bevsmith

[bevsmith]

Moving House

They say moving houses is one of life’s traumas right up there with Divorce, Death etc. Well I am not sure it rates as high as dealing with Divorce and the death of a loved one but it is certainly not easy. The first difficult thing is to actually find a house to buy to replace the one you live in and, of course, that means there are reasons for you to have decided to sell and move in the first place. My reason this time is that my current house is on 4 levels and halfway up a mountain. That means lots and lots of stairs. I no longer have the ability to leap around like a gazelle and stairs are no longer my friends, hence the decision to move to a more level house.

Firstly, finding a house with fewer levels has been a real challenge as the area I live in is a hilly one. Gorgeous and filled with mountains and hills covered with green forests but trees don’t mind growing on steep mountains. Old ladies do mind living on steep mountains. The views are spectacular though.

Luckily I have found a house on a hill, not a mountain, so only slightly angled which has the added benefit of providing a beautiful view across a huge plain with mountains in the distance. Of course it needs lots of work to be liveable but somehow I prefer that to moving into someone else’s vision of comfort. Especially kitchens. There is something slightly distasteful about moving into someone else’s kitchen. Unpacking all your pots and pans into their cupboards. I know it may sound strange but it is the one room I prefer to inherit bare of the previous occupant’s personality. And I really am not a fan of a plethora of built-in cupboards. Being surrounded by all these cupboards just waiting to be filled with mostly junk. And the cupboards are so often ‘beige’. Just so beige. No offence to the colour beige but really? So bland.

Another quirk I have is trying to retain something of the feel of the house I inherit. Well not inherit in the sense that someone died and gave it to me. I mean the way you inherit weird tiles with a border of hibiscus flowers along the top row and they seem to fit the space. So I leave them and incorporate them into my new kitchen. It feels as though I am showing respect to the history of the house. None of this gutting and remodelling for me. That’s seems very disrespectful.

Since living in a house whose kitchen contained just one tiny cupboard under a sink and nothing else, I have discovered the freedom of a flexible kitchen. The freedom to re-arrange my kitchen when a new appliance is bought. Or just re-arrange to have a change. There doesn’t have to be a reason. So I currently have a collection of tables, a small free standing cupboard, a plate rack thing (actually really great and beautiful to look at) which hangs on the wall and that’s about it. By the way, the plate rack thing was a necessity as I had nowhere to store plates due to the sparse kitchen. So I found a picture of what I wanted, showed it to my carpenter neighbour who made this beautiful wall plate thing and a space problem became a feature.

My current house has a really small kitchen and the new one a large kitchen / dining room so the options are now very exciting. Currently I only have a summer dining room as it is on the verandah, which means basically outside. In winter eating outside in 1 degree is not really an option. So I look forward to winter dinner parties now. Which brings me back to my collection of tables. I seem to have a thing about tables. My dining tables were found on Facebook Marketplace and consist of 3 square restaurant tables with 8 chairs bought for the princely sum of €50 for the lot. Apparently the restaurant closed down and these were the remains of it’s furnishings. They are solid wood and very sturdy. I just love them.

Well, I am only scheduled to move in around 2 months so I will be back with more moving moans and plans soon.

[bevsmith]

I miss my old life...

Most of the time I am happy in my new life in Europe. It is safe, everything works and I actually feel valued as a member of this society. As much as I miss so much of my old life, the one thing I can’t miss is the fact that I was not valued as a person in my old life for very many reasons, most of which I can no longer talk about publicly due to the strange woke rules of current society in which you seem not to be permitted to have personal opinions or viewpoints. But that is another subject.

What I want to talk about now are the things I miss of my old life.

I miss my actual house that I sold when I left. The fact that it was a proper A Frame house and I have been intrigued and obsessed with A Frames for most of my life. When I found the house, bought it and moved in, I couldn’t actually believe that I owned an A Frame and lived in one. It felt magical. The steepness of the roof/walls and unusual shape of the rooms. The fact that when it rained really hard you could hardly hear the rain as the angle of the roof was so steep that it glanced off the tiles and ran down straight into the ground.

