Friendship, Poetry and the Dance of Life: How I Deal with Grief - EP0009 Journey from Meh

Read the full episode here https://journeyfrommeh.com/friendship-poetry-dance-life-how-i-deal-with-grief/



As I’ve mentioned, my parents moved around a lot when I was growing up. The shortest period we stayed in one place was three months and the longest was four and a half years.



When we moved to the city, where we ended up living for four and a half years, my parents told me and my two older siblings that it was “from her to the grave” for them. They would not be moving again.



I took them at their word and put down roots. I joined the choir, took drama, starred in the school musical, continued to excel in academics and played hockey. My Monday morning lessons started with English, Afrikaans, French and Latin. I dreamed of working as a translator one day.



Then, when I was 14, my parents informed me that we were moving. I was pissed. Betrayed. Reminding them of their promise was as futile as trying to drink the ocean through a straw.



I just felt wrenched. Again. I was going to have to give up everything I’d been working towards. I was gutted. 



Resistance was futile, but I decided that I didn’t have to collaborate with my betrayers. For the first time, I rebelled. 



I told my parents I would not participate in their decision. They hadn’t bothered to consult me, or take my feelings into consideration, so why would what I think matter now. 



I informed them that I wouldn’t look at new homes. I wouldn’t look at schools. 



My sister, at six years older, and brother, at four years older, were already working and studying so weren’t as affected. They had already moved on. I felt alone. 



Saying goodbye to friends, clubs, roles that I’d played in the microcosm of my youth was hard. 



I begged my parents to let me stay in the hostel at the school I was attending. No. The parents of my best friend spoke to my parents. They offered for me to stay with them during the week and travel to the city my parents were moving to, which was an hour away, on weekends. No.



My one-person resistance army was being bulldozed. I was crushed.



At fourteen my female friendships were knotted with shared experiences, interests and coming of age journeys. From too many years of experience, I knew that these ties would not survive the move. I felt like I was betraying our bond and there was nothing I could do about it.



My parents decided what school I would go to with no input from me. The school they chose did not offer French or Latin. Just another one of their awful decisions, I thought. I had to let go of the romance languages and accept the death of my dream to work as a translator.



This would be the eighth school I would attend.



I had left behind history, ties, friends, shared interests, a knowledge of how everything worked, where I excelled, where I fitted in. Here I was the outsider in a school full of girls who’d been at school together since they were five years old. 



The days rolled on with an inevitability that crumbled my fight. 



Eventually, I discovered that humour is a currency that is easily traded and started to make friends. 



Over time, I settled into a friendship with two girls. We shared a love of poetry, books, Merchant Ivory movies, singing loudly together and collapsing into giggling heaps when we wandered off-key and forgot the words. 



We dreamt about our futures and what they would hold. Living in a world where we controlled so little in our lives, we tried to imagine a world of our own making.