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quest

With slight trepidation & a great big,"Why, Nariman? Blogging, really? Do you not have enough to do?" screaming in my head, I DO THIS! Slowly at first, with hesitation, my fingers seeking the keys, not quite sure if this feels right...

Yet compelled, to write & be heard; to connect & to grow, & if all else fails, to know, that even with 50 looming large, I will step forward, I will seek new challenges & along the way, I will laugh at myself & never go quietly about my life.

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Right here, Right now.

The wind whistles & howls, shaking up Cape Town ; waking her weary chidren.

Dazed I wake up for a second time, opening heavy lids to find that Monday had dawned softly. Ribbons of red are slowly beginning to caress the darkness as I stretch out lazy like a cat, lying in the middle of the kingsize bed, my thick winter frame engulfed by fleecy bedding the colour of candy floss.
"Sweet!" I utter out loud to an already empty house as soft light filters in through aluminium blinds making stripes like tattoos on my pale skin.
I should get up, but I am perplexed by the day which stretches ahead of me demanding nothing!
I'm at odds, not used to so much time on my hands, "busy" being my usual setting.

I'm beginning to like this new reality.
The ticking clock by my bedside sets a steady rhythm, as all around me the world is on the go, moving in circles. It's as if the world's forgotten about this one, tiny space. In my cocoon I groggily sit up, twisting m…

Storylines

Furrows deep and pronounced line my brow. I contemplate them,  willing them away, stroking them gently, each stroke meant to iron them out. I am their canvas, they are my storylines.

I seize my ironing, and listen to their tales.
I feel the cold to my bones!

Not the usual Cape Town cold I grew up with in the Southern Suburbs, but an iciness matching any day spent in Tewkesbury more than a decade ago in the UK.  The kind of cold that requires down feather jackets and knee-high fake fur boots.  The kind of cold that leaves sleet on windshields, and soup pots full.
Central heating!Pah! Our homes in Cape Town are ill-equipped for this kinda torture!
I hug my hot water bottle to me like a long lost lover, it's squishy, and pot-bellied and jiggles when I squeeze it. Raising the white mug to my lips, I slurp the almost scalding coffee quickly. My fifth cuppa and it's only 10:42am. Two bars glow bright orange at me. Mikey hogs the heater, and Georgie sits on top of the TV cabinet like a …

Jack of All

My professional life is marred by the ordinary.
By the humdrum thank you ma'am.

It remains puzzling, even in my semi-retirement phase.
I am not someone with an aversion to "success" or money.
I was raised to have a strong work ethic and I tend to show up, and I’m 100% tied-in to my endeavors. I've been at the receiving end of accolades and positive performance appraisals,  and I have over time broadened my scope of learning and my skillset, and I have tried to keep up with the times and technology.

Still...
Always in circles.
Round  & round.
Forward; then back to square 1.
Everywhere, but up.
Lateral moves and Plan B’s.

Hmmm…
Maybe I am a dreamer?
Maybe it’s because I’m the youngest sibling, the other one?
It could be because I’m fickle?
Or easily bored?
Or difficult?
Too demanding? Not demanding enough?
Too nice? Not ruthless in the least.

Yikes, maybe I think too much?
Maybe I should think some more!
Or deeper?
I could go back and make like Freud and delve into…