The Yearning

Most English teachers will tell you how difficult it is to read for pleasure. Literature is work, something we read to find deeper meaning and even simpler ways to convey that which we encounter.

How refreshing it is to find a novel that engrosses you; a truly engaging, beautiful and authentically South African story. Every page was worth the read and it was bittersweet to put it down at the end.



“When I’ve ticked all the boxes, I’ll be happy,” she resolved.

But what if happiness lies in the journey and not the boxes ticked?


“But then you’ll see,” she said, hands protectively over her heart.”I want to see,” was his cryptic response, his eyes appealing, begging to see what was lying beneath the protective barrier.

And so she shakily lifted her hands from  the most precious part of her. He saw it…

 She could not read his expression as he turned around, without a word, and walked out of the room leaving her confused and exposed…


“I want to be a better writer. Help me,” She pleaded. She wanted her words to touch someone. She wanted someone to connect with her ramblings.

The best advice she gave was no different to words of wisdom for the walk of life. “Keep writing… reading also helps with that.” 

And so she must keep scribbling on the page as best she can. Keep turning the page until the ink dries and soon, they will connect…

The Art of Losing

I finished this novel this morning. When you lose someone you love, you do everything you can to stay close to them. You keep their things and try to remember the last time you saw them and the last thing they said to you. You try to change the narrative because that makes their memory sweeter. This novel gave me heavy boots for days…

In the end,  time is the only thing that heals and the art of losing is, in fact,hard to master… This novel is a must read! 


She has suitcases full of clothes; scarves she folds and refolds and saves for the coldest winter day,that dress she will wear when the weather is just right, those cute shoes that just need a fresh coat of polish or glue to hold them together. There is a box full of… stuff; gift bags she swears she will reuse, a little floormat that she will lay out -one day; a washing basket – she’s sure she can use that for something. But all that stuff, like people, has taken up too much space in her vacuum. The suitecases are spilling over and the boxes just make the room look clustered. She doesn’t wear those scarves and that dress is just not her anymore. She is changing, morfing, evolving, and that’s ok. Change comes and change is necessary…