My Foolish Heart

September 16, 2017April 25, 2018 ~ marobbie ~ Leave a comment

For a woman who prizes her rationality and cool head I sure mess up big time when it comes to matters of the heart. I still stand by everything that I said before, but sometimes life tests you by throwing a badly curved ball.

I go through this foolishness once every few years, but this time my failure is more spectacular than anytime before. The man in question, thin, bald, older, and married, is breathtakingly different from me. He has more traits in common with my horrible Ex than I can count. If he had been better-looking or younger, I think I would have put up my defenses more quickly, but with a passing resemblance to my father, a shiny bald head and a funny self-deprecating style, contrasted sometimes with terrible arrogance, he stayed under the radar until it was too late.

It all started one day as I was quietly reading my book alone while having coffee. He came out with his lunch and asked to share my space (it happens often enough in my chosen lunch/coffee spot because of scarce table space). Instead of eating his lunch and minding his own business, this guy was nosy, asking questions and making conversation. So after a couple of fruitless attempts at getting back to my reading, I closed my book and we talked. He took my number and texted me right after. Next time we met again by chance and he came and talked to me. I think I was curious about him, he has an interesting line of work that brings him into troubled areas of the world including my home country.

Later he would text me and we would meet for lunch. Over the past few month we had many funny conversations with some flirty undertones, it was all fun and games. Until I discovered that I probably care about him more than I should. He also hinted that he “liked me too”.

I am fully aware of my foolishness. Yet, when I see him it is like somebody turned on the sunshine, and when he is not around, I sink into an abyss of despair and loneliness that I have not known in years. I cannot explain this in any rational way. For one, I have no illusions about the differences in our personalities and how this alone has already sentenced this connection to utter doom. I am not attracted to him physically, at least I do not think so, he is not attractive in that way. It is just an emotional mind-fuck whenever I am with him. If he holds my hand, I feel the urge to take him in my arms and breathe him in. I am sure I never felt this way before. I have never even kissed him except on the cheek but there have been two memorable incidents of closeness while I was in hospital recovering from a minor operation. I can perhaps put this effect down to drugs, because he was around me when I came out of full anesthesia.

He has been on vacation for a few weeks now and I am driven crazy by missing him, just wanting a text from him. I have blocked his number on Whatsapp and blocked him on messenger because I kept checking his log-ins. I am not proud of this behaviour but these few weeks have been real long. I don’t want to miss him, I want to forget about him. However, it is way too painful. I find myself feeling like crying in the middle of the day for no reason. Sad music makes me cry, thinking about him makes me cry. At my age, this is really embarrassing. I am not a social butterfly and will never be one, but I am very busy. I go jogging almost everyday, I work long hours, I have family responsibilities, and many interests. Yet when I finally put myself to bed exhausted at night, I fall into fitful sleep and wake up at odd hours to the pain in my foolish heart. It takes me ages to go back to sleep again, and the lack of sleep does not help my overall health. The only positive outcome of this is that I am now losing appetite and weight (maybe I am actually sick and not heart-sick).

I am not even sure how I will behave when he comes back. Will I have the strength to carry on our light-hearted banter, or will I choose to run away and avoid him until I stop missing him? I really have no answers. I know this will not go anywhere, I do not want this man on any level in my life. He already turned the once happy space I had into a feeling of sad emptiness. I want my independent, single and carefree life back. But I cannot help the way I feel. I can only control what I do about it. I will do nothing, for now, and see what happens.

Why Am I so Cynical about Love ?

August 6, 2017December 6, 2020 ~ marobbie ~ 2 Comments

I am not one to dwell too much on the past. At times I am grateful that I committed so much of my story to the blog. At other times I shy away of the visceral pain I experience when I read one vignette of the past. The pain I feel is not about lamenting lost love, it is about the amount of hurt and injustice I suffered at the hands of the disturbed person who used to be my husband. It is no wonder at all that I have sworn off men completely, apart from a brief relationship I had in New York.

