Knee Jerk Reaction (Bloody Rude)

I used to be a secretary.  About 100 years ago.

One of the things I had to do, was receive emails on behalf of my boss.   There was a forwarding on his email address.

So, I am sitting in front of my new laptop one sunny morning in Johannesburg when an email pops up.  It says “Dear Mr X, I had the displeasure of deeling with your secretary this morning”.

My first thought was “You can’t spell” but I read on.

It continued “I was looking for some information which she refused to give me, hence holding up the project.  Delay will probably cost millions, thanks to Miss bloody rude!”

Bloody rude?  Did I just see that?

My CEO (Mr X) and I had come a long way.  We had a mutual respect and though I had moved on from the secretarial role a long time ago, I still dealt with his emails. We had that sort of relationship. Some call it trust, others habit. It’s just the way things were.

It took me 15 minutes to decide what action to take.

I responded “Dear Mr B, I take exception to the tone of your email and its inaccuracies.  As such, I have deleted your email and have not brought it to the attention of Mr X.  Sincerely, Bloody Rude”. Yes, I signed the email “Bloody Rude”.

Now, before you send forth waves of applause.  Hold it.  This kind of knee-jerk reaction is not something I advocate. It was also very out of character for me. I was blinded by rage and in hindsight, I am sure that my reaction would come in very low on an emotional intelligence scorer. 

Mr B happened to be a very senior business associate.  Someone we dared NOT challenge.  We needed him.  Our business depended on it.  He sat very high up on the food chain. I knew this.

When I arrived at my office the next morning, I weighed up my options:

1. Tell my CEO about the incident (and get fired)
2. Wait for Mr B to tell my CEO about the incident (and get fired)
3. Wait for my Chairman to tell my CEO about the incident (and get both of us fired)
4. Shut up and hope for the best

My fear immobilised me and I could not do a thing. 

Next thing, I hear a knock on my office door.  It was Mr B. With flowers.

He said nothing. I said nothing.  We smiled and parted ways.

I looked at his blonde hair as he walked off and thought “Bloody rude!”

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

What You Resist WILL Persist

I took my kids to a petting zoo.  My daughter reacted exactly as expected. She looked for a quiet corner where she could observe from afar.   My son dived right into the rabbit den and chased the bunnies, giggling along.

A woman was standing right next to me.  So close that our handbags touched each other on the floor.  Hers was a fake Louis Vuitton and mine was an old, worn leather Vintage no name brand. They were completely incompatible but had no choice. They had to share a space.

She called out to her son in Dutch. Bad Dutch.

I found it lovely.  Afterall, we were in South Africa.  Dutch is not something you hear every day.  At that moment, her son ran up to my son and grabbed the bunny away from him.  My daughter screamed “Stop that!”  in Dutch to the boy.  It was hard for her.  She doesn’t shout easily.  I felt proud.

The woman responded to her son in very broken Dutch, asking him to find his own bunny.

I looked in the direction of the woman and said “Wow, small world huh?! You speak Dutch too?” I had a big smile.  She said “Yes! We are from overseas, just visiting”.  She had no expression on her face.

She was South African. Dead straight.

She moved her handbag to another part of the playground.

I put on my shades and thought “Strange woman! Believe me, I am NOT in the market for new friends”.

From afar, she said “Your kids also speak Dutch? Where you from?” and I said “Well, yes. We are South African but have been spending some time in Amsterdam, so yes, they do speak Dutch. Kids learn so fast!” She put on her sunglasses too.

She was very skinny, lots of makeup, tight yellow pants, very high heels, hair like Amy Winehouse and her son wore a bright yellow GAP branded top with yellow trainers. The family clearly liked yellow.  Friendship was ruled out right there forever.

I persisted.  “How about you?  Do you live in The Netherlands?”  She nodded and flicked her hair. It didn’t move.

I persisted some more “Oh right!? Where exactly”.  Her answer astounded me.  “Next to the airport” she said.  The airport? Really?

She put her handbag on her shoulder and modelled a little further away from me.

I enjoyed her discomfort.  It intrigued me.

