Category: That Book I Never Wrote

  • There was never an absence of criticism, or name calling. I was always the butt end of taunts and mockery and isolated, not by choice. If it wasn’t my slim physique that was being ridiculed, it was my nose for being too big, or my hair for being styled strangely, or my teeth for being crooked. I maintained amicable relations with most in my family, but my elder brother despised me for as long as I can remember. So trying to find something to be positive about in life was never an easy task. If I asked for a second helping of food I would be verbally abused. If I spent time with the very few friends I had from school, I would be ostracised for not having time for the family, and therefore deliberately excluded from family activities when I got home.

    I recall times when I walked through the streets at night until very late, listening to the laughter and noises from the homes in the neighbourhood of families and friends doing what families and friends do. It was alien to me. The reason I was walking the streets at that time of the night when I was in my very early teens, if that old even, was because for reasons that I can’t recall, I did not accompany my family to a visit to some or other extended family. As a result I had to loiter outside until they returned because I was locked out of the house. One night I was literally kicked out of the house when I was barely 6 or 7 years old. He grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and sent me flying out the front door to go searching for a jacket that he had hidden away to teach me a lesson for forgetting to take it in the house when I was done playing. It worked. I never forgot that lesson.

    Excerpt from the book I never wrote

    Ramblings of a Madman

  • …my parents had split up after a very long and disruptive marriage. They came from two different worlds. My father wanted to please his mother, and my mother wanted to please her father. Their commitment to these ideals made them stick it out for almost 28 years give or take a few years. That’s more than just a few of my lifetimes which in some ways is impressive by most counts, but in other ways it’s sad beyond belief. Being a family of six kids, plus my eldest brother that passed away when he was a precious six months old, and another miscarriage, it was a miracle that the stress and strain of all that responsibility, a low income, and a lack of real interaction between my parents allowed them to persevere for as long as they did.

    They were both admirable in many ways. My mother was always striving, and still continues to strive to improve the quality of her life and of her family’s. She never backed down from a challenge to supplement my father’s income by doing more than her fair share of work from home. My father worked as a warehouse supervisor for a leading clothing wholesaler at the time. This in itself had its perks because we would often end up wearing the sample items of lines that they never brought into the South African market which automatically allowed us to be fashionably dressed at the lowest price. However, not all the clothing samples were fashionable, and not having much choice in what we were given to wear, it was sometimes embarrassing to be seen in some of the clothes that we received. But the important thing is that we were always neatly dressed and never went hungry. So despite my anger and disappointment at some of the events in my life relating to my parents or my relationship with my father, that is something that I’ll always be eternally grateful for.

    Excerpt from Ramblings of a Madman. The book I never wrote.

  • Naivety

    I was reckless far too often, mostly due to naivety and gullibility rather than due to any wilfully neglectful action on my part. It’s sad to think that we live in a time when trusting too much is considered being gullible rather than being sincere and optimistic. Then again, maybe that’s why some think I’m insane. Seriously, who could possibly find a good reason to trust first and question later these days? Ok, I admit, I do. Not for any reason other than the fact that I will not contaminate my judgement or my values because of the dishonest and deceitful actions of others. No matter how much it hurts or destroys parts of my life that I love dearly, I refuse to give in…and I pray that I never will become so weak and despicable that I do give in from fatigue.

    Excerpt from Ramblings of a Madman

    (the book I never wrote, but should have)

  • Ramblings of a Madman

    I’m exhausted from a trying day. More trying than usual. Yet at this late hour I find myself browsing through old notes that formed part of a feeble attempt to write the novel about my life that so many keep insisting would be a worthwhile endeavour. Apparently it holds the promise of being therapeutic to others, if not myself. 

    I looked at the word count and was disappointed to see that I had only written about 12,000 words so far. But each paragraph tells a story of its own. If not a struggle, a setback, with the occasional peppering of optimism and a joyful experience. Always short lived. I’ve been toying with the idea of sharing snippets of it from time to time on my blog, or possibly setting up a dedicated page to just ramble on endlessly. But the very real possibility of not finding an audience for it dissuades me from even trying.

    I know that one day I’ll regret not putting into words what anguish my heart holds, yet also what buoyancy my soul nurtures. My painfully endearing resilience.

    To write or not to write…?