money (which, luckily, I was able to afford at the time), but my brother-in-law worried that it was on its last wheels and that I would get stranded somewhere. So he went out and bought me a slightly new(er) car!!! Same make but considerably less vintage than the other one. Got it at a great price, but I've already worked out a plan to pay him back every single cent. AND I'm giving him all the money from the sale of the old car, since he had initially bought that one too and I had never been in a position to pay him back for it.

Anyway, so over the course of the evening, people came up to me and remarked about my "hot new wheels" (it really is, to me! I drove it for the first time on Thursday) and so at some point - and since it's no secret that my brother-in-law paid for it - I said: "Yes, don't I have the BEST brother-in-law?"

So this girl, whom I had been listening to all evening, and who knows nothing about me apart from the fact that I freelance and that I'm 34 years old  - turns back to me when we are alone again and says: "You know, you really ought to be more independent. I mean, at some point they are going to get sick of helping you."

I was so gobsmacked, because: She had just spent the entire evening telling me how she, at 30, was living with her parents again. Who is paying for her to study. Again. (She had attempted the university/studying thing plenty of times before but had never figured out what she wanted to do, so she never bothered to finish anything. And I had just spent the whole evening telling her how interesting that makes her!)

I was honestly so taken aback that I didn't even say anything back to her. So I just... didn't. (Luckily the party moved to the kitchen for coffee right around then, so I started speaking to someone else.) But the more I thought about it, the more upset I became. So much so that later, when I was driving home, I totally burst into tears.

I'm still crying a bit (writing is helping though), but now I'm getting a bit more angry. Now I'm asking myself where she gets off for making such a judgement about me. How DARE she? She had never even laid eyes on me before tonight, and most of our conversation had revolved around her and her life (which I seriously didn't mind! As I've said, I found her fascinating, and hey, since I'm not exactly a poster child for success in life, career or love, I am the last person to judge anyone else), so where exactly did her remarks come from?

Now of course... and I hate this about myself... the self-doubt starts to niggle at me again. That horrid voice starts to whisper. It asks: "Well, if there are no truth to her words, why are you so bothered and hurt by it?"

Well, we all know the answer to that, don't we? We all know that I HAVE relied on my family a lot since returning, tail-between-the-legs, humiliated and with absolutely NOTHING to my name from the States three years ago. But, in my own feeble defence, I've come a long way since those early days. I'm working. I live alone (yes, still in my humble little room, but at least I pay my own rent and I buy my own food and coffee). Yes, measured against other people my age, I know I fall WAY short in terms of possessions, savings, etc. But then again, what DOES constitute success exactly? Who determines it? Isn't the fact that I'm doing a job that I absolutely love and adore enough? That I'm living my passion? That I'm truly content to be by myself? That I've made strides to cultivate this independence?

Yes, bastard voice in my head. A few years ago I definitely was NOT independent. But dammit, now I am. Yes, my family still helps me an unspeakable amount, but it's considerably less than it was when I first returned home.

But still, I'm so, so, so hurt by her stupid remarks. And now the doubt is creeping in that I'm still not enough of anything and that I will never, ever be. 

She totally got to me.

After hearing the vague cheering (and not being able to make out whether it was cheers or jeers) through the movie I was watching, I'm delighted to tell you that we won't be getting any sleep in these parts tonight.

That's right. We won!!!

Final score: England 6, South Africa 15.

I'm lucky enough to be in Cape Town at the moment (usually my stomping grounds are a bit further inland, in Stellenbosch), where the excitement in the lead-up to the Rugby World Cup (our Springbok team will be playing against England) has officially reached fever pitch.

The sun has just set on a lovely summer's day, and not even the dark, chilly fog rolling in across the sea is doing much to dampen spirits around here.

From the celebratory noises - shrill car hooters piercing the air, people blowing on vuvuzelas (for the non-South Africans among you, a vuvuzela is a metre-long, brightly coloured plastic air horn that produces a noise not unlike an elephant's trumpeting when blown on it, and very popular with South Africans showing support at sporting events), people cheering and singing - one would swear that the match has already been won. Not even New Year's Eve inspires THIS much excitement in South Africa! It is almost palpable enough for a person like me who is (and admitting this on tonight of all nights will be akin to blasphemy, I'm sure) rather indifferent to the game to also be swept up in the enthusiasm.

This neighbourhood is packed with foreign tourists, and they have been leaning over their balconies and watching the madness going on in the street and on the stretch of beach visible from here with good-natured smiles. The match kicks off in a few hours' time in Paris, and if there is a favourable outcome, I predict that we won't be able to get any sleep tonight. I wonder if the tourists will still be so understanding then? (I'll feel especially sorry for the British tourists... NOT!)