When I met M. in New York, I was attracted to everything that contrasted him sharply with my ex. I fell hard for his dark, thin, and scruffy look. I was impressed by his poetic use of language, more imagined in my head than real. He told me about his rural upbringing and his large family, his immigration to Canada, and his life as a perpetual student before starting work at the organization with me. Even given my few accomplishments in life, I was far more mature than he was. However, I wasn’t yet completely cured from my chronic low self-esteem. I still felt that this man was more accomplished and would never look at someone like me just because I was divorced and a couple of years older than he is. For a time I oscillated between hope and despair, then finally convinced myself that this could work. A friend of mine even invited him along with me to dinner once, accepting us as a dating couple. For cultural reason we had to keep our involvement a secret at the workplace. But fortunately I did not have to keep this charade for a long time. It was exhausting for someone not used to telling stories, and lies.

Things quickly changed, when my beau became increasingly controlling. Once I arranged to meet with him but my former sister-in-law was in New York for a short visit and spent time with me, my son and my mom. I could not get out of this meeting soon enough for us to have time together in the afternoon, and he did not accept my apology for this delay. At another time I spent an hour or so chatting with friends in the cubicle next to his and did not come to see him at my usual time, and he was offended that I preferred others. The final straw however was when one evening he called me inquiring what I did with my afternoon. I was puzzled because I am usually very pressed for time between work, errands and caring for my son. I recalled going to the bank in the building next to our office, then picking up my son from day-care and going home. He insisted that I tell him again and again my exact movements. At the end it turned out that he saw me leaving the office to the bank that afternoon and later saw my only male friend, and the husband of my New York sister and colleague, heading in the same direction a few minutes later and he came up with his own sick version of how my afternoon proceeded having a tryst with my best friend’s husband. This accusation was so shocking to me that I completely lost all respect and love for him, it was the equivalent of throwing an ice-bucket over my lovelorn self. I was completely cured out of this crush. Shortly after this I flew home to South Africa and on my return I was able to break off with him completely. It took some time of course, but I no longer went out to him or spent time at his home, and in the end he understood. I wanted us to stay colleagues and maybe friends but his passive aggressive reaction was to stop talking with me completely and surprisingly this did not hurt much. I have been single since.

I still experience the occasional crush, but if the person I fancied was involved or uninterested I quickly forget. I am not young anymore but I get hit on by younger African guys, and I let them down easy. An affair, a fling, or a purely physical relationship will not work for me, I know. I have learned to look at the people I fancy with a critical eye, and as my male friend from New York advised once that I should, I have become better at reading danger signs. I now try to trust my instinct more.

It is not an easy task, when the intuition is miles ahead of the intellect. I now accept that my reasoned assessment of people is flawed. Out of all the people I fell in love with, there is perhaps only one, my childhood sweetheart, that I consider still worthy of romantic love. Thirty years after our brief romance, he is still a person I would like to talk to, and above all he is a good human being and a wonderful father. When I fell in love with him, my instinct recognized these qualities from the start. But instead of believing my intution I went with an analysis of all the artificial differences that separated us. Thirty years later, the imagined barriers are ironically all gone and we now have similar lives, albeit on different continents. He also has a partner who appreciates him, having gone through a divorce herself. He became the person I envisioned by intuition, and a true father to her children before they had their own together, I have never lost respect and appreciation for him as a person. Even after my broken marriage led to adventure, brought me places and gave me true independence. Sometimes I wish I chose intuition over intellect.

My track record since that first innocent love has been dismal. I am hopelessly attracted to interesting types, with problems. Men who charm me with their adventure, intelligence, or mysterious pain. Then, they turn out to be show-offs, sociopaths, or irresponsible womanizers. I learned to be cynical about my feelings. I simply see the signs, tick them off, and wait until the penny drops. It usually happens within a few months. Now I only have lighthearted crushes that never go very far beyond flirting. I enjoy the sense of power this gives me, sometimes I even enjoy the lightness of step, butterflies in the stomach, along with the curiosity of getting to know someone, and the sleepless nights of thinking about them. Those feelings make me remember again the flush of first love. In the end, however, they all fizzle to nothingness when reality sets in. My hard-won cynicism about love is vindicated, when the man in question turns out to be a player or a cad. I am safely again agnostic in matters of love, as I am agnostic in faith.

