Alone in Love

I call a spade a spade; you should now that by now.

So, let us get straight to the point?

I quietly observe, and I am trying to quietly not give my opinion anymore.

Giving my opinion will be a waste of energy because you will follow your vagina anyways.

So you would think, after also being on the bumpy road with the rest of the Single Folk a sister will have your back.

No, they will not.

It is all about them, them and their feelings.

I have seen this happening so many a times.

We literally loose ourselves when we enter a new landmark in our relationship statuses.

And some of you never get yourselves back.

Merely empty shells roaming the streets.

And it is so wrong hey, because the message we are sending out there is, we never knew who we were prior to hooking up with the dude.

So sad hey.

Just like that, you forgot how it felt like to hug your pillow at night.

Just like that, you will not even hook your forever-single sister up with his single friends.

Just like that, you do not want your sister to wake up to 5AM sex.

You want to keep it all to yourself.



We see you.

PS: ‘’Sometimes we get the same shit, just differently packaged, but I am sure we don’t see it for what it is till way later’’


‘’Curvy Scorpio





Cadette Constable

I was huffing and puffing. My chest was so narrow. I felt dizzy and nauseous. I was sure, I was about to die, at the beautiful age of 18.

I had this horrible taste in my mouth that tasted like early stages of blood and vomit, mixed. Please do not ask me how that taste like.


This is how it all happened:

I finished matric, I did fairly well, but I could have done better. Could Have.


In my mother’s words, and in my mother tongue the expression of ‘’jou velle hang nog letterlik aan die draad soos jy deur geskuur het’’ fits the description pretty well. Meaning, I barely made it.

I am not stupid. I just like playing excessively. Until this day. That is what happened in my matric year. And I wonder why my son is always testing the waters. He got it from the mother.

Endless playing – things that would make your testimonial from school look good (we thought we were clever).

School choir, Volley Ball, Sub – Editor of the school newspaper, Head Girl of the SRC, Basket Ball, and a weekend job and off course,

Too many parties, too many activities, too many 112 music, sometimes too much weed.

I know, I know, we were just experimenting.

We thought if we smoked, we would remember everything we studied, big lies that we were sold. I just thank God, that it never became an addiction.

I leave it at that.

My parents were divorced, there were no funding for university and I told myself, there is no way in hell I am manning this changing cubicle at Edgars with a Grade 12 certificate in my hands and have idle chats with people who would think they are better than me.

So I resigned. It was my weekend and holiday job for 2 years.

And I decided to travelled Namibia for a few weeks, until I became penniless.

I called home and heard that the police were recruiting, and I threw in my CV. Not really sparing another thought towards it. Until I got the call one day, three months later. Yeah, yeah, government backlog.

Fast Forward, to the intro.

Six months of being idle, I was summoned to Police College.

I had eight bags, yep 8. Last-born and Mammas girl so she had to make sure I have everything I needed.

As we pulled up to the entrance of the Police College, Police Officers, men and woman were waiting on us, with expressionless faces and sweat on their brows and when the bus came to a halt, we were told to get the f… off the bus and take our belongings and run the few metres to the college, metres yes, but it felt like hundreds of hundreds of kilometres, because the Queen was unfit and obese…how I passed their medical tests I have no idea, but I suspect a bit of Affirmative Action was involved in their decision to recruit me, because the Queen looks white and has German names and a surname.

They had to have a few yellow bones for statistical purposes and they decided to take the cockiest of yellow bones to complete the puzzle, I think.

Some hours of military, shenanigans ensued, running, rolling in sand, drilling, jumping, I do not know what. You ended up fainting and getting back up and if you dare to play sick you would be walking around mimicking an ambulance and you would had to make that sound as well, pie pong pie pong, and I don’t know what was worse, the physical punishments or the ambulance mimicking. And I am sure all these instructors were laughing their hearts out later about all of this.

After hours of this dreadfulness, we were told to go to the eating hall, the girl behind me fainted of exhaustion and hunger and I don’t know what else, most probably also just a mental breakdown, this college was a huge shock and disappointed to many.

As I turned around to help her, I was told if I do not want to be shot, I should leave her to die. Imagine. They were ruthless.

