And life goes on

It’s the end of the first term. After an eleven-week period, most of which was fraught with strange, frustrating and deeply disappointing dynamics, today could not come soon enough.

I came home, played my guitar for a bit, then lay down on the couch, and fell fast asleep. When my phone rang, it drew me from a faraway place, and it took a while to become clear-headed. I realised that my tiredness was, in fact, fatigue that had accumulated over the past three months. You know that feeling where you’re so tired that you feel there’s a powerful magnet holding you down, and you just don’t have the energy to fight it? That was how I felt, this afternoon. As luck would have it, I actually find myself with a night alone at home, which means I can just relax. God, what a lovely, lovely prospect!

As I expected, meeting my new students was the highlight of the term. No matter what else drove me crazy, I could always look forward to being in class, and doing what I love so much – being with these fascinating young people, and teaching them a subject I have always loved – English. By the end of the term, when I’ve marked a few assessment pieces, I’ve got an idea of how each one has fared, and it’s always a wake-up call. Let’s just say it gives me clarity about what lies ahead.  Our syllabus has to be covered by the end of August, which means we have five months left of actual teaching, before our students have to face their end-of-year exams. Take away the March and June holidays, and we’re left with just four months. Since some of that time is taken up with assessments and other distractions, like public holidays and various college activities, we’re left with even less time.

I talk to my students about how fast the year goes, right from the first time I meet them, but most of them  cruise until it’s too late, and sadly don’t achieve the results they might have, had they heeded my words. 

In my personal life, I’m facing a challenge I never thought I’d ever be facing again, but that’s because I always give people the benefit of the doubt, and somehow assume they possess integrity. I suppose, even at this age, I’m naïve when it comes to how vindictive people can be. It drains me, drags me down. I feel like, with each successive bout of this kind of onslaught, the strong, resilient part of me has the potential to be corroded, destroyed. ONE thing keeps me from giving up – my children. I raised them to stand up against injustice, and to believe that truth would always win the day. There’s no way I could ever let them down.  I have to live my truth.  

I’m ready for a big change in my life. Maybe the universe has sent me this challenge to remind me just how strong I am. I think I’m not the only one who needs reminding.

And life goes on.  

The Furniture Song

                                                                                                                                                      

There are many ways I could approach the writing of this post, but all I can promise is that, because this is my story, I will speak my truth.

I have just paid someone to take a bakkie-load of broken appliances and furniture off my premises. I don’t think many people would understand how big a deal this is for me. It’s such a seemingly normal thing, but watching the man drive off the premises, his van loaded with items that had been a part of my home for so long, triggered a set of powerful memories, and I find myself awash with emotions I thought I’d worked through long ago. I hadn’t realised how transparent my emotions were, earlier, until the man asked why I looked so sad.

This is part of my story, and I share it for the purposes of gaining release (through writing), as well as breaking the silence on a type of abuse seldom identified as such.

I’ve been divorced for fourteen years, and furniture has played a significant role in this aspect of my life. About two years after my ex-husband and I separated, he informed me that he was fetching all the furniture items that were his, as he needed to sell them, in order to generate some cash. These items included the fridge, the lounge suite, the double bed, a single bed, the kitchen table and chairs, and a wardrobe. I tried to reason with him, saying that we (the children and I) needed those items. He e-mailed me a list of everything, including the prices at which he’d sell them to me, assuring me that he was offering me good bargains.

Even though it was still early in my journey, I saw the abuse for what it was, and made a conscious decision not to be a victim, and not to allow anyone to mess with my life in that way. I said he could fetch the things he wanted. Looking back, and knowing everything else I was going through at the time, I am super-proud of the strength I showed in that instance, because it set the tone for the longer, more complex,  journey ahead. When I tell people to trust their instincts, and to walk away when your gut tells you to, I know what I’m talking about. As they say: been there, done that.

I have a few strong memories surfacing, right now, of that day. One is of my neighbour coming over to ask me, as I stood next to the huge truck loaded with my furniture,  if we were moving, and my just shaking my head, unable to speak.

I also vividly recall a meal with my children, that night, after all our furniture had been taken. We were sitting on telephone directories, at a small wooden coffee table, eating our supper, like it was the most natural thing to do. I felt my heart would explode with sadness, but I forced myself to chat and laugh with them, loving them so intensely, and wanting to shield them from the severity of what had just happened. Somewhere during this bizarre meal, I found the courage to say, “Don’t worry – everything’s going to be alright.” I think that may have been one of the few occasions I couldn’t hold back a tear. 

People who know me and my journey well know that I have a song called “The Furniture Song”. It’s a song I wrote after this experience. It’s not a great song, from a musical composition perspective, but it was -and still is - one of my “I’m-a-survivor” songs. My songwriting helped me though some of my darkest hours, and I am grateful for that.

I am also deeply grateful to everyone – family and friends – who helped me, over many years, by giving me items of furniture, and allowing me to use their fridges and freezers. I have so much love and respect for all of you. You helped me survive very troubled times, and I am here today because of your compassion and generosity. My story could have ended very differently. No words could adequately express how thankful I feel. All I can do is try to live my life giving to others the love and kindness that was shown to me.

Allow me to share the lyrics of “The Furniture Song”:

So, you’re fetching all your things, the things your money bought

If you think you’re hurting me, perish the thought

I am not connected to things that you collected

At all.

In the past two years, I have learnt so much

I know myself much better now - I am more in touch

I look the world right in the eye,  I hold my head up high

And I stand tall.

'Cause you can take the things I sit on, but not the things I stand on

Like honesty, integrity and love

Take the thing that keeps my food cold, I am cool enough

                And I can hold my arms around the ones I love

Take the lamps, my inner light is strong enough to shine

On what is mine, to shine for them, to shine for me

Take the wardrobe so that I can lock the doors,

Throw out the past

And move into the future easily

Take the lounge suite, I’m still complete

Take the table, I’m still able

Take the chair, I’m still there

Take the bookrack, I’m still on track

Take the pillow, I’m no willow

You can take them all, ‘cause I don’t care

So………you can take them all, they are not my style

You can take them all, you’ll just make me smile

If all that I have left is me

Then that means I am free …………. So free!