The fact that I had my own swimming pool was also a dream that became real in that house. A really big proper swimming pool that was mine. Wow. Then it became infested with frogs and strings of frog-spawn and the dream became something of a nightmare reality but the initial euphoria is still clear in my mind. Dreams are fantastic but take hard work to maintain when you are lucky enough for them to come true.

Underneath this magical A Frame were two cottages which I rented out and this provided the necessary financial cushion for me to be able to live as a full-time Artist and Art teacher. Finding this house was such a blessing in so many ways.

The house is also opposite a green area forest which meant that there are lots of birds in the area. A pair of Fish Eagles lived close by and were often to be seen soaring high over the neighbourhood crying their unmistakeable cry whilst hunting for food. A Kingfisher had babies somewhere nearby and they were always around in the trees in my garden. Sunbirds, sparrows and weavers in abundance. And of course Hadidahs. Can’t leave them out because, as noisy and messy as they are, they are a part of Durban and South African life.

I don’t miss the troupe of monkeys. Not at all. They swept through the suburbs daily on the hunt for anything edible. Open windows were an invitation for the troupe to boldly enter your house and raid the kitchen, leaving behind an enormous mess. I kept a hose on my sundeck to spray the troupe with water to keep them away from my house. They didn’t like getting sprayed with water at all and my labrador dogs did their bit by galloping all over the property trying to catch a monkey. It was hilarious. They had absolutely no chance at all but it was great exercise and fun for them. The monkeys watched their frantic jumps and sprints from the safety of the trees.

I miss meeting friends whom I have known for most of my life for coffee and breakfast. This is possible when you live in the same country. Not so much when you don’t. It is wonderful to meet new people from different countries with different backgrounds and cultures but there is something comforting about being with people who know everything there is to know about you. People who are like comfortable warm old jerseys that you want to wrap around yourself and just be with. That is what I miss the most.

The comfort of old friends.

[bevsmith]

End of Winter is here

Well, I have survived my second Winter in a house in Europe and live to thrive in the coming Summer of central Portugal which is wondrously hot and dry and just lovely. I will never understand how people get warm in the European winter by just putting on layers of clothing. How does that work? If I am cold, and I mean bone deep cold that I have never experienced before in my previous little warm South African life, how does wearing more clothes warm you up? All that happens to me is that I remain bone deep cold with lots of clothes on top of the bone deep cold. I require artificial heating to warm me up, ie. a scalding hot shower, hot water bottle, heaters of various means (electric, gas, wood, anything hot). Without artificial means of heating me up I would die. Just die of cold.

Actually one really important lesson I learnt this winter was the importance of eating in winter. Through hard experience I found that a light meal when you are cold and your surroundings are cold does not work. No amount of hot showers, heating, etc. will work in this instance. Your body needs fuel from the inside to burn and warm you up. It seems I really am learning how to survive in the North.

I recently found the first person I have ever met who is like me. She is from Canada, strangely, as that is a seriously cold country to live in. That said, she struggles with the cold as I do. Nothing will do but some artificial heat to warm up.

But on a positive note, I lived through winter whilst being on a steep learning curve about lighting fires, keeping them stoked, getting the right level of red hot burning coals without wastefully burning up the wood too fast. This is a serious business. Knowing how to keep a fire burning constantly at just the right temperature. Adding the right amount of logs at the right time to maintain the optimum temperature. Not an easy task. But I surmounted this obstacle and have come out the other side of winter as a fire stoker of note and some experience. Still a comparative novice but on a learning curve.

The thing is that, in my opinion, it is a relatively easy thing to get cool when it is hot. You wet your head, spray a little water on your arms and sit in the shade with a breeze, natural or electric fan. Aircon is not even necessary (be kind to the planet people). Or jump in the swimming pool and wander around with a towel. But getting warm is really hard work. It involves acquiring wood, carrying said wood up to wherever your fireplace/wood burner is, lighting said wood, keeping it going through the cold, cleaning out the fireplace/wood burner the next day and repeating the procedure each day during the whole cold winter. Wow!

The thought of the warm summer sun on my skin keeps me going...