The fear they tried to instil in us back then, boy oh boy. And they succeeded.

So we headed into the eating hall and the food, wow, was not even appeasing. I refused to eat it, samp and meat I think with sauce. By then the Queen did not even know what samp was.

I sat for a while and I finally got the guts to get up in my pair of Levi’s – Levi’s was a thing back then, ask them.

By then we did not yet have the training uniform. I walked out, attempted to scrape the food into the dustbin and suddenly someone asked: ‘’hallo meisie, kan ek maar jou kos kry, ek is baie honger nog?’’, (hi girly, can I have your food I am still hungry?) naturally I froze at hello, but I sort of unfroze at the rest of the sentence, hearing the husky male voice, I thought I was in shit again and would be punished, but he was a fellow student, also a yellow bone, and I guess when I looked at him, I looked at him with very sad and eyes filled with regret in my huge hazel brown eyes and he asked; ‘’is it your first time from home and I nodded’’, because the moment was too big for me, and he said, come here, let me hug you, everything will be alright. From today onwards, I will look after you. I was so relieved, I trusted him immediately. He had the most open face I have ever seen, with a perfect set of white teeth, an almost angelic smile, he laughed from the pit of his tummy and it was so contagious. He was naturally handsome, someone I would look at twice in another setting.

Years later, I still imagine this is what it must feel like to fall in love eventually, looking someone straight in the eye and knowing, where you ought to belong. I have been looking for that feeling, but it has never visited me again.

And that was the beginning of a long and beautiful friendship. Where he was, I would be, and vice versa.

We became inseparable. And no one was allowed to come close to me without his consent.

We would have huge fights and silent wars, but in the end, we would make up again, as friends.

He passed away three years later, horrifically.

And it broke my soul, and it broke my heart too.

It broke my entire humanity. Today is his birthday. 11 March 2019.

And I just had to visit memory lane. He would have been 38 years old today.

I will Always, Always, Love You.

I often wish you were around, so I can ask you to be my husband, that is if you were not orig enough to do it yourself already.

I have never found any other that could fill your shoes.

My Gold amongst Men.








Monday Times Two

If Tuesday was a human being, it must have been an evil stepsister or brother, or mother in law.

Yikes. Did I just type that?

I detest Tuesday’s, it is always much worse than a Monday.

Everything feels so hopeless and endless and I feel extra, super-duper lonely.

And menopausal. Which I AM DEFINITELY NOT.


Which I am MOST of the time ABSOLUTELY.

So, let me tell you about my Tuesday.

I woke up at 02h30AM this morning and I could not sleep anymore.

They say 03h00AM is the devils hour, he is actively busy, and so I reverted to praying.

I eventually fell asleep at 04h00AM again, having to wake up in an hour or two.

I woke up a few minutes before my alarm’s tone went off and I was crying so loudly, whiling like a baby.

Imagine, at my big age.

Why, I had an awful dream. As if really awful, and I already told you I dream in 3D.

The same passion that my feisty personality has, the same passion and intensity is in my dreams, always.

My eyes were literally wet of me crying in my sleep.

The last time I cried myself from slumber, mum passed away soon after.

So thus, let me not relay my dream.


So that is how my Tuesday started.

Deprived from sleep.

Paper work straight from the red tape hell and a colleague who was on a teleconference call with his office door wide open and on loudspeaker even.

Where is the consideration with these millennials nowadays?

One could hear everything that was meant for him only and this in an open office set up.


Now Tuesday has seen its ass.

And I am heading home. Let us hope for a better Wednesday.


Curvy Scorpio

I Miss,

Our Monday morning breakfasts today; it would be the highlight of my day and entire week.

I hope it was yours too and that you too, remember it fondly. 

You would pick the place, and it would always be a place filled with a dreamy ambience.

Most of the time, I would meet you there, or you would pick me up.

I now wish, I were not Miss Independent, so that I would have allowed you to pick me up more.

On the occasion that I would have to meet you there, the suspension to walking to the restaurant or café, would be a wave of emotions,

I would have butterflies in my tummy, they would literally summersault, and I would be as queasy as a pregnant woman experiencing morning sickness for the very first time.

I would feel like a high school girl, overwhelmed by love, and nerves and excitement.

