My why

I’ve recently become obsessed with Calisthenics. The bodyweight training that produces beautifully graceful and naturally strong bodies. And minds, I shall add. I’ve always had a strange fascination with sport variations that radiate this kind of body control and sensuality in a sense. I just didn’t know why. Until this morning, when I watched a video by a guy explaining why he got into yoga and calisthenics. It was to heal himself.

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Losing weight

I’ve lost a lot of weight recently. Tons and tons of emotional baggage that I’d gotten used to carrying around with me like a giant metal ball attached to my ankle. A ball that had grown and grown and grown so big – that one day I just couldn’t pull it along with me any longer. Not one more inch. It had become too heavy. I was stuck. Stuck in a place where I could do only one of two things: stay stuck forever or start shrinking that ball, or better yet, unleash myself from it all together.

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No more regrets

I few months back I wrote a post on what I would do if I had only six months to live: my no-regret bucket list. It was a list of steps I needed to take to heal relationships that are important to me: with my dad, with my brother and with my ex. Little did I know that the universe was going to conspire and deliver situations to me in no time that would catapult me into resolving them way sooner than I ever thought I would. The delivery was plain brutal in some respects, plain beautiful in others.

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Farewell, Papa

My list has caught up with me. I didn’t think I was ready. But life thought I was. Last Monday I got a text from my aunty whom I’ve met only once in my entire life – three years ago, shortly after I first saw my dad again, for the first time after 29 years of no contact whatsoever. Last Monday my aunty told me he’d been brought into hospital and my very first thought was: I need to get there. I need to get there. And way earlier than I ever thought I would I did item number two of my no-regret bucket list…

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The last five percent

Whenever I move houses – and I do so very frequently for professional reasons – I strive to turn my new place into a real home, my home, as quickly as I can. Last time around I set a new record: I finished the whole thing in just two days of intensive laboring – except for the last five percent. It’s the last boxes that don’t get unpacked. The one or two lamps that don’t get put up. The shoe cabinet that never gets assembled. I don’t know why. I always end up not finishing the last five percent.

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