So how's YOUR weekend going?

Late this afternoon, I went to a shopping mall with my mom, my aunt and my sister.

Unlike most girls, I loathe shopping malls. But that's another story for another day.

On the way there, we drove on the three-lane highway, passing many subdivisions filled with identical houses. We also passed many advertising billboards, a big Toys "R" Us, a KFC, and a McDonald's.

At the mall, I wandered past a Nine West, a big local clothing store advertising that they're now selling clothes from the Gap, a Claire's and a Guess store.

But I almost wept from happiness when I discovered that this place* had just opened at the mall a month ago, and that they are the very first one in South Africa.

I immediately ran up to the shop, shrieking with delight. It was only once I had flung my entire body across the display counter, hugging it, that I overheard the manager telling one of the very stunned looking staff members: "She must be American. Only the American tourists have been reacting that way."

Now I only need a Starbucks.

Then again, a Green Card and a plane ticket back to D.C. won't hurt too badly either!

*What, surely you didn't think that I had gained weight in the States through sheer osmosis, did you?

Even though YOU probably don't know, I can assure you that all of my phantom readers are aware of my addiction to and subsequent elaborate collection of how-to books.

These books have followed me all the way back from the United States to Stellenbosch. Then from Stellies to the town of By George! And now that I have my own place (read: room), they are back in Stellenbosch with me.

The boxes containing my beloved how-to tomes arrived a bit after me. And since my has-been but ergonomically and economically friendly executive chair - the only piece of furniture I actually own - is devouring a lot of space in the room, it will take some planning to get a bookshelf in there.

So until then, the boxes and boxes of books have been carefully and lovingly stacked in the closet.

And now I'm wondering: Does that make me a closet intellectual?

Okay, okay... so Monday's come and gone.

In my own defence, I had actually meant NEXT Monday. So I'm going to do something frightfully out of character and reveal my news early.

Okay, honestly? I just wanted you all to hold your breaths long enough so that you could get permanent brain damage, because no one in their RIGHT minds will read this blog, and I really want readers.

And now for the news...

"Grainy," because all these pics were taken with my cell phone. Let's pretend it was done on purpose, for artistic effect, shall we?

So, if a picture really IS worth a thousand words, then prepare to settle in for a hefty epic.

By the way, most of the pics you're about to see were taken around the same time as my one and only mug shot.

Below is the view (or rather, a vague idea of the view, because it's really much more impressive in real life) from my bedroom here at my mom's house. That mountain range is known as the Outeniqua, which is a Khoisan word meaning either "they who bear honey" or "place of honey." (At least all the translators were sweet enough to agree that honey was somehow involved.)

The bamboo wind chimes outside my mom's art studio provides a restful vibe. (Or maybe it's my recently upped dose of antidepressants?) Very Zen though, yes?

And remember that book gig I had in April? Well, these were my trusty assistants.

Popping into the office to take my coffee orders.

My other assistant emulating me on the job.

The absolutely perfect and very generous welcome home present I received from my brother-in-law. A book for every year that I was gone, and one extra for pain and suffering. (He didn't specify whose pain and suffering.) Had I known I would be rewarded for every year away, I would have stuck it out for at least another decade!

Just some of what my mom gets up to in her art studio.

And now I've officially pushed the limits on my daily allotted data. (I've worked out a strict "data diet" in order not to go over my cap. (And y'all KNOW how I feel about dieting! Let's just say, no wonder it contains the word "die." Suddenly all I want to do is eat all the Gigabytes my little laptop and my internet connection can possibly generate!)

Oh, these tiny bytes hurt the deepest! Only 30 days to go before I get a new share.

Suddenly I LOATHE months with 31 days...

Patience is an annoying, torturous, gratification-delaying, highly overrated virtue.

But patience DOES pay off... Eventually.

After another three month "visit" (sheesh, didn't ANYONE pay attention and get the hint when I went to the States for a quick jaunt and ended up staying there for NINE YEARS?) on my bro-in-law and sister's farm in Stellenbosch, I returned to my mom's house in the wild, hip, happening city of By George! (Located about four hours east of Cape Town.)

When I left here three months ago, I had no laptop, no job and the internet situation was DIRE (otherwise spelled like this: D-I-A-L-U-P.)

I returned with a freelance internet writing/editing job, a laptop (yes!) AND a high speed (yes, really, even by international standards) wireless internet connection.

The laptop virtually dropped from the sky and into my lap (which, come to think of it, is a rather excellent place for a laptop to land). It's beautiful, if a tad vintage and temperamental, but a recent expert opinion has revealed that, with careful handling, it ought to see me through for a while longer.

It contains a DVD-writer (so we're happy to report that at least one true writer is associated with the laptop!).