So daft. I know.

It would not be the first time meeting you or having a meal with you, but I would feel like this every time.

I would pay closely attention to what I would wear Monday’s, just because of our breakfast meeting.

Nothing less than red bottom heels, your absolute favourite.

Nothing would escape your eye and you were an appreciative man and would be vocal about anything that pleased your eye.

I could never get used to your compliments, and you taught me to just say Thank You.

You would stand up as I enter, and our eyes would lock and I would walk into your embrace, and I swear for about 1.5 seconds I would stop breathing.

Totally, and your smell would smell like home, every time.

The only home I have known.




‘’Curvy Scorpio’’



An acquaintance called me a week ago but I could not take the call.

This particular acquaintance is also grimly depressed.

My phone rang for 59 seconds.

Okay, okay, I did not want to take the call.

I was insanely/INSANELY pissed at him.

I sat there in disbelief when my phone started ringing and watched my phone rang for 59 seconds.

And I could not belief he would really call me after what transpired.

What transpired is not important now.

So I actually hoped he dialled wrong and would hang up.

But no, my phone vibrated for 59 seconds. Almost a full minute.

Do you know how long that is?

It felt like an eternity.

By the time he called, his number was already deleted.

But thanks to smartphones (Trucaller App) and a smart brain, I immediately recognised his number.

Yeah, yeah, I am little Miss Petty.

His number did not deserve to be in this Queen’s contact list no more.

I will deprive you from little rights, if you have sinned.

Sinned against me..

The Queen’s thoughts became sensible after 24hrs and knowing that this person is going through the ‘’most’’, I tried to salvage the situation.

I tried calling back 24hrs later when I was conveniently out of town on a work mission and I felt much braver and when my conscience started to aggravate me.

And guess what?

His number has been unreachable ever since.

It is now a week later.

Yerrrrr, I could not sleep for the past week.

An hour here, an hour there tossing and turning.

Checking my phone, seeing if my WhatsApp text were delivered and blue ticked.

Roaming the unlimited data of the hotel where I was staying whilst out of town.

I am fully enamoured in his pain.


I have clothed myself in it. My skin wants to pop of irritation.

I do not think anyone understands. It is as I am too going through the most.

It is not the first time I am experiencing something like this.

Years ago, my sister’s husband passed away, she was so young and vulnerable and the kids were so tiny. My heart broke for her, I wish I could cut half of the pain and carry it with me in my heart, just so she could hurt less.

How do I even bloody do this?

It is very emotionally exhausting.

How do I feel other people’s pain, misery, and adversity so intensely?

An old lover once said to me, STOP LOVING ME SO INTENSELY!

Now I understand what he meant.




‘’Confessions of a Curvy Scorpio’’

Lucid Dreams

I experienced the most Sunday night again, when I was about to go to bed.

When I say most, I am trying to describe my physical and emotional state to you best in the current lingua of Nam Twitter, that I somewhat fancy.

Yes, I fancy Nam Twitter lingua these days. It is trendy and happening.

My chest was so heavy.

I felt some vigorous wrenches in my chest.

Pang, after pang, after pang.

My heart was beating extra fast.

I could sense that as I was lying down because I gulped for air more and more.

This is how dying must feel like I thought to myself.

I was just in utter discomfort and pain, but the kind of pain one cannot easily describe, and even if you would describe it, there is a huge chance that you will not be understood.

So I decided best would be to lie down and pray and beg God for this feeling to subside.

I have been to doctors; there is no issue apparently, aside from the obvious that get the blame for everything else, my weight…

The only issue is Anxiety. These indescribable feelings according to my GP is mini panic attacks.

Yep, Anxiety.


While for most of my career, I was a whole facilitator.

That needed to get up in front of crowds and train them, and interact with crowds all the time.

I need prayers. This can only be from the devil.

Onslaughts from the enemy.

But today, I am not writing about my anxiety, maybe tomorrow, or next week, or next month, or whenever, I too have gotten a grip on this entire issue my body is going through lately.


I am writing because, as I was praying and asking God not to let me die on a Sunday night, with a 4year old toddler next to me, pleading with him to make this feeling go away, I eventually slipped into slumber.

