I'd rather be unhappy, thanks. (Wait, what?!)

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“I have been through terrible things in my life, some of which actually happened.” - Mark Twain

I am terrified of happiness. This is a recent realisation. I am most at peace when things are broken and need fixing. Because I am a fixer - I love making the tea, stroking the hair, fretting over the bugs in my code, straightening pillows, giving advice. I am my mother. Except for the coding part. She’d hate that.

A few days ago, I woke up very early. I was immediately happy, which made me immediately anxious. Something’s got to be wrong, right? It’s not normal, waking up feeling utterly at peace; warm, safe and loved. It’s not right, rolling over and taking in the face of this other person who has yet to cause more than slight frustration.

This is my problem. My reality has not been full health - I’ve always contended with some physical ailment. My reality has not been stable relationships - I’m a self-confessed fire-starter. I’ve sabotaged relationships and other positive events because I can. If things are okay (before this, okay was the bar. I never set it higher than that) I’d pick, prod and probe to see if I could break it. Broken is normal. And it makes me feel normal.

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Because hiding is a lot easier than failing.

On the previously mentioned morning, I took a minute to think about my aversion to being happy. I listed the reasons why I was feeling so good (most of them had to do with the gorgeous face on the opposite pillow). Then I consciously listed the ways I could destroy these strong, exquisite emotions and the events surrounding and perpetuating them. Consciously, because in the past I would either deny that my sadness* was my fault and blame somebody, anybody else, or justify my actions as being a protective* mechanism.

(the by-product of self-inflicted sabotage*)

(not complete bullshit, but bullshit nonetheless*)

Yup, let me tell you, that shit doesn't fly.

So recently, I’ve started thinking about what I would usually do to get back to unhappy and comfortable, and then I flat-out refuse to do those things.

There have to be other people around who deal with issue too (I’m not crazy!), so this is the advice part because, you know, fixer.

1. Consciously make the decision to be happy. Because you’re worth it. Lolsies! Kidding. But seriously, everyone needs to understand that disease, malady, pain, suffering - these things are not the normality. Don’t keep accepting pain just because you’ve grown used to having it around.
2. Keep breathing. Let me tell you something. If you have conditioned your mind and heart to pain (whether it’s in your family relationships, job, romantic relationship, friendships, etc.) being happy all of a sudden… It’ll scare the shit out of you. The anxiety is normal. Breathe, allow it to pass and carry on. It gets easier every day.
3. Give/receive affection. As much as you can! Bursts of oxytocin=less anxiety=MOAR HAPPY.
4. Stay present. I’m a serious worrier. And the future is one thing I worry about ALL THE DAMN TIME. Happiness is a daily decision - make it daily, practise it daily, stick to it daily. Think about it on the daily. Sometimes it’s okay to let tomorrow handle itself.

Here, have another cat.

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Ciao!

Dear Kerry

A lot of people assume that I’m a pretty social person. This is true, to an extent. But as I’ve grown older (listen to me, I sound like a granny sipping a cup of Earl Grey as I type this post) I’ve realised that friendship, like chocolate or perfume,  is not about quantity, but quality. 

This month I am going to try to write five letters, one of them for each of my closest friends. Lindsay, Kerry, Mark, Diana and Christopher. These people make up the foundations of my life.
So why put it out there for everyone to see? Because other people need to know that these kinds of friendships still exist, and that they are deserving of such friendship. So, without further ado, Ms. Kerry, you are first. 

Kerry and I met during our first year at the University of Cape Town. We hit it off pretty much immediately, I kept her calm and she reminded me not to be so serious. Then we parted ways when we graduated. We found one another again when Kerry started lecturing at the very same college as me. It was during that time that we got really close. 

Kerry has a beautiful son and a darling cuddly caveman of a boyfriend, O'Neil.

