Carmen?

Today, I left my blog open by accident at work... And a few of my colleges glanced over what I had written. I can’t believe how shy I felt! I am never shy. Actually shy and Carmen aren't friends.

At this specific moment I realized, I want two lives.

The Carmen that has been expressed over these blogs is completely different to the Carmen projected in real life. Why is it like this?

In real life, I am quite loud, bubbly and quirky. I always make jokes and find the silliest things funny, and when I laugh the entire office at work hears it. I always try my best to keep my confident happy self out there. I think every human does this. We all put an image out there and transform into a person - not the kind of person we necessarily want to be - but more the person we have to be, due to our circumstances.

I think if anyone at work had to read these blogs they would react in shock and disbelief, I somehow struggle to show my light hearted funny side when I write.

Who is this happy bubbly Carmen I meet every morning in the mirror?
Who is this Carmen I discover on this blog every single day?
Who am I? Who .. Am .. I?

I don't want anyone I know to read these blogs, simply because I do not want them to meet this side of me. Is it odd that I have more trust in strangers out there reading my inner most thoughts than those I am surrounded by?

To: Him :)

The past few days I have been trying to write a blog.
Strange what happens when you have the chance to write down your thoughts. The most unusual things come to mind. Some new ideas, old memories... Sometimes odd feelings and bitter sweet ones too.

Where to begin today...
Hmm, I suppose I should talk about myself for a bit, instead of indulging in my over analysis on everything.

I am 24 years old, and for the first time in a long time, I have no idea who I am anymore. I have no clue what makes me, me. I know for a fact that not all the experiences I have been through have been in vain. Somehow, I struggle to understand the meaning of "now"
Time is quite an odd thing for me; I am never really sure what moment I am in... Am I in the present, or if I am reliving moments of memory in my mind.
Does this make sense?

I doubt I make sense anymore; I have stopped expressing my thoughts after I met this man.
Well, technically - we haven't met -

A few months ago, I had a friend who lived in Finland. He was always quite abrupt and came across quite cold. He seemed quite intelligent and mysterious... I don't know why, but something about that made me gravitate towards him.

Let’s rewind a bit with the story...

I am a gamer. >please place nerdy image here<
Okay, its not that bad, but since an extremely young age, I have enjoyed playing games. I wouldn't say I was the best gamer, or the one with the highest scores, but I definitely enjoyed playing them anyways. We had a Sega console we used to play 24/7. My poor mother used to freak out because we would have the television blaring with our 32 bit graphics on the screen.
I wasn't the most athletic type, but I was always highly competitive. I guess, when I played tv games, it was a fun outlet for me and the family.
I am going to try and keep this blog on topic. :)

A few years ago, I started playing Star Craft 2. It’s a RTS game (Real time strategy) and requires quite a lot of focus. The game is complied of 3 different races.
The one is Zerg, the other Protoss and lastly the Terran.
Each of these have their own planets, units and stories. There are a few main characters in this game. Personally, it is one of my favorite games. I enjoy the story line and the online battles you can play with various players. There is an entire menu screen on the game where you can interact with hundreds of other players from all over the world... One big factor I really love about this game.

To cut a long story short - this guy and I began chatting to each other over a few games on Star Craft. I always felt a little unsure about him, and uneasy... In a strange way, I quite liked that.
Our chat conversations over Start Craft slowly moved to inboxing on Facebook. Unlike me, he had very few friends on his Facebook, he never even had a profile photo!
All of these things made me want to get to know him a little better...

And in time, after numerous inbox's over Facebook, we began getting to know each other on a completely different level.

We spoke about all kinds of wonderful things, from science, to art... Love, and films, Star Craft to Warfare, the list was endless! There wasn’t a topic we never mentioned in our letters. He became a very close friend to me.
I don’t know if I became over bearing, but I couldn’t wait to receive a new letter from him.

After time, our conversations got quite heavy and deep. It took more than an hour to respond to his mails most days... Slowly the magic between our mails faded away, I believe I smothered him. I dont think I should get into reason why on this blog. He seemed to have his thoughts and feelings under control.
Alas, this wonderful online friend has now become a distant memory.

The first few weeks of not writing were horrible. I longed to hear his thoughts and I missed writing mine down. It’s as if one of my closest friends had left me. And none of the events happening mattered. No one cared, no one understood.

So I made it my mission to make my life count. I tried new things, not only in hopes it would give me reason to talk to him again, but also make my life bearable & liveable.
Without him realizing, he helped me change my life, take action and be brave. I knew that these experiences would only benefit me, and make me more well rounded.

How is it possible to be so close to someone whom you haven't met before?