For once, I was not the one shying away from someone.  For once, I was not the one putting up the wall. For once, I was not the one running away from some random woman.  It felt good to be on the other side.

She spent the rest of the morning, trying to convince her son not to follow mine.  I spent the rest of the morning, observing her and wishing our sons would be magnetised further.  We both kept our sunglasses on.  Talking further was not an option.  The feeling was mutual.

I saw her leave the venue along a longgggggg stretch of grass in high heels and thought “I wonder what her story is”. 

About 15 minutes later, there was an announcement on the intercom with my car registration.  When I reported to reception, guess who I found waiting for me? Yes, she reversed her car into mine.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Your perception is your reality (Sisters)

They were practically twins, conceived in quick succession. They celebrated their birthdays 11 months apart.

Their experiences of the same home varied dramatically.

The younger sister was resilient, self assured and held beautiful memories of growing up.  The older sister was sensitive, introverted and thought her upbringing had been less than satisfactory.

Their choices of partners, lovers, friends and interests reflected these dramatically different internal dialogues.

The question came out of the blue, like a gust of wind.  “Why do you have this insatiable need for the approval of strangers?”

The accused answered “You will never understand”.

She was right.

Sisters always are.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

The Bicycle

The boy wanted a bicycle.

He had always wanted a bicycle.

Father Christmas had not played along for many years. Neither had the birthday fairy.

Shortly before his 12^th birthday, his fortunes changed. His mother walked to the second hand store. She negotiated a great deal.  She paid her first instalment. She had 5 more to go.

She planned to wrap a big blue ribbon around it.  The look on her son’s face would surely be imprinted in her heart forever.

It’s all she talked about for the next month or two. She was so proud.

The boy told old his estranged dad that he knew the secret that his mom was hiding from him.  He was happy to play along. The anticipation was intoxicating.

One evening, his mom was walking home from the bus stop and in the distance she saw the boy.  He was riding a bicycle.  Either her mind was playing tricks on her or he was riding someone else’s bicycle.  Surely those were the only two options.

She quickened her steps.

“Look mom!” he said “Dad got me a bike!”

Her heart broke.

The look on her son’s face was forever imprinted in her heart.

The boy had many happy days riding his bike.

On his birthday, his mother said “My son, I pray that God still has plans for me to melt your heart”.

The boy said “Mom, you ARE my heart”. 

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Man in Torment

He watched his wife lift her skirt to many men.

He lived through the humiliation.

He ate her bitter words routinely.

He faced her rejections nightly and he sniffed the smells of other men knowingly.

He perfected the art of saying NOTHING.  He was so good at it that when his kids did hear his voice, they ran.

On his mother’s death bed, she said “My son, please do me a favour. Leave that woman. You can’t go on like this without killing yourself or someone else”.

He was shocked. Surely the medication was messing with the old woman’s head.

He could go on! And he did.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

The Vision

I was on my way to Dubai for an important meeting.  I had prepared well and looked forward to the finalising a strategic deal.

I planned to drink lots of champagne on the flight and make use of the pyjamas. Afterall, flying first class was not something I did every day.

My eyes started getting red soon after boarding.  By the time dinner was served they were on the colour of tomato soup.  The woman sitting next to me said “What are your eyes telling you? What do you not want to see?”.  I laughed, had my nightcap, ran over my notes for the meeting and went to sleep. Lying flat!

I had a plan in my head.  I was sticking to the vision.  (No pun intended).

I arrived safely at my hotel and when I finally got to look in a mirror, I panicked. Just a little bit. My eyes were blood red.  I went to see a doctor immediately.  I needed to sort my eyes out pronto.

When I returned to the hotel, I could not shake the feeling.  I felt awkward and scared.

But, I had a plan. A vision.  I planned to stick to it. 

The first day’s meetings went well but I had to excuse myself from an important dinner that night.  I had to.  My eyes needed rest.

I went to dinner alone.  I felt like someone was watching me.  All the time.

My vision did not include this stupid twist.

My food did not arrive despite two reminders. They apologised and told me that that had never happened in the history of the hotel. They agreed to send the food to my room.