Dear Kerry,

I don’t really recall the first time we met. The memories are hazy, clouded with cigarette smoke, laughter and a general sense of shyness and disquiet. I remember wanting you to like me so badly because you were one of the cool kids at varsity, and I was on the periphery. I looked forward to seeing you everyday. We developed an easy, lacksadaisical friendship. It’s not as if we’d call each other at four in the morning to chat about the days events or anything. But I knew that when I’d get to the steps of that unforgiving campus, yours was one of the first faces I wanted to see.

Please excuse the roughness of this post. I kind of needed to get this out and I wasn’t sure that you’d be happy with me mentioning you on my blog. So I’m typing fast to drown out the guilt of doing it anyway.

Our friendship really ignited after I saw you again after quite a long time apart. During that time you’d already given birth to Tallen and I remembered thinking “Shit, I didn’t get to see her pregnant”. Oh well. :(

You pitched up at the place where I’d already started working. I felt it was kismet. I needed a friend at the time. Then I got kicked out at home for being a very naughty girl ( that’s for another post) and landed on your doorstep at I don’t know what time of the night. With black bags and clothes stuffed roughly into any hold-all I could find. O’Neil just took one look at my stuff and took it all inside while we sat on the stoep, smoked and drank strong, rapid cooling tea while I cried and cried.

I was with you in your home for a long, long time. I was broken, and you knew that, but you never questioned me or emphasised the fact. It took a long time, but I came around. I healed in your home. What is this letter about really? Not even I know. It’s a thank you. A small one that could never really cover the immensity of what you did for me. Both you and O’Neil. You are an incredible friend, and I wanted to basically shout it from the rooftops. Of the internet.

Yours,
Lauren.

Not another relationship advice post.

It's been a while, and I apologise for the silence. Honestly, my idea well ran dry for a little bit. But here I am again, ready to wow anybody, somebody with my senseless ramblings. Today's topic is a little contentious. I hate it when people think they have the right to give anyone relationship advice. What makes you the sage of all things committed and smushy? So I'm going to try and give you a few pearls of wisdom from the sometimes questionable, often lonely and recently delightful relationship experiences I've had. The difference between what I'm offering and what some other people might is that I'm laying it on the table, not shoving it down your throat. Enjoy!

1: These things tend to happen naturally. Do not even begin to try to force it. When you do, you'll often find the male backing up to the nearest available exit, sweating, panting, pure fear emanating from his eyes. You'll only push him away. If, after a week or two, he hasn't asked you out and you're not looking for a fling, just let him know that you're not for hire. He doesn't have to put a ring on it, but a show of commitment (like the label, 'girlfriend', for example) may be nice. IF that's what you want. These days, the correct etiquette would be to change your relationship status on Facebook. But yeah, in the real world, that's not so important.

He completes me. Serious. 

2: Do things together. Sitting at home, cuddling, watching movies and spending all day in bed. Those are some of the ways I enjoy spending time with my boyfriend. But in order to keep the flame burning or whatever, it's important to do some other, more exciting activities together. My besties (a couple) have taken up the same hobby- learning how to play the guitar. Watching them struggle with chords, buy musical paraphernalia together and encourage each other through the blisters has shown me that a mutual hobby is a fun and healthy way to bond (other than spending all day in the sack. Sleeping. Of course.)

3: Make out. Yes, sex is awesome, wonderful, incredible, all the above. But making out has not been given the kudos it deserves. And the first kiss. Well, that is most important of all. Take it very slowly. Tongue is important, but leave it out for a bit til things start to hot up a bit. A girl likes to feel as if she is being lowered gently into a tub of warm water, not shoved roughly into a washing machine set to high speed. Also, making out has been scientifically proven to be very good for your health, emotional well-being and is obviously a great bonding mechanism. I dare you. Go home and make out with your significant other for at least 15 minutes. You will NOT regret trying out this little piece of advice.

Keep your eyes peeled for more of the same pretty soon.

Much Love,

Ms D. 

Mama knows best Part 2:

A few more nuggets from the mind and experiences of my Mama, the goddess.