- Easy.
Our minds are wonderful things, and when I write to someone, and they return the favour, it lights something up in my soul. Especially someone far away... I would say I have quite a fascination with what is out there, and when I found common ground with this person, I felt so happy, grateful and thankful.
Every single moment that I captured as a memory seemed worthwhile, even the most mundane to the most extreme... because there was someone out there I could tell; someone out there that would find my ideas and thoughts a little different, as I found his.

I miss him terribly. I doubt we will ever be friends like we once were, maybe one day he will want to meet. I would love to meet him, put a face behind this mysterious person who has given me so much.

So what is the relevance of this man to my issue? Trust I presume. I don’t know if I will find such a mysterious, intricate, thoughtful and intelligent man like him again. Why bother looking for someone on his caliber when I invested all my time speaking to him. Maybe in time, in saying this - I sent him an inbox on Facebook last night (the first time in a really long time) - and here I wait, in bated breath for his long awaited reply!

This blog has by far been the hardest to write...

By the way, the sketch is one I drew him from a photo on Facebook.
Until next time :)

Ntombi

I remember Ntombi.

She was a tall thin black woman. Ntombi must of been in her early 40's she wasn't the most friendly person - or maybe she was just shy...
Every day, she came neatly dressed to work. She was quite reserved; and never really said much she always looked down and did her job.

I used to work for my dad in a butchery. I was a young, frustrated and passionate individual. I had just left the arts school, and had these massive dreams of becoming a film star or director. As I type this, I realize how far my dreams have drifted from me.

Every morning, I would walk through the staff entrance, cameras watching me from every angle. I used to feel the anger boil from within me - I hate this place -

My ambition failed me, I used to hide in my fathers office and cry. Hoping for better days... but what about Ntombi? What about the other ladies who worked under the exact same conditions?

The other ladies were Aunty Louisa she was cheeky, short and apparently a triplet she was extremely comical, and saying good bye everyday was always a big facade (it was our own little thing), Lindi was short, I think she had a problem with her ankles, she was quite overweight but extremely intelligent. She always knew what was happening on the wrestling or Days of our lives, I think out of every person there, she actually understood my sense of humor he most... And then there was Pretty Lindi, she seemed to be quite a traditional black woman; her husband had passed away not too long ago.

They loved me in the butchery; I wasn’t sure if it was because I was the bosses daughter, or if they actually liked me.
Most days I would feel bitter and misunderstood, bored and stressed. I felt like I was trapped in a place that I could never escape.

I was so self absorbed with my own agony, I never really took much notice of the staff around me. Until one day, I thought about it. How many pieces of meat would these women pack a day? How many would that add up in a week, a month... and finally on average in their lifetime?
Surely these people had big dreams too? Maybe they wanted to travel? Or meet someone important? Maybe they wanted to attend their future grandchild’s wedding? Or actually resign their job without a care in the world?

The world can be quite a lonely place if you wallow in your own self pity...

I changed my opinion. I decided to take every day at the butchery as an opportunity to admire these women I worked with.
They earned tiny salaries, yet always hosted something at home, they had health problems, but always found the energy to get up in the morning and face they day - with a smile (and sometimes dance too) They had a joy about them I admired.
Most days, I miss the staff there very much. They meant a lot to me, even two years later, I still think of them.

The smallest people teach us the biggest things...

Ntombi has gone to heaven now. For over 20 years she worked at my father’s butchery... leaving behind her baby girl.  I don’t know what happened to her baby, but it always crosses my mind.
I wonder what Ntombi's dreams where? I wonder what her fears where?
I wonder if she ever knew that she wouldn’t make her daughter’s wedding day.

As I end my second blog, I'd like to ask a question: Do we all have a purpose in this life as we have been promised growing up? Do we as the majority actually make a difference to the praised minority? Is it us - the majority - that are the purpose for the minority?
Suppose these thoughts are for another day another blog...

My first blog - I hope this will do..

I have never really had the confidence to create my own blog...
I've always read up on other people's posts and desired to have the power to recreate thoughts by "blogging" it out, I have never truly found the power or the courage to say exactly how I feel.
But here goes...

I remember in my younger days, expression was more of an adventure than a burden.
Like yesterday, I remember my mother always saying that those tender years of my life - I would love like I have never loved and hate like I have never hated. There was something so pure about the younger me, something I admire now.
If I could go back in time and meet the 16 year old me, I would pat her on the back and say that she was good. She was talented and kind hearted and she shouldn't waste all her time disliking herself.
Isn't it odd how we change the perceptions of our present self as time goes by? There have been moments where I have utterly disliked myself, where I could feel the core of my being turned to stone... so filled with hate and anger... The compassion within me dried up into my bones.

Why has my expression become so hidden? Or have the outlets of my expression changed?

Maybe its time I reevaluate the things that make me admire others, like writing a simple blog, or helping someone less fortunate, what about those who still follow the footsteps of their dreams... Suppose it's time to start focusing on those things instead to help cure this frustration within me.