[bevsmith]

Life after an exhibition

I was tempted to type ‘Life after a FAILED exhibition’ but did a bit of self censoring to distance myself from all the loud woke whining that is such a ridiculous part of life these days. It was only a FAIL due to there being no sales of paintings. Receipt of the actual work was good. Just no-one bought anything. So you decide on the failed part of the event. I am still of a mind that it was a fail but...

it has been a few months now and I am finally getting past the absence of wanting to paint. I just couldn’t face picking up a paintbrush and creating more STUFF that probably wouldn’t ever grace some stranger’s wall. I know I should have got past this disappointment much faster but it was hard. Coming to terms with any kind of reaction to something as personal as a selection of paintings that you choose to expose to the public at large is hard. Even a small section of the public at large.

Anyway I am back. About to start a new painting and embarking on a marketing campaign to encourage new Art students and to continue with my creative life in the marvelous land of Portugal.

[bevsmith]

Two and a bit years since leaving the old country

It is just over 2 years since I left South Africa and how my emotions towards that country have changed. The raw anger has been dispersed by daily life in a place where I feel safe. It is still quite a novel emotion. When you have lived for about 15 years being hyper aware of everyone and everything around you in order to immediately take action to protect yourself, it takes time to adjust to not having to do that. In fact not having to give a single thought to danger and protecting yourself. You are much more likely to have someone smile and greet you in my new life than have them attack you.

Two years ago I felt desperately relieved to have gotten out in time. Anger at having my belongings destroyed, resentment that I actually had to leave and a need to distance myself from everything South African. With time that has changed. I now embrace being South African, although with the understanding that the country I grew up in and have such fond memories of doesn’t exist any longer. I am now a human without a country. Moving countries and starting a life somewhere else is not easy.

It is a natural human need to want to belong somewhere but as a migratory human that doesn’t always work. I am surrounded by wonderful, friendly, warm people in Portugal who invite me to festivals and events that take place in the small town I live in and make me feel very welcome. But I don’t feel any sense of belonging as the culture and traditions are not familiar to me. They are strange and foreign. Interesting and mostly wonderful but not familiar. There are a lot of us migratory South Africans around the world.

I have a lot of SA friends now living in England who all feel a similar sense of not quite fitting in so over Easter this year we started a new annual tradition. On Easter Sunday we held a virtual braai during which we shared videos, pictures and chats of our separate Easter braai’s. All of us in different countries and connected only by our shared longing for the familiar. It was a spectacular success and one which we plan to repeat often. Nothing can quite replace the feeling of connecting with an old friend with shared memories and a similar background. Silly jokes are immediately understood and require no explanation.

New friends are great but are sometimes friends by proximity. Forgive how cruel that sounds but it is sometimes the truth. Of course I have met wonderful people here with whom I would be friends wherever I was, but others are by proximity. And that is also just fine. Old friends are sometimes friends for exactly that reason also. You have known one another for so long that it is not worth changing anything.

But then there are the special wonderful old friends. You know who you are and will always be treasured in my heart even though we mostly have to interact virtually now...

[bevsmith]

Being an Artist

It is really hard to be an artist. To be responsible for your own earnings with which you buy food, pay rent or utilities and generally support yourself. By yourself. It is hard.

Sometimes the mountain seems steeper than other times.

I held an exhibition a month or two ago which was the first formal exhibition, in a proper gallery, that I have ever held. I have had little exhibitions from my studio in South Africa where mostly friends came and wandered around, being supportive. I did make a few sales during these little soirees though. So this mainline exhibition was a big deal for me and also a first exposure in Europe. Well, whilst the reception of my work was really good with lots of positive feedback, there were no sales. Not even one.

And now I am at a bit of a loss. Where do I go from here? I have no desire or motivation to paint as I have a studio FULL of paintings brought back from the exhibition. So marketing for more students and teaching Art seems to be the way to go.

And I watch my bank balance go down...

In a strange country...

It is hard being an artist.

