An interesting thing happened this weekend at the life saving competition my daughter entered. The conditions were fairly nasty. There was an icy cross-shore wind. Various strong rip currents and very short breaks between sets of pounding waves. She’s a pretty strong swimmer, and she can handle herself in the ocean. There are safety officers all around monitoring them, and if they ever get close to being in danger, they get whipped out of the ocean super fast.
It’s been raining softly, ever since the light peeked through the gap between the curtains this morning. I heard it last night in bed too. Woke up, felt that rush of sound, wondered briefly what it could be, until my heart beat the word “RAIN, RAIN, RAIN” along with the sound of the falling water and then I smiled, turned over and closed my eyes once again.
This may not be the most widely accepted opinion but I don’t actually find these end-of-year holidays (the December ones specifically) relaxing at all. Everyone outwardly moans about coming home in January and starting school and work, but I actually love it. I feel calmer at home. There is order. Quiet. Routine. I feel healthier and more peaceful, inside and out. Is that a weird thing to admit?
So we won the Rugby World Cup huh. Who would have thought? One minute this country is in despair and devoid of hope, and the next minute we’re ecstatic. This is the dichotomy of living here. It’s why people struggle to live anywhere else, because love it or hate it, there is nowhere else that makes you feel more alive. Is this a “normal” way to live? Veering from agony towards ecstasy within a few days? I doubt it. But what is normal anyway?
London had taught her about all the shades of grey. People were not necessarily good, nor were they bad. They held both goodness and badness in them, and the people you wanted in your life were those trying to balance more of the good chips on the one side, even if the side with badness piled on to it kept looking as though it may topple over.
My dad once said that your body tries its damn hardest to make you less attractive as you age, so you’re less inclined to mate and produce offspring. Being a farmer, he saw this ageing process happening in goats. Ostriches. Cows. I get it now, Dad. You were right. The brutal truth is that nature is doing everything in its power to ensure that we are no longer attracted to each other. Thanks a bunch.