The upside is that I do not do heartbreak anymore. I haven’t experienced this desolation since my first relationship some 20 years ago. The downside is that I became doubtful of my capability of romantic love. That said, I am still human, and despite everything I said here, a small part of me hopes that my reason will fail one day, and that I will know love by intuition, and lose the cynicism.

Nairobi .. A Lucky Third Time

December 5, 2015December 15, 2015 ~ marobbie ~ Leave a comment

I have been saved from the big city and delivered back to my beloved Africa. My son and I arrived in Nairobi in early September and we are enjoying the mild climate, the friendly people and a much more comfortable lifestyle.

Nairobi sits high up on the hills almost 1700 m above sea level. It is lush, green and sunny, and no wonder it is known as the Green City in the Sun. The headquarters of my organization sits in the middle of a tropical garden, and every morning as I walk to my office I stop to take in the flora and fauna, the colours of Africa; the smell of the soil, the spice and the herbs; the bird song and all the small and large things that make this place home to my heart.

Even before my arrival to live here, Nairobi has been a decisive stopping point in my destiny. In June 1999 it was the site of my first ever arrival in Africa en-route to Johannesburg. I bought myself a ticket on Kenya Airways then, and had a very heavy carry-on with dozens of unread books. Ten years later it was my entry point into the organization I serve since 2011. I already have memories here, so it wasn’t difficult at all to feel instantly at home.

I do not miss New York, but I am lonely for my friends. And although I have been to many social events so far (almost as many as I usually attend in a year or more in New York) I haven’t yet made a meaningful connection with a true friend

This loneliness, coupled with the novelty of the new place makes me emotionally vulnerable. And although I have been through this silly heartache before, I must admit that soon after my arrival I was caught by my first crush on an educator. I have never had this before, and it is almost 25 years too late. At my age this is quite embarrassing but I am just living through it at the moment. The positives are a renewed interest in learning, a rejuvenation of long dormant feelings, a temporary respite from a long-held cynical view on love and relationships, and a reaffirmation of being alive. The downside is facing up to the fact that as a middle aged woman I still have the heart of a 19 year-old, and that perhaps we grow old but never grow up.

It is all part of opening up to life again. I am happy to be in mother Africa’s arms again. I will take whatever she gives me, she has been always kind and generous to me. I love being back here.

Brides of the Organization, and why I will NEVER be one

May 18, 2015May 18, 2015 ~ marobbie ~ Leave a comment

I was asked recently while on lunch with a colleague why so many single women at our organization, and particularly at our office, come into the service young and promising, then turn slowly over the years into embittered, old, and tired spinsters. He put his question rather politely of course, using words like “seem not to find their way to a proper private life”, and did not use any offending adjective to describe their outcome.

Aha, I thought to myself. So the men actually do notice these things. I have contemplated this phenomenon with my girlfriends. Privately, I called these women the Organization’s Brides. I also watched with trepidation the way my working life has sapped my energy over the past four years and turned me from a tanned, healthy and happy woman into a pale, wrinkled and somewhat flabby woman, who has firmly set foot on the threshold of middle age. Yes, this type of workplace does exist, even in a highly esteemed organization. Because unfortunately, you do not work for your organization, you just work with your direct boss. And this boss (or supervisor) comes with the complete package of his culture, upbringing, and education. Regardless of whether they are men or women, these bosses also come with the scars of all the past abuse they endured, and seem to mete it out indiscriminately upon their underlings.

I do not know whether my colleague’s question about the single women at our office was a general or particular one, but I honestly answered it from my vantage point as observer. I do not count myself among the brides of the organization. I have a very fulfilling life as a mother, and I do not let work take over my free time.