4: Learn to cook one complicated dish and one complicated dessert. That way, when people ask you to bring a dish to dinner you'll have them cooing, sighing and salivating at your culinary skill. The fact that normally you nuke chicken in the mike, in favour of slow roasting it in the oven, occasionally basting it with a jus simmered down from organic plums, can stay your secret.

I learnt the recipe for my complicated dish when I was just nine years old. I remember standing on a bench so that I could reach the countertop, my hands and wrists covered in aromatic spices as I rubbed and massaged marinade into lamb pieces for all I was worth. The dish is called akhni. It's still my favourite meal. Basmati rice, potatoes, lamb and spices, cooked together slowly in a massive pot for two hours. Then Mama wrapped the pot in a blanket and placed it in the corner of a dark room (“The food's sleeping, shhh...”) for the spices to develop. Once Mama unwrapped the pot and  lifted the lid, she stared down at the contents (willing some flaw to appear, I think), looked at me through clouds of fragrant steam, and said very seriously: “Now, you can get married.”

I looked straight back and said, just as seriously, “Boys are disgusting.”

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5: Wear an expensive perfume. I've cheated on this one. I'm not sure there's a student in existence who would buy themselves a bottle of Chanel No5 in favour of booze, cheap campus food, textbooks and cigarettes (okay, forget the textbooks). I stole my mother's Bvlgari perfume instead. Then my granddad bought me a bottle of Versace on a trip to Mecca, and I finally understood Mama's reasoning. Perfume smells good, sure, but scent carries with it memories so powerful that you could be anywhere, catch a whiff of familiarity (vanilla, in my case), and be transported somewhere else completely. 


Since I've started earning, my twice-yearly gift 'from me to me' is an unforgettable scent.“A man will remember you by the perfume you wear. Make sure it's exquisite. That way, every time he gets close to you, he won't be able to forget that you are, too.”

6: Indulge yourself, even if it's in little ways. When Mama wanted to eat chocolate, she ate it. Much to her doctor's chagrin. Mama has diabetes but still enjoys the good things in life, in small, simple ways. Cake, chocolate, buns, hot bread and real butter, brewed coffee... I indulge myself as an adult because I was indulged as a child.”Life's hard enough as it is, Lauren. Why should you deprive yourself?” Mama winks at me and selects another chocolate from the Milk Tray. “And if you can't have what you want, get the lipstick.”

Mama knows best.

I worship my grandmother. She is the strongest woman I know. Her son, my father, died at the tender age of 23. 13 years later, Mama still gets sniffly and sentimental. She's held onto frayed pieces of his clothing, knick knacks and L.Ps of his favourite musicians. But she has never allowed the grief to consume her, which I think is something I would do. Mama has survived an incredibly messy divorce, which didn't happen when she was in her 40's, as most people would think. Oh no. She stood in the headquarters of the MJC (Muslim Judicial Council) and demanded a fasaq (a divorce at the woman's request) from my abusive grandfather at the age of 65.

These instances are just two drops in a teapot of her hardships, but when I look at her, I can't see evidence of the pain on her serene face. When I've been at my wit's end at work, raging because some idiotic boy hurt me (my entire teenage-hood), crying because my dad wouldn't let me go out (again), or just in the mood for tea and talking, she has imparted nuggets of wisdom into my stubborn and rebellious mind that have stayed with me. And today, I'd like to share them with you.

1: Buy a loaf of bread with your first paycheck.

At 17, I got my first job as a video store assistant. Needless to say, I plotted and planned the numerous ways I would be spending my hard-earned dosh. I walked into my mama's living room one day, proudly displaying my first paycheck, she looked at me sternly and said, “Cash that cheque and buy a loaf of bread.” Um, excuse me? Why one earth would I do that? “It's about gratitude, Lauren. Be grateful for what you have now. That loaf of bread is a symbol of what you have accomplished. One day, it may be a house, or a car. But for now, it's a loaf of bread.”

2: As a woman, red lipstick is the greatest weapon you will ever own. Defensive and offensive.

