Ouma hou waak oor my werk kamer!
I have many defense mechanisms against sadness. In the past few years I've build almost impenetrable defenses to get me through all the sadness. From the start I've know that this moat will dry up, and when it does, I might cry for a whole year.
For each situation I've created different mechanisms focused on changing the sad memories into uplifting and motivating physical activities.
When my ouma passed away (three years, today) I couldn't help but feel that she had so much knowledge she hadn't yet shared with me. How to crochet, how to give stitches, how to cable knit, how to make her fancy beskuit and how keep my room as tidy as hers. This deeply selfish point of view changed into a kind of drive, I wanted to make my Ouma proud! I don’t believe in heaven and hell, but I know she did and I hope she’s having a great time up there and that she can see how hard I’m trying to teach myself all these things.
My biggest defense against Ouma sadness is crochet. I taught myself the basics, with some help from a blue talon-ed woman on YouTube. It doesn't just keep the sadness at bay but brings happiness to me and others, because my guilty pleasure is making things for other people. I think the greatest gift you can give someone is your time, and crochet takes a long time!
Other than crochet, I've tried keeping my room tidy, it seems to work for a few days, but then the Zee wasteland starts forming.
Wilke calls me Zee and he firmly believes that part of my Zee’ness is to lay waste to my room within a day. Not just that, but that I have the ability to devastate any area I start working in.
I’m trying to fight it Ouma, but I think some things are never going to change