Back on track

The good news: I’m back on track. I emailed a painless 13 page draft of Chapter 4 on Analysis to my supervisor today. I still haven’t had any feedback from the last two chapters I submitted or the 6 page report. It’s like sending my writing off into a big black hole in cyberspace. But it doesn’t put me off. I live to write. I write to submit work requirements. The rest can come later – the consultation, assessment, reviews, re-writes.

What I’m interested in: The problems of identity; the mystery of what it is to be human; hybridity created by border crossings and cross-cultural marriages; the indeterminacy of boundaries; and how we can become citizens of a world democracy. If I can think peace, harmony and connectedness in this troubled world then maybe my descendants will also pick up the thread and run with it.

What I’m listening to: the CD Miracle sung by Celine Dion.

What I’m drinking: tonic water with a dash of Clayton’s and orange blossom water.

Life’s tricks: My thesis writing, with all its painful and joyful moments, has become an important journey of self discovery for me. A quote from my favourite author:

"It is one of life's most playful quirks that even the most insightful among us find it extremely difficult to discern which events in our lives will ultimately turn out to be our greatest blessings. Sometimes wonderful things happen, and then fizzle into nothing. At other times, events occur that we would do anything to avoid, yet it is these that have the potential to challenge and deepen us, to hone us into the person we needed to become; to increase our knowledge of life, and our authentic pleasure in it."
From Forgiveness & Other Acts of Love by Stephanie Dowrick

Check out Stephanie’s web site:

Reconnection with myself: I reconnected with the place of my childhood today. The majestic property I lived on had been transformed into a massive housing estate and sports ground with narrow walk ways between the fences. It was so different. At first I thought I would never find it again. There were no manmade structures that could serve as landmarks. As I walked and explored I felt the place from inside till I knew where I was. Some century-old trees were still standing on the highest ground. I used the lie of the land, the mountains in the distance and the wind in the branches to orientate myself. Yes, I knew exactly where I was and where everything had been. I felt my mothers struggle with discrimination as an accidental immigrant during the post war years. I knew the full impact of my father’s bitter disappointments and lost battle with illness. I plucked some leaves from one of our old poplar trees to take home and press in a tattered children’s book. I was OK again.

Now I can go on writing.