Mama taught me the secrets of applying makeup at a very young age, to my mother's dismay. I would come home slathered in eye-shadow, lipstick and foundation because I had raided Mama's makeup drawer yet AGAIN. When I hit puberty (which was not pretty) Mama whispered a secret to me that I use to this day. If you have a bad hair day, wear red lipstick. If you need to feel powerful, wear red lipstick. If a man has scorned you, make sure he sees you WEARING RED LIPSTICK. “For some reason,” she said, pulling a tube of Revlon's 'Love that Red' out of her purse “when I put this on, people look past the pain in my eyes and focus on the shade decorating my smile. Anyway, nothing snags a man like a woman sporting red lips.” Brazen woman.

3: When something you can't control has hurt, upset or angered you, BAKE.

I was 16. His name was Louis. A blonde, adorable snake. I cried for an hour with my head in Mama's lap. Once the storm had passed, she handed me an apron and a 5 kilogram bag of flour and said, “ Let's make something delicious. We'll bake bread.” We spent the rest of that night and most of the next morning turning out bread, cakes, cupcakes and biscuits.

“ You want to hurt the person who hurt you, but you must understand that anger is a double edged sword. In hurting him, you will only hurt yourself. Dough doesn't feel pain. Mix it, knead it, throw it onto the floor if you have to. Bake until you've stopped crying.”

I hope you've enjoyed these three nuggets of wisdom. There'll be more to come in future posts. Ciao. 

Death becomes me.

I smile a lot. I'm a pretty happy person. That's what most people think, and I'd like to keep it that way. Its not that I'm never happy. Of course I am - sometimes. A lot of the time. But I am also a human being. An overly- anxious human being. I mean, I worry about everything, all of the time. Mostly, I worry about other people. My work, money and what I'm going to make for supper. I worry about whether my cat has managed to escape and fall into the jaws of the pit bull next door. Again.

I worry about waking up in the morning (or rather, not waking up). A weird one, I know. Or it would be, if I hadn't already come close to dying a few times. I know what it feels like (extremely cold and prickly), tastes like (rusting metal), smells like (sweat and piss). But I've refused to allow it to happen because I've had more important things to take care of. Hold on for a second Death, I have to pay the rent tomorrow. I need to get some groceries. I have washing to do. I have to lay awake and watch Chris's eyes flutter in his sleep.

I have epilepsy. I used to seizure more often than I do now. As a bonus, when I do seizure now, it's a lot more intense. My boyfriend (the aforementioned Chris) says the most frightening part for him is watching the blood drain from my face, turning my lips blue. Yeah, sounds pretty damn scary. The scariest part for me is waking up and not being able to remember a damn thing. And I don't just mean the past few hours. Sometimes I forget the past week. The past month. For someone who needs to be in control of her internal and external environment at all times, losing your memory, even temporarily, is the worst kind of insanity.

I've never told the people I love how scary a seizure is. Losing control of your bodily functions, jerking uncontrollably, making noises that would spur people in the immediate vicinity to call an exorcist. Not fun. When I wake up, I usually want to go right back to sleep again. Or go to work. Or eat, or watch T.V. Something normal, so that my loved ones won't suspect the chilling, entirely morbid thoughts swirling around in my head. Thoughts like- I may never get married, or have babies with Chris's eyes, or see Lindsay and Mark's kids, or watch Diana graduate, or hold my mom again, or have tea with my gran. I may not drink way too much wine with Kerry, or babysit her angel-boy Tallen.

Then I wake up, and a few days later, I realise that I can still do those things. I am grateful. I love my friends. I love my family. I'm not rich, but we eat. I love my job, with all its quirks and difficulties and anxieties and rewards. The reason people seem to think I am happy is because, fuck man, I'm HAPPY. I just have to remind myself from time to time. As should you. You're loved. People love you. If you're reading this, you're breathing. Thank something, whatever it is - God, Buddha, Cthulu, The Flying Spaghetti Monster, that that is the case.