I devoted a lot of thought to the question of why women suffer so much in our workplace, and it all boils down to culture. Not organizational culture but our own brand of regional patriarchal culture. Women who are born into this culture are usually unaware of abuse or bullying from male counterparts, until they grow a backbone. Sometimes they never realize the wrongdoing of others until it is too late.

So a young woman like this arrives here, faces up to her predominantly male colleagues, and tries to prove herself capable against their prejudices. Meanwhile, she carries with her the baggage of conservative thinking, the deep-rooted fear of doing wrong, disgracing her family or being classified as a slut. Moreover, there is a trap waiting to swallow workers with lower self-esteem. In my office these people are invariably women, who are starving for recognition in this male-dominated arena. They are desperate to please and prove themselves capable, so they take on all the jobs that nobody wants, rush jobs, weekend work, and sometimes night duty. After all there are no children at home, and no husband who would mind. Work becomes a respectable alternative for partaking in the pleasures of life. They first resist the temptation to live, then they totally forget about living. Work becomes life, and takes over. Depending on the age of these sad women, the male boss takes on either the role of a dominant husband or all-powerful father. They are incapable of contradicting this type of authority.

The experience of female Arab students at university abroad is another example. Their male colleagues from the same background are prepared by their culture and upbringing to take one of two roles, either the protectors, or the conquerors. After all an Arab young woman is too proper to have a relationship outside of marriage, unless a person from her own background becomes her mentor in the ways of love, then it is okay. Regardless, there are very few Arab men who “would buy a cow if they get the milk for free”. And imagine a single woman working with this type of mentality in the 21st century.

If I came here at age 25 or 30 I would have perhaps succumbed as well to that type of bullying. I may even have accepted the protection of an alpha-male colleague, under the guise of love. Like every other woman born in that environment I was programmed for submission and dependence, not leadership and independence. I am more likely to obey and say yes, than protest and say NO. But I learned to say NO and it was the most important lesson of my life.

A Letter from my Old Self

June 3, 2013January 19, 2014 ~ marobbie ~ Leave a comment

A few days ago was the fifth anniversary of my divorce. I remembered it briefly in the midst of a busy day. I neither celebrate nor regret it, I just remember it as a landmark of my freedom and living my life the way that I want. In the past five years I have learned that I am better off without my ex, and if I was not totally convinced five years ago my subsequent dealing with him has made a complete believer out of me. It seems like the older the man gets the more alien he becomes to me and the less wisdom and sensitivity he gives to the psychological and emotional development of our son.

When I first thought of breaking up with my ex, my son Robert was not there. He was perhaps a mere thought in my mind that I was scared to articulate. After all I was 35, and my marriage was not working. I was still in love with my husband then, but the feelings were taking serious strain. On August 18th, 2005, I drove from East London to Cape Town, leaving him behind. I took my time there, to heal, to digest what happened.

I remember this today because inside an old dictionary I found a piece I wrote about eight years ago. This was before my experience with blogging, and before my brief reconciliation with my ex, a reconciliation that brought along my son Robert.
I wrote it on the back of a faxed quote for a new computer. I was starting to build up my life, and I needed a tool to work as a translator. The quote was dated August 30th, 2005. So I think I wrote these words early in September that same year. The background was my ex wanting us to reconcile and try to save our marriage. I was not sure then. I think I had a crush on a nice guy I met in Cape Town, and fancied myself starting over with someone new. I did not know what fun was in store for me, but here it is. It is too simple really to be called a poem, but I am still struck by the sincerity of my voice. It was only eight years ago, but I feel like reaching out through time and giving the immature woman who wrote this a hug, she was still somewhat of a pitiful figure just starting to build some backbone.

I am a refugee, afloat but only just
The horizon is clear, the waters are calm
And beyond them, lies the unknown.

With you I traveled far
I carried my pain
Along your side, I lived alone
You looked into my eyes you saw my soul
I looked into yours I saw your dreams
I touched you with love
I wanted you to take me under your skin
into your veins
You touched me back with fondness
and a pitying smile

The road to your dreams grew rough
I fell behind
I faltered, I stumbled, I bled
I carried on.
I forgot what this was for
but I carried on.
You never looked my way
or offered a hand, to hold on.
You know I would simply
soldier on. 