The data usage on the wireless connection is also capped (only if you have MEGA bucks and/or live in a large metropolis can you get uncapped internet in South Africa, but their twisted definition of "uncapped" and an "all you can eat broadband!" buffet still means you are allotted only 10 Gigs to send and receive data. Scary, isn't it?), but at least I don't have to pay per minute anymore and land into this kind of trouble!

So I'm hereby the proud owner of 500 measly Megabytes per month. Yes, per MONTH, folks. That was the amount I used up in like three seconds back in the civilised world.

But even though my wireless data card has turned out to be a greedy little sucker, already devouring up scary amounts of precious megabytes from my account limit (and I've only had it since Tuesday) despite the fact that I'm not streaming anything, or downloading anything (other than opening webpages) it's still fantastic because I don't have to use THEM.

So goodbye streaming radio and video!

And fare thee well, beloved music downloads!

But hello again beloved internet and blog! Brace yerselves, 'cause I'm back.

It’s been four months since the demise of my American Dream, and now that I’m back here in my native land, in this geographically far-flung outpost, I’ve reached a few conclusions about some things. Like about what I miss about the United States:

Some of the people I knew there.

Starbucks!

ALL the dogs I knew there.

Affordable books, CDs, electronics, travel, etc.

The Salvation Army store where I bought second-hand hard covers for A QUARTER.

Starbucksstarbucksstarbucksstarbucksstarbucks...

Inexpensive, super fast and UNCAPPED (as it should be, by human right) broadband internet.

STARBUCKS!

Reliable, fast, safe public transit in places like D.C., Boston, New York City, Portland, Oregon and San Fran where people really do not need to drive.

S*T*A*R*B*U*C*K*S!

Free local calls, which means hours on dial-up internet (if one really have to) without worrying about the phone bill.

Believe it or not, but Network TV. Here we have to pay for the channels that broadcast the same type of shows that one gets for free on American Network TV. Some things do make it onto our free channels, but overall the pickings are rather slim. NOT that I’m addicted to the telly or anything, no way. Oh, and at least Oprah and Dr. Phil are still on the free channels, even though the shows are months old by the time they get here.

Good ol’e garbage disposals. Sure, I may not have cooked in the States, but man, did I have fun trying to see what can/can’t go down the garbage disposal!!!

Heat inside the houses, ‘cause here in South Africa, houses are built mostly for our long hot summers without much thought left for the winters, which seem to be getting increasingly longer and chillier. Just a few weeks ago, the South African Weather Service announced with what seemed to me way too much glee, that after several years of milder than usual winters (for which I wasn’t here), South Africa is in for years of old-fashioned, ice-cold winters. Of course it’s happening now that I’m back! That’s just so TYPICAL of my bleedin’ luck.

I miss how every state seems like a different country, complete with the residents speaking in different accents and possessing different idiosyncrasies.

The general belief and confidence among the American people that nothing is impossible and that anyone can become anything they want to be.

Free coffee in the grocery store while you shop.

Free coffee refills.

Great live music in the most unlikely places.

I miss having people hanging onto my every word simply because of my accent.

Radio stations devoted solely to jazz.

And just in case you didn’t hear me before: S...T...A...R...B...U...C...K...S!

Things I do NOT miss about the States.

Some of the people I knew there.

Bush.

Snow, sleet, ice and brutally cold winters that never ever seem to end.

Daylight Saving Time. Sure, the extended daylight hours are lovely in summer, but I used to hate that they changed the clocks back again in the fall, causing it to go dark before 5 in the afternoons.

Having to deal with the double combo of US Immigration and my Immigration Liar and feeling that my whole life depended on them. I still can’t decide which of the two was worse to deal with. I’ve since reached the conclusion that I’d rather take on Satan himself with my bare hands than having to go through that pain and anguish again.

Feeling cut off from the world because unless you really make an effort to search for news on the internet or have access to BBC, there generally really isn’t much attention given to what’s going on in the rest of the world by the American media, which I think is in large part to blame for why some Americans seem rather ignorant to outsiders.

I can’t help but notice that all three of you have been falling over yourselves to find out why I have been so quiet. I’m really touched to know that people (even phantom ones) care so much about my well-being and about whether I’m still alive or not.

WHADOYOUMEAN it’s nothing unusual for my lazy self to not update this blog for weeks, even months, at a time which is why you weren’t worried?

Oh, right... Never mind then.

Well, just so you know. For once I DO have a valid reason for my silence. Well, at least slightly more valid than watching too many Dr. Phil and Oprah episodes back-to-back, which used to be my usual excuse back in the States.

Ah, those WERE the days... but before we get side-tracked completely and this bit of news becomes entirely anti-climactic:

I have been quiet lately because I... brace yerselves... have.............