[bevsmith]

Status update by bevbam

[bevsmith]

Green Hills of Natal small by bevbam

[bevsmith]

Too Much Time on my Hands

One of the joys of growing older and no longer having to work is supposed to be having more time to do whatever you want. Well, I have found that this is both a blessing and a burden. It is fabulous to have time to decide that you are going to do each day, but the other side is that you feel somewhat left by the roadside when all the younger, still employed people living around you, are busy going to work, looking forward to the weekend and rushing to get things done when they get home from work. Whilst you have the luxury of taking your time doing whatever takes your fancy, the downside is that it can make you feel left out.

I feel that I am watching other people’s lives from the outside these days. My kids have busy lives working every day and doing what young people do in their leisure time whilst I amble along on the sidelines. Half of the time I love it and treasure the fact that I am able to live in a fantastic country where I can take time to appreciate the beauty of my surroundings and count my blessings. The other half of the time I feel a bit adrift. As though my anchor has come loose. I don’t have a certain direction in which to travel. My ship is not in a current any longer, it is drifting wherever the tide takes it and blown about by stray breezes. It is a strange feeling after spending a lifetime in a current always working towards goals.

This feeling of drifting is causing me to try things I have never thought of doing before. Like gardening. Well, I say “gardening” meaning that I potter around planting various things in recycled hanging plastic bottles that are within easy reach of my house. Grubbing around in the soil with worms and insects will never be my thing. I may be on the older side of life but I still find most insects scary and choose to have as little to do with them as possible. I have never understood why you are expected to stop being scared of insects just because you have grown up. Why? What happens to take away the fear? I understand pretending to be brave and unafraid in front of your children in order to attempt to provide an example of mature adult behaviour but once they have left the nest why keep up the pretense? Because pretense is all it ever is. So ”gardening” is all I am ever going to be doing.

[bevsmith]

Day Drinking

A few words of advice to anyone thinking of, or in the process of, moving countries and who finds themselves living in an idyllic place knowing almost no-one and surrounded by lovely people who speak a different language which you find really hard to master. The thing to realise early on is that Day Drinking is the answer.

Especially when one of those public holiday long weekends rolls around and all the lovely people around have family & friends visiting and you can hear kids screaming, adults shouting (I am certainly not suggesting that having compulsory long weekend family lunches is a goal to aspire to – that may actually be one of the perks of moving countries) and you wonder what you are going to do over the 3 days holiday. Well, this is where my advice comes in.

Whenever you reach a stage during the first or second day of the long weekend when you think what should I do now? Immediately head for the fridge and grab your drink of choice. Mine is white wine (which, luckily, is cheap and plentiful in this wonderful country that I find myself in).

Proceed to sip delicately on your drink of choice for as long or short a time as feels right.

This is the crucial part of my advice – there must be no guilt involved at all. The object of the Day Drinking is to make you feel happy and loved – loved by yourself mostly. It is an activity which should make you feel mellow, relaxed and at peace with the world. It is the exact time to indulge yourself. Free yourself of all the guilt and stupid restraints that society has burdened us with about drinking during the day and just go for it. What else is there to do? Also who cares what you do? You are actually free to do whatever you want, probably for the very first time in your whole life.

There are no limits.

Invariably I find that after 2 or 3 beverages I fall asleep on the couch and wake up an hour or so later feeling wonderfully relaxed and rested – sometimes starving (which of course means that you now need to head for the kitchen and find something delicious to eat and that takes time which is sort of the purpose of my advice on how to navigate a long weekend in a foreign country alone).

So just DO IT.

[bevsmith]

Almost a year now...

It is almost a year that I have been living in my little house in Portugal and things are starting to renew. Like my car insurance and licence. Having to pay these renewals makes my life here seem more real somehow. Just going through the process of making the annual payment, finding a cheaper electricity supplier and doing all the little routine things that everyone does to live, makes me feel a part of Portugal now.

This morning I accidentally tripped the electricity supply to my house, thought it was an outage in the area then discovered that it was only my house that was powerless. After spending an hour on the phone (well my neighbour’s son spent an hour on my behalf, speaking Portuguese to the helpdesk personnel) I discovered that the fault was with my attempting to plug my US electricity transformer in so that I could start using my US rice cooker again. It tripped the whole house. This had never happened before.