The nights would come 
where I lie in silence.
touching the bruised edges of my heart
while you slept.
feeling the wrinkles on my soul
dry with a thirst for love.
waiting to be given and never received.

The joyous emotions within me
were left to perish slowly.
But sometimes they erupted
in the glare of daylight
haunted and deformed into anger and pain.

The day finally came
When I would no longer bear.
I looked up from your dusty track
I saw stars, I saw sky
and a distant horizon.
I turned around to be embraced
by an endless ocean,
and I kept afloat.

Now you call me back
from your dry perch.
you pledge and you promise
you will never let go.
you love me, you say
You were wrong to drive me away.

The water is still between us
and the ticking of time.
You might not know it
but the tide has turned.
Destiny awaits me, beyond this horizon,
and it's not with you.

The Blogosphere : My Own Wishing Well

May 16, 2013June 3, 2013 ~ marobbie ~ Leave a comment

It has been a while as usual. I have now taken on a new challenge. I am studying Global Development through an online university and it is taking me a lot longer than prescribed to go through the material. It seems that I am somewhat of a slow reader.

Apart from that, two very important things happened. First, my son has his first Canadian passport. I do not think it is any thanks to his father; Canada is just a civilized country, which has respect for its citizens, regardless of their age, and does not discriminate against single mothers, whether they were Canadian or not. The father has given me a little lip recently about going to the Australian Embassy in Pnom Penh and wasting some of his precious time. I just let it slide, as I usually do. So we now have travel dates, and it is going to be absolutely fine, with a bit of administrative juggling to report Robert as a Canadian citizen here in the US. My employer would take care of that but it simply means that as far as the US government is concerned he would have to stay Canadian for as long as we stay here, and he will have a considerable advantage over his South African mother, I do not mind that.

Another amazing thing was, that I got my own little slice of window in a new office. It was purely through an act of providence that I got this blessed change of scenery. For once, the dreaded grapevine of office gossip served me correctly and I was recommended for an open plan cubicle without formally asking for it. I can only say, it was just good karma coming my way, or perhaps the magic of putting my desires and wishes out on the blogosphere; my own wishing well. A few weeks ago I blogged about my old hobbit hole of an office.

Next time I will wish for something more substantial.

Dear Blog: I want a tall, dark single dad with a sense of humor, and preferably with a connection to Africa.

Readers, cross your fingers for me, you will be the first to know if this works.

Joys of Parenting

May 7, 2013April 19, 2018 ~ marobbie ~ Leave a comment

One of the best times of the day for me is when I pick my son up at school. Usually we make up a small convoy of one, two sometimes three parent-child pairs. The kids run along the sidewalks, and roll on the grassy stretches of the island, with the parents in tow carrying knapsacks and school bags, like weary porters following intrepid young explorers. I usually watch from afar never forgetting to bless the day my son was born, and thanking providence for allowing me to have him and enjoy his company.

Another pleasure is buying him the things that he really wants. The toys or things that make his eyes sparkle. Last week was the auction for his school PTA. The only thing he wanted was a toy tram, and I made sure to make the winning bid for it, which was more than double its retail price. Robert’s joy with it though was many times worth it, and I shared with his pleasure and again thanked and blessed providence for allowing me to buy him things he wanted.

I cannot help but think back to my childhood, and now I appreciate how much my own parents saved and how hard they worked to give us kids the things we wanted. A colour television for example, or a swing set. My dad worked and saved for these things and my mom used her ingenuity and creativity to save in the household. She fixed things we broke so we got to use them longer. She reused old items in new ways and redesigned out of fashion dresses into home decor items or into new clothing items. She still breathes new life into things in that way and it gives her a lot of pleasure. For me however the memory that I have of my childhood is that of caring parents who made sure the children had the best of everything while negotiating the constraints of middle class life. I will be very proud if my son would look back at me in the same way, knowing that I gave everything I could within the constraints of living as a single working parent.