And not even 30min or so into dreamland I had this amazing dream.

I dreamt of my late Mother.

She has passed on 7years ago,

I was her baby, literally, the last-born, sigh..

She spoiled me rotten.

I could barely make a bed at the age of 32. Okay that is a bit of dramatic, but either way, I could not tell the difference between All Gold Tomato Sauce and Wellington Tomato Sauce.

Yes, there is a difference, let me not roll my eyes at you.

Let us leave it at that.

So, understandably, I was shook when she passed on.

Actually, shook is an understatement.

My little world came crashing down.

And how little our worlds are hey at times.

So 7 years post her departure to the yonder world, I hardly dream about her.

Even when her passing was fresh, I also did not dream about her.

I remember I would often pray for it.

To dream about her.

But the other night, I was blessed.

My dream world was so lucid and clear.

I dreamt of my Mamma.

I hardly remember anything daily, so to remember such a dream is a blessing.

I remember dreaming about her face, it was full and blushing.

Blushing like a young bride.

You know as if she was living thee best life ever.

Definitely a pic that would make it to the Gram.

She was laughing and twirling all around and around and around, in Avery’s words, another word for around and around is loop dee loop, as a little Cleo would twirl.

Cleo is my niece’s daughter, she is very fond of dancing and singing, and twirling like a loop dee loop.

My niece is also the replica of my late mother.

So who knows, maybe Cleo inherited mum’s dancing and twirling spirit?

Laughing and twirling and in the dream her surroundings were lusciously green, healthy looking and so beautiful, something out of a travel magazine or some tropical island, and I joined in the twirling and laughing and I wanted to touch her, but I could not and I wanted to join that island but I could not.

Damn. I hate to be teased…

I woke up at 23h35, I checked on my cell phone thus I remember the time. And it was a mere 30 min after I fell asleep that I had the dream.

I wanted to write about it immediately, I was afraid I would forget but sleep got the better of me and I drifted off again, but before I did, I added a reminder to my phone to write about it the next day.

Well, the next day turned out to be 48hrs later.

At least I wrote about it.

Moral of the story;

‘’I hardly dream about my late mother. Sunday night, I did. She was laughing, dancing, and looked so happy and content. Thank you for the affirmation and the visit Mamma Bear. I cannot wait to join you one day in that happy place’’.



Your Daughter



I bumped into you the other day,

Unplanned, Unexpected, Unforseen, Unpredicted.

I do not know who were more thrown.

You or Me.

Definitely, you, it was written all over your non verbal cues.

I am a self-taught composed woman now.

The world is much too cruel to be carrying my heart on my sleeve.

I always wished you could be more composed. But then again, it is the part of you that made me fond of you more.

I am sure it was the last thing either of us expected, running into each other, by chance.

We live worlds apart – figuratively and literally.

We have not seen each other in what feels like a lifetime.

We have not communicated for what felt like an eternity.

Yet, there was no uncomfortability.

In fact, it was a reposeful moment.

There were no locking of the eyes, neither butterflies in my tummy.

We were where we supposed to be.

You told me how you visited the town I now call home recently.

I could feel a knife jab through my heart.

You visiting my surroundings and not even knowing me in it.

I suppose I need to get used to that.

I am no longer a priority. We are no longer.

We are buried. Or we are trying to bury us.

And without warning your cup overflowed and you said,

That you could smell me all around you, but no matter how hard you searched for me in the crowd, you could not see me,

You said you could sense me,

My stern facial expression when I am upset and my happy face when saturated.

You told me you could feel me brushing against your cheeks,

You said you could taste me on your lips all the time.

You mentioned that your time here was floaty and dreamy because of me, even though you did not see me at all.

I gnawed at my breath when I heard you utter those words, but I did not dare show you the effect it had on me.

I am tired of the autopsies we carry out on the ‘’us’’ we envisioned.

Days later, I find myself listening to Sam Smith, a particular favorite of ours.

And I relive that gnawing of breath moment.

You described me like a poet.

Unsightly beautiful.



“Curvy Scorpio’’



Your Type

During lunchtime, I find myself thinking.

What if your type is not anywhere near your type….sobieso?

I always thought I was into a certain type of guy, and now, I am not.

Either that or I changed a hell of a lot.

