Guest Post : Two instead of three.

Grief.

No one ever explains how it’s really going to feel. How it’s really going to affect you. How it’s going to tear your insides apart. How surreal it’s going to feel. How heavy it is on your chest that you can’t catch your breath. But when it happens, you know. And no one else knows unless they have walked that same path.


On 7 December 2018, I lost my husband. And our little girl, who is 3 and a half years old at the time, lost her daddy. Our world was turned upside down and it felt like I just couldn’t breathe. How would I raise Quinn on my own? How will I get up again tomorrow? How will we come home every day to an empty house? How? Why? WHY???

Continue reading “Guest Post : Two instead of three.”

Book Review: Lost Daughter by Ali Mercer

Dear friends and other interesting creatures,

Lost Daughter is the story of three very different women who join a support group where they are the only members. They are separated from their children for very real and emotional taxing reasons.

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The main storyline concentrates on Rachel. Rachel is separated from her artist husband and they have a teenage daughter. There are insinuations that Rachel had done something so horrid that she is trusted to only sees her daughter on a Saturday Her estranged husband appears to make all decisions regarding their child. There are many references to Rachel’s mental health and how this influences her ability to care for her child.

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City of colours, hearts of gold.

Dear friends and other interesting people,

Sometimes there are so many things I feel passionate about that I feel my heart will explode. My mouth already can’t speak fast enough! Really do we need me talking more? Don’t answer that. 

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When I came to Johannesburg in December 1984, at eleven years of age, weeks after my father died, I hated it. It was grim, grey and dreary. The Hillbrow tower was the way I directed myself in the maze. Still. Today the feeling, it is my pulse. It gives me rhythm. The skyline brings me joy. The smiles of my people. The hugs of strangers, the smiles of friends. This is my City. Filled with contradictions – just like me.

I love being alive! So many things, people, sounds, books, food, art, joy, laughter, pain, tears – all of it.

I wish you enough,

Wenchy

#wenchytude
#AfricanHipsDontLie

Guest Post: “I’m having an affair… with a woman.”

It’s a cool Saturday morning in Hillcrest. I make myself a cup of coffee and climb back into bed, feeling lazy. I give in to the urge to contact Tracey. I can’t help myself. She’s become my drug of choice. My entire body tingles with anticipation. I crave the intoxication of her presence, her touch, her lips on mine. I love the flirty banter when we speak, so I give in and phone her. As usual, we can’t stop chatting. Excitement buzzes through the phone connection. I’m high on the thrill. I’m laughing on the phone when I hear the front door open.

Shit, it’s Brad. I freeze. My heart beats wildly. My mind betrays me and blanks. I put on a smile, while a thread of fear twirls in my gut. I turn off the phone knowing that Tracey has heard him.

“We need to talk.”

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Guest Blog: I am a Prison Wife.

On the surface I am your traditional bride to be planning my wedding – I am choosing my dress, my husband-to-be’s ring – getting all the butterflies and counting down the days until THE day that I say I Do and marry the love of my life, my best friend, my soulmate.

Except.

There will be no flowers. No cake. No guest list and my dress has to adhere to a strict dress code.

The reason for this is that my fiancé is 15 000 km away, in prison. In the United States of America and him and I have been on this journey for the last 4 years.

I am a Prison Wife.

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