They say that some blind people
swear they can see the light of the sun, but in reality all it is is the warmth
of the sun on their face. This is how I felt as I woke today, the sun was
warming my face, but I swear I saw the light at the end of the tunnel of my
unsettled sleep. I had not slept well. Mosquitos
sang when they were not busy biting. I have some beautiful pieces of red, itchy
artwork courtesy of le mosquito all over my ankles, legs and, regrettably,
face. I must say I do not appreciate the mosquito’s art or singing, especially
at all hours of the night.
When I eventually booed (or
swatted) le mosquito off the stage, my own bad dreams took their cue. The
result was circles under the eyes and resentment at my dad for waking me up
before ten to go to the beach, something I had actually asked him to do.
Wait. Hold on. When did
Grahamstown have a beach? Well, I wish it did, but I am on holiday in
Plettenberg Bay which, much to my delight, does have a beach. My grandparents
own a house there. My dad happens to be there on business so I saw an
opportunity to catch some salty water in my face and beach sand in my toes as
the shades of summer begin to fade.
Plettenberg Bay is the place of
childhood memories. It has been my holiday destination since I was a tiny baby.
It was where, many years ago, my father attempted to get my pregnant mother to
the point where stormy waves meet sun-baked rocks. When she refused he took her
to a smaller set of rocks. Once there he asked her to marry him. It was where I
celebrated my new-found freedom after the last day of high school was over. It
was where I bravely ran into ice-cold ocean at four o’clock in the morning last
year. It was where I usually welcome the New Year, face glowing from the
reflection of fireworks across the sky. It is no surprise that I love this
place.
I am not the first one to have a
holiday home I love like no other place in the world. All my friends fortunate
enough to leave reality for sand, waves and natural beauty love their holiday
homes too. When I show them Plett most of them say their holiday hideout is
better. I have sometimes visited theirs but I remain unconvinced. I suppose
everyone thinks their childhood holiday is the best, but I remain convinced
that Plett is the bees-knees.
The most obvious attraction is
the beach. Duh! I am what is known as an inland city-slash-hovel-they-call-a-town
dweller, crying for some salty air and sand between my toes. As I stare across
the blue-green expanse of sea, staining the beach like paint off a paintbrush,
I am reminded just how small my problems and issues really are.
This term has been the most
challenging first-term encounter at Rhodes so far. It started with my most
valued friendship, one I used to think of more as a sisterhood, falling to pieces.
A little discouraged, I still was determined not to let this ruin my term. I
fought the urge to cry, determined instead to show myself that I could handle
it. I over-committed myself to other activities and other friends, determined to
not let this affect my life. The result was me falling behind in everything. I
forgot to pitch at my waitressing job twice, my journalism marks started to
tumble and I rocked up at meetings late. My best efforts of going to gym were
thwarted by me stuffing my face with pizza after a shift where someone who I
could always count on proceeded to ignore me through hours of working together.
I shiver as my striped bikini
fails to protect me from the icy waves. A cloud moves across the sky, making
room for a little sunshine. It feels like the light at the end of the tunnel. I
could be wrong, maybe blind and thinking I see light instead of just feeling
warmth. The hope that I think I see could be mistaken for something else. All I
know is, blind or not, the warmth of the sun feels good on my face.
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