The thing is that these little mishaps need to happen in order for us to learn what to do when they happen. Each house, flat or country has it’s own characteristics as to how these things are handled. In this case the main trip box is situated high up on the wall and I had been told never to touch it as it was secured with a wire that you are not supposed to tamper with. What I was never told was that there is a master trip switch on it which turns around when tripped and which needs to be turned back to get the power back on.

So now I am a permanent Portugal resident and KNOW how to check whether I have tripped the power or whether it is a supplier problem. Such a feeling of belonging.

I feel quite smug actually.

[bevsmith]

Back again...

The human heart is a strange thing. I think there should be a stronger link between emotion and intellect. Really. To stop us silly humans repeating the same stupid mistakes over and over again. Well that is exactly what this silly human does (me).

My heart fixates on someone and won’t let go. No matter how compelling the intellectual argument is to do this. It just hangs on and lives in hopes. Such a silly heart.

And then the same catastrophe builds and waits for the opportunity to happen again.

If my heart had a brain it wouldn’t do this...

And I can’t really say that I even want this fixation to become reality. Not categorically. Not even close. The fantasy is intriguing and even wonderful but the reality would be far different. And I absolutely can’t say I would really want that.

But my heart clings on to this silly fantasy.

And then there is the age issue. It is assumed that as one gets older the yearning for love and affection fades. But it doesn’t. One’s body may be chronologically ancient but one’s emotions stay the same. There is the same yearning for love. A meeting of two souls with a bond. A special connection with another who accepts and values us as we are. This is of course a fantasy also but age doesn’t fade this yearning in the slightest. It abides. Being bound in a human body doesn’t constrain the soul from wanting what it knows exists. But not here. Not on this plane.

Sometimes it is hard to live here. Achingly beautiful and filled with joy and sadness but hard.

Oh well, such is life.

[bevsmith]

Coming up to 8 months in Portugal

I arrived in Portugal almost 8 months ago now and have been living in my house here for that amount of time. For the most part I am deliriously happy and delighted to be here. It is a spectacularly beautiful place and I have been made to feel very welcome by the local people. But there always comes a time when you feel like a stranger in a strange place.

Now is the first time that I have felt that way.

Probably because I have been relying heavily on my old friends from South Africa and living from phone call to phone call for my social interaction. And probably also because I upset one of my old friends the other day and she is not happy with me currently. I feel so bad. But not because of what I said – mostly because I shouldn’t have said it. Just kept it to myself. Shit...

But what is done is done.

So here we are.

Also a HUGE spider appeared on my bedroom ceiling this morning and I have been told that there are huge spiders which appear in Portuguese houses when it gets cold and that they are harmless and should be left alone. BUT sitting on my bed watching this HUGE creature start moving towards my clothes was something I couldn’t leave alone. So the spider is deceased and I also feel bad about that. Relieved but bad.

So that is two counts of bad behaviour.

And it is also starting to get really cold. I don’t cope well with cold. All those clothes that you have to wear. Just layers and layers until you feel like a sausage in a casing. Exhausting to get dressed in the morning.

But enough negativity.

I live in the most spectacular place. My house overlooks a huge river which is currently flowing so strongly that the pedestrian bridge that I face is in danger of being washed away by the current. Every morning there is mist rising from the surrounding forests and drifting around the valley. Just so beautiful. When the wind blows from a certain direction I can hear the trees sighing. They bend and sway in the wind and speak to each other. Also they are evergreen so remain bright green throughout the year. Endless hills and mountains covered in green forest are to be found in Central Portugal. Just gorgeous.

Sometimes Rachel (my English friend who lives nearby) and I just drive around marvelling at the countryside. We pick a direction and just drive. The views and countryside are breathtaking from any direction you choose. Incredible. And safe. After enduring what South Africa has become and losing the freedom to do anything like driving randomly around that country, it is liberating to be able to do that here in Portugal.

Thank you Portugal for being the refuge that I needed so badly. Just thank you.

[bevsmith]

Portugal Life – 2.5 months in Portugal and 9.5 months away from SA

Every day I thank my angels for bringing me to this idyllic place. Just gorgeous weather with sunshine most days and the sun feeling like the bright, hot, happy sun that I am used to. Not the light in a fridge sun of Ireland.

