I've been gone so long. It's just been crazy around here! Nah... I lie. I wish it had been crazy. Let me rephrase. I've been gone so long because I've been going crazy... or is it because I am crazy? No... don't answer that.

As you may remember, I was looking for my brothers. So far, I've come up with loads of dead ends. Then I figured that I'd try looking for people who may know how to find them or at least be 'on location' to find them, which sent me on a rollercoaster of memories. I started with Facebook. I have tried looking for some of these people before and come up blank. This time, I entered a name and there they were. I was suddenly finding heaps of people, from my best friend through primary school through to the best man at our wedding and many more. It was as though someone had switched on a light. This was both wonderful and terrifying. There are many memories and experiences I'd love to have gone without recalling. Contact with these people has brought all those to the fore again. Of course, not all have come back to me. A couple, I am sad about, but others I don't mind that much. 

For so long, while living here in Brazil, it has bothered me that there are so few people in my life who have seen me face to face, who know me, and still consider a connection to me worthwhile. I regularly hear accounts of my friends getting together with each other and, while I am thrilled for those friends, I long to have the same thing, though I know it is out of the question for now. I became a little obsessed with the looking up of old friends. Here were people who have known me face to face, who have been with me through some... interesting times and who still accepted me. A few have even been glad to have made contact again. I was sitting here tonight though and thinking.... I can't go back. Going back is an illusion. I know that sounds weird to you, perhaps, but to me, it was something I had to face. I have to make friends with these people all over again, some easier than others, but so much has changed. We've all moved on. Any friendships I pick up now again would have to be built on as though new. I can't build on history. So I got my wish... in a way. I can't meet with a friend for coffee now, but I have had times where I've sat and talked over coffee or a glass of wine with a good friend. Those memories will have to carry me for a little while longer.

On the subject of 'a little while longer'... and going forward...
Many folk ask me whether I've had news on immigration yet. The answer is... if I had news, I'd have shouted it from the rooftops, so.... no. We have, I think, until at least the end of May to have heard about the last application. Not much time left, is there? I suppose I should say... well, there's always next year. We've said that every year so far. What's one more? I hate even thinking about that. Everything in life has a reason. There is a reason for this too. It will all work out.

In all, I was in something of a muddled funk... on a rollercoaster ride all of my own, so I haven't been terribly talkative. Balance has never been my strong point... balancing my moods, my activities, my various obsessions. I'm trying to find the balance now between new friends and old. I'm still here though...

Gelukkige verjaarsdag, George... waar ookal jy is.


Today is my brother's birthday. George Michael van der Merwe... the forgotten one... the one who got the least attention... the one who became the black sheep of the family, but was actually the gentlest and kindest. I got to know him so late.

George was the last of my mom's kids. The man who fathered us left before he was born, so George never did get to see him. He has always suffered over that. I remember telling him that the man wasn't worth it and the young teenager yelled back that at least I had the chance to decide that for myself. I was taken away from my mom at the age of 3. Hamish lived half between my gran's place and my mom's. My sister had all my mom's attention. George just had to muddle along as best he could... and best was rather hard for him. I remember his first grade report, "George keeps making funny noises in class." Ever the one calling for attention. The family thought the report card was amusing. Over the years, he found ways to get attention... few of them good. He was always up to some mischief or another. I just used to hear the tales. I never got to see him.

In 1982, I was sent to boarding school. No one told me I'd find my brother there. No one told me we would bond. No one warned me that I would miss him so much. The following year, I was sent to a different boarding school. George was the one thing from the old school I missed desperately. We wrote to each other regularly. I teased him that he had to become a doctor because his handwriting was so hard to read. After I got married, we got together again. It was during his obligatory tour with the army. He came to stay with Jorge and I for a while. That was good. One morning, when I was cleaning, I found a photo in among his things. I hated the photo and didn't want it, but I flew off the handle, accusing him of theft. I know why he took it. It was the only photo we had of our father. Eventually, Jorge took him back to the army base. I didn't see him again. I was so petty. I lost my brother over something so stupid. If only I could find him to tell him I'm sorry.

Family is precious. Relationships are precious. Why did I learn too late that words spoken can't be taken back? I wanted to post this as a private post, as it is of little interest to anyone but myself and, possibly, my brother, but I have decided to leave it public. Maybe... just maybe... he is looking too...

In the photo, I am the one on the tricycle. Next to me is my sister... a little less than a year younger than me. Then George, the youngest, sitting next to my mother. In the background is Jim's work van. Photo taken on Christmas day, 1971.

...Meet the noisy parakeet...

Here, in Brazil, they don't have a 'Lost and found' department. It is always 'Found and lost', a term that usually amuses us no end. Today, I am not amused by it.

Some of you are aware that I am trying to find my brothers. Yesterday, I was listening to Radio Algoa, the radio station from my hometown, Port Elizabeth. While on their site, I found they had a page where overseas listeners could write in and send a message to someone, so I wrote asking if anyone knowing the whereabouts of my younger brother, George, or if he was listening, please to contact me. I live in hope. This photo is the only one I have of him.



I then tried, once again, to find Hamish. This time, a Google search took me to a Sports club in Cape Town. The name fitted and his passion for cricket fitted too. I was thrilled! I waited for 3am like a cat on a hot tin roof.... antsy, impatient, terrified, excited. I called the club. Yes, they knew him and no, he doesn't work there. Apparently,  he left the club a year ago. The last contact I had with him was 16 years ago. At least I am that much closer. I had been looking in the wrong city all along. I was looking in Johannesburg, where we met him last. This photo of myself and Hamish is so... almost prophetic. Even back then, he loved to hide.


The search goes on....