That creepy feeling increased tenfold.  

I went to my room.  The doorbell rang and my heart jumped!  It was only the food arriving but for some reason I was freaked out. I tried to eat but could not relax.

So, I went downstairs to the hotel lobby.  I thought that perhaps a spot of people-watching would distract me. Help me return to normal.  Help me to stop acting crazy!

I was walking across the room when I heard someone making a sound. A catcall kind of sound.  I turned in the direction of the sound and it was a man. An Arab man in a long white cloak and a veil on his head.  He winked at me. 

I knew something was wrong.  I felt INSTANTLY nauseas.  My beautiful vision was gone.  Instead, I was filled with fear, disgust and paranoia. 

I decided to sit down.  For God’s sake! This was a famous hotel with cameras everywhere, plenty of tourists and my business associates were staying in the same damn hotel. What could go wrong?

So, I straightened my shoulders, gave myself a mental smack and walked across the room to another part of the hotel. I looked around for the man.  I did not see him.

I took two steps forward when I heard the man make the sound again.  By now I was officially freaked out!  He was hiding behind a plant and he stuck his tongue out and licked his lips.

Through my sore eyes I saw fear. Big time!

I planned to go straight to reception and alert them to my fears but my phone rang and I took the call.  When I looked around again, I saw the man talking to the people at reception, laughing and looking like they all knew one another.

I could not go to reception. I definitely did NOT want the bad pervert to know that I was scared of him. That was not an option.

So, I went to my room. Bolted the door. Texted my colleague in the room down the hall to find out how the dinner had gone. I didn’t care about the dinner, actually. I just wanted to know that he was there if I needed him.

My eyes insisted on closing. I could not sleep but my eyes needed to be closed.

About 3 hours later, the room phone rang.  I answered and there was no one there.

I called reception. I asked them if they had called.  They said no.  I check with my colleague. He had not called either.

Two minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

I did not answer.  My eyes refused to open. Literally.  

I did not know if it was the bad man, my colleague, reception, security or some other extra terrestrial!  I guess I will never know.

On the long flight back home, I let my emotions flow.  I just burst out crying!  Those tears acknowledged that I was pissed off that my body had failed me at such a crucial time, that I had let some stupid man play games with my mind when I was not feeling well and that as a woman, I was such a soft target.  Most of the tears were about the vision.  The vision that had gone wrong. Literally.

When I arrived in Johannesburg my eyes were cleared up.

And, instead of keeping an open mind, guess what I did?  Yes, another vision.  The vision I had was of eating hot dinner with my husband in the safety of my home, telling him my story with my eyes sparkly and white.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

YOU are Enough

…The time surely comes

When you put yourself first

When you regain your God essence

When you count your blessings

When you honour your sadness

When you give yourself permission to try

When you name your pain

When you stop calling your passion a “hobby”

When you keep your word

When you kick someone out of your emotional bed

When you alienate nasty creatures

When you write thank you notes

When you take more risks

When you stop trusting losers

When you approach people you need

When you say no to darkness

When you yield appropriately

When you say beautiful words of gratitude instinctively

When you sleep for days

When you trust your internal red flags

When you disappoint another heart

When you run your race and let others run theirs

When you clear everything on your vision board and start again

When you no longer mind being called emotional

When you equate self respect with breathing

When you allow yourself to dream again

When you listen to a child

When you let yourself be touched

When you honour your calling

When you travel to places that call you

When you risk humiliation

When you press “reset” on your life

When you accept the shape of the parts you disguise

When you simply say “not today”

When you acknowledge those that guide you

When you start imitating yourself

When you draw a line in the sand

When you empower other people

When you forgive yourself

When you delight in the success of others

When you laugh loud

When you kiss your broken heart

When you are your own role model

When you emulate the speckles of light you see

When you tone down the noise

When you soothe your heart with music

When you dine alone

When you share your struggles

When you own your fears

When you unlearn your defences

…and on that day, may you know that YOU are enough YOU have always been enough YOU will always be enough End of story!

Aluta Continua, I say!  The road is long (for me)

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.