• Admissions / 02

    Dear [redacted]

    I’ve been thinking of you.

    And the time we stopped being friends.

    Sometimes, I feel like friendship is the sort of thing that should end abruptly and without ceremony. If it isn’t working, let’s all move to something that does. And then I remember how we ended. How there was nothing abrupt or unceremonious about how we tore ourselves apart fighting for our friendship. It seems strange to me now, the desperation to keep it together — I suppose when something is ending, you want to hold onto it the most. At least, we did.

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  • Gone Till November

    Not long ago, my husband did a quick calculation and announced that we had only 56 days left in South Africa.

    I haven’t counted how many days have passed since then.

    My travel history, here at the ripe old age of twenty-nine, is not extensive, though the trips I have been on are memorable (up to and including that one time years ago, when my family drove to Johannesburg and I dabbled before climbing in the back of a bakkie with my grandmother), laughable (cooking whole rolls of boerewors on a dirt road in Botswana, with only a tiny pot, a mini gas stove and a fork for tools) and just plain enjoyable (camping around a lamp in a small dorpie in the middle of the Karoo very much like the one that characterises Lantern Waste in Narnia). The one and only safari I have ever taken was spent with my nose buried between the pages of a book — a move I do not regret to this day, since every word of The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet’s Nest makes ploughing through the previous two novels absolutely worth it.

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