Not that Ireland isn’t wonderfully beautiful in it’s own way. But it’s a quiet, chilly beauty that runs deep and requires hard work to enjoy because the simple act of staying warm is so difficult. Well, that’s how it felt to me, a South African used to sweating profusely in the torrid summers of Durban and wearing light jerseys and slops in winter, which meant that the weather in Ireland was really hard to take. The energy expended each day in wearing SO MANY layers of clothes. My feet were in shock at being enclosed in socks and closed shoes all the time. They weren’t happy. My toes rebelled and wanted to be free to wriggle in fresh air. Now they can. Barefeet and warmth are around me now. So great.

And I am surrounded by forests. I hear the sound of the wind rushing through the trees in the forest, which is really close on one side of my house. The first time I heard this rushing noise I had no idea what it was. Sounded like a large distant train or truck vibrating past but when I went outside to investigate I found that it was the wind in the trees. They sway in the wind in unison and make a rushing vibrating sound as though they are all singing to the wind. Breathtaking to live so close to so many beautiful trees.

And the river in the valley in front of my house has a weir with a pedestrian path across it that makes a rushing water sound which is especially loud at night when everything quiets down. Another stunning sound to love.

The rooster who crows each morning and at intervals through the day is just gorgeous. Dark auburn red feathers and a huge proud comb as he struts around the fields when he and his harem of plump hens are let loose during the day. And the vegetables and produce grown by my neighbour one house away is astounding. He brings me loquats, lettuce, oranges, lemons and some kind of bean that I have never seen before. Such wonderful generosity of spirit. Not sure if he likes the jam and pesto I have gifted him with to try and return the generosity as we have a language barrier – he doesn’t speak a work of English and I am still learning Portuguese. But we manage with a primitive system of sign language. We play charades actually lol. Must be hilarious to watch our interaction.

And the trip to the local supermarket involves driving to the top of the mountain, on which I live halfway up (my ears pop each time I do a food shop), and along the top, with spectacular views over the surrounding mountains. The supermarket is located halfway down the other side of the mountain. Literally a 4 minute drive away but who is lucky enough to drive along a mountain with breathtaking views of nearby other mountains to get to the supermarket? Me!

Thank you angels for bringing me here...

[bevsmith]

In another time and place i would still be living here. But now I'm on another adventure. Nothing wrong with keeping the good memories though...

[bevsmith]

More on moving countries...

3.5 months in Ireland

It has been 3.5 months that I have lived in Dublin, Ireland now, having arrived a week after the terrible riots and looting which took place in my home town, Durban, South Africa. I arrived with such anger directed at what happened in South Africa just before I left. Also at the fact that I had been told 2 days before I flew out that my packed goods, waiting to be loaded onto a container bound for Ireland, had been looted and destroyed in the riots. That is all in the past now.

After living in the peace and serenity that is Ireland for the past few months, the anger has faded. Now my strongest emotion is relief at having got out of that torn and struggling country. I don’t feel any connection to South Africa. Just relief that I don’t have to endure the constant pressure of avoiding mugging/burglary/hijacking/beggars/random violence/riots/no electricity/etc. It is such a huge relief to be somewhere else.

My SA passport expires next year and I just don’t care. Have no plans to renew it as I have no plans to return...ever.

Enough now.

4 months in Ireland now

I went yesterday for my in person interview to get properly registered into the Irish citizen system and now have to wait for final verification. It’s a strange feeling to have nothing to do but wait now. I have been sending further documentation to various Irish offices for what feels like months now. And the waiting seems never ending.

9 months after leaving South Africa...

Now begins a happy time. I have bought a wonderful little house on a mountain, with a spectacular view of a river in Central Portugal. This is where I have always wanted to be but, due to various opportunities that I thought would be available in Ireland, and which I have since discovered are not, I am finally in Portugal. This has been a dream of mine since the mid 1990’s. To live in the wooded countryside of Portugal in some kind of quiet hamlet or village and just be. I am finally here.