What if you can build your perfect person (Ok, I know there is no perfect person), let us use the word ideal person.

What if you could take characteristics from multiple people, and sort of invent your perfect person.

The person up in your head. The one you always think about. The one you always dream about.

You know that person.

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but I am sure, one or two or some would agree?

Or am I the only one fantasising about a person here.

Now I am rolling my eyes.

When we in relationships, our partners are not ideal, or perfect, there is that something that bothers you about the person, like, maybe he has the looks, but the dress sense, wew 1920’s, so much that you are shy to go out in public with the guy – Just an example.

So thus this article.

Well, so if I could invent my own ideal guy, one that would just be mine, that would fit me like a glove, I would take the following characteristics from individual people whom I have had encounters with in my lifetime (I struggled to formulate that sentence, so it does not sound slutty).

If it does, your reality. I do not fucking care.

So here goes:

I would want the impeccable dress and perfume sense of Harvey and, the charisma of Harvey too,

I would want the passionate kisses, nibbles and caressing of Aaron, the humour and craziness of Peter,

The morals and the love of God’s work from Cain,

The length of Jude, and the blessed tools of Jude too,

The easygoing nature of Kevin,

The love and importance of family from Harvey,

The adventurous side of Jude,

The f..cking antics of Sasha,

The looks of Nate,

The sexy, sultry voice of Dylan,

The intensity of Adam,

The accountability of Harvey,

The striking looks of Bradley,

The Open and Noble Character of Eli,

The wine loving soul of Raoul,

The tidiness of De Luca,

The love of music from Harvey,

The spontaneity of Wayne,

Would Be Well Established like Fred?

The age of Giovanni, and the ambition of Hank.

And last but not least, the ability to give me multiple out of body experiences all in one go like…. nevermind…




Curvy Scorpio


Image by Pexels


Disclaimer: The names used in the piece are fictiscious.

Disclaimer: This post is not up for discussion






Tanqueray Tuesday

I had my first and only child (I swear) at the age of 32.

First and only, because it is a selfless act, one I do not think I can do again.

It is also the purest form of unconditional love, and I cannot promise that I will ever love anyone in such multitude, that I will be willing to give so much of myself in order to bear his child again.

With that out of the way.

My son started ”play school” this year, in order for him to secure his spot for Grade 1.

For those of you who does not know, play school is the entry level to Grade 0.

So next year he will do Grade 0 or Grade R and then the year after that he will be Grade 1, if God permits.

Our Namibian education system is doing the most.

I will be 40 once he starts with primary school.


Mmm, and I caught feelings when my friend Maria once asked me do you really only want a child in your late 30’s?

I was so upset with Maria, how dare she tell me to use my ovaries?

Now I understand what Maria was on about, clever girl.

Please take Maria’s advice and give your ovaries a run for their money, prior to the big 30.

I played excessively.

Now, I will be a Grandma/Fossil parent with a walking stick. Most probably.

Let me not even start with the age I will be once he has reached Grade 12.

Beyond Fossilness.

You can do the math.

Last night was the first parent meeting at my son’s school and I was so in my feels.


Never mind…

After the meeting, I needed to read up on Hitler and his Minister of Enlightenment – Goebel’s Propaganda Campaigns for my supplementary exam, which was this morning, but due to my feels, I was contemplating drinking half a bottle of Tanqueray Gin, on a Tuesday.

You know, numbing the feels a bit.

Tanqueray Tuesday.

Who knows maybe this might become a thread, or a real hashtag.

Then, I was a good girl and did not Tanqueray Tuesday, and the paper contained nothing of Hitler or Goebbels,

But I quoted them…. In generating a propaganda statement.

Tuesday’s will never be the same.




‘’Curvy Scorpio’’


My Heart Lost Its Mind

Silently Smouldering Words

My heart lost its mind

I’ve been trying to find

A way to reciprocate Love of this kind

It’s acting quite sinful

(Deliciously so)

Its mind (were it here)

Would have surely said,  “No.”

But mindless and senseless

My poor heart just beats

And bleeds for your touch

In these warm, twisted sheets. 

My heart lost its mind

But not bothered am I.

It can mindlessly love you

And blissfully 


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