It feels like some kind of wonderful dream and necessitates my pinching myself every day just to check that it is real. I feel wrapped in wonder that the Angels and Universe have judged me good enough to have such blessings and delights bestowed on me. It is wondrous here. Food and wine are so cheap compared to Ireland and the people are relaxed and welcoming. I read somewhere recently that the culture in Portugal is described as “fraternal”. Looked up the definition and it seems to fit them perfectly. That they regard everyone around them as part of an extended family, in a sense they are all brothers. There is no judgement (well very little compared to any and all other countries that I have experienced) but rather an acceptance of what is and a gathering of shared humanity. Things are freely given. The country is poor in money but the wealth of kindness and shared food, fruit and all things grown and made by the people here make it one of the wealthiest place in the world on many levels more important than money. The people here seem to know in their souls that they will be taken care of, come what may, by someone in the community, somehow, some way.

They are born knowing this. It is a magical place.

Even the soil knows this as things grow magically. I watched leaves sprout on a fig tree growing over my wall that grow by centimetres each day. Never have I seen things grow like this. And I come from a sub-tropical city where I THOUGHT everything grew well. Well I was wrong.

Even the soil loves the seeds that are carefully planted each season in each houses’ vegetable plot. And this is a national labour – the growing and nurturing of fruit, vegetables and all things which sustain us in life. My house even has a little rustic plot for the growing of veggies. I inherited it with 2 x olive trees, a cherry tree and grape vines along the roadside. My neighbour freely offered to continue mowing the weeds growing rampantly in my plot (mostly I think to stop them spreading to his immaculate plot) and I am left feeling guilty that I don’t spend part of each day ploughing and planting along with everyone else. Maybe I will get there in time.

I really have found a magical place to live. Wow

[bevsmith]

Virtual and Real Life Relationships

What a strange time this past year has been. And that is not even taking into account the preceding 18 months of Covid restrictions, lockdowns, mask wearing etc. Humans are highly adaptable beings and it didn’t take long for the wearing of masks to become normal and comfortable. Comforting even to have a barrier between yourself and strangers. They have helped to strengthen the isolation which the social media age had already started. The fact that we are already living in a partly virtual world seems to have escaped most of population. Our attention is captured by images and words on little screens more than by real living breathing people in this current world.

And my present situation has pushed me more and more into this virtual world. Not without my consent at all. Oh no, I have freely run into the world of gaming, online friends, video chats and having the bulk of my social interactions take place via a flickering little screen and a microphone. Friends are people from all over the world. There are no human hugs in this world. That is the sad part. The lack of physical human interaction. Humans need touch and there is so little in this post Covid and social media world. I started hugging people during my stay in Ireland and accidentally created a little stir in the tiny world I found myself in. It seems that Irish people are not as exuberant as South Africans in hugging spontaneously. The good news is that they loved the experience and, in my own little way, I seem to have spread a bit of a hugging epidemic. Well, at least the people I came into contact with have embraced the principle of physical hugging and appear to still be running with it.

The problems with virtual friends is the lack of consequences for bad behaviour. When an online friend decides to leave the friendship there are no reliable ways of getting closure for this sometimes traumatic experience for the person left friendless. All it takes is the click of a little button and the unfriended human is left in a silent virtual void. This may be worse than an argument in the real world as there is no way to get closure. No contact and dead silence are surely worse with no way to have any kind of contact with the ex friend. Not even a glimpse across a street or snippets of news from mutual friends during social occasions. There are so few social occasions in this current world.

I have had it happen to me several times and have been left really puzzled with no way of knowing the reason for the unfriending. There has been no warning. No disagreement. One day you are friends and chatting on a fairly regular basis, enough to be a part of each others lives in a sense, and the next nothing. I would be interested in having some qualified person explain the emotional difference between having regular interactions with online friends as opposed to physical interactions with real life people. In my experience the online relationships have fewer boundaries as you only show as much or little of yourself to these virtual people as you choose. In real life physicality and sight create boundaries and preconceptions in themselves from the second you meet someone. Therefore the consequences are completely different. There are virtually none for online interactions. Good and bad. But the emotional scarring is the same.