Chocobabe’s Blog

Dear Friend,

I know it’s been a while since we talked. I know it’s difficult with the distance. Sometimes when I sit back, drinking a cup of hot chocolate, I remember things you used to say; funny things, sad things, wacky things…memorable things. And I smile.

I smile when I remember how we met. Such a coincidence. Who would have thought in a hundred years that we would have clicked so quickly. Two people, from two different places, two different backgrounds- so different and yet so alike.

And yet, we did click. We became fast friends. The messages flew back and forth ever so quickly. And you grew to know who I am, and you grew to like who I am. You accepted who I was more so than anyone else has ever done.

You helped me up when I was down. You made me laugh when all I wanted to do was cry. You loved me when I didn’t feel loved. You were there for me when I thought I was all alone.

You Care….

And as I sit here, watching the steam rise from my cup of hot chocolate, remembering and smiling, I know that I will always feel this warm and happy inside whenever I think of you and whenever I hear from you. You are the utmost definition of the word "friend" and I am truly blessed to have someone like you in my life.

Thank You x

I don’t believe I have told you anything about my neighbours…nope, I haven’t.

Now, I’ve never been one to pry (don’t you roll those eyes at me! I’m being honest!), but the apartment complex where I live has been built so you can see directly into the other person’s apartment, and they’re not exactly set far apart, so you can actually just look up (by accident of course) and get an eyeful of whatever (or whoever) may be lurking around opposite you.

My kitchen overlooks the apartment across from me and if I peer carefully I can see their living room with kitchen attached to it. It is owned by a man and a woman (his wife/partner I presume). I don’t know their names, unfortunately, so for the purposes of this blog I shall baptise them with the names: Tweedle-Dee (Wife) and Tweedle-Dum (Man)!

Tweedle-Dee is the stay at home wife, who looks after the place, I suppose settles all the bills and generally keeps everything under control domestically and otherwise. Tweedle-Dum seems to work long hours at his office, and then comes home late at night and plonks himself in front of the TV with a TV dinner and a cold beer, eating and drinking and watching until it’s time to go to bed.

They seem a very happy couple. But I suppose every couple has a secret they don’t share with each other, and this couple is no different!

From what I gather when I cook my meals and wash my dishes and look up into the next apartment, Tweedle-Dee enjoys eating chocolate. Nothing wrong with this. I am a great supporter of chocolate lovers. She already becomes an instant friend.

Tweedle-Dum apparently doesn’t. Maybe he just doesn’t like chocolate (I gasp in horror!), maybe he doesn’t want his partner to put on weight (another gasp) or maybe the sound of the unwrapping of chocolate, the first crunchy bits, the swirling in the mouth and the rich and sumptious "aaaaaah!" that follows the eating of a chocolate distracts him from his latest football match (Hmph!). Either way, Tweedle-Dum does not like the eating of chocolate going on in the apartment. He makes it quite clear by plodding around the apartment with a big bin in one hand and what looks like a huge set of pincers in the other, picking up stray wrappers, showing them to Tweedle-Dee with distaste and then popping them in the bin. Tweedle-Dee normally follows him around with an apologetic expression.

On the last occasion this happened, Tweedle-Dum appeared to have had enough and spent ages waggling his finger at Tweedle-Dee while she appeared to promise it would never happen again.

All was peaceful. A week went by and the following Saturday morning, I happened to glance out of the window and saw Tweedle-Dee sitting very silently on her sofa in the living room. I thought she looked very depressed (I would be without any chocolate) and was half thinking of calling out to her and asking her if she’d like to pop around for some chocolate at my place, when she suddenly looked up, got up from the sofa and peered into the next room (where I guess Tweedle-Dum was snoring away). She tip-toed back into the living room and paced around nervously for a few minutes. I was watching this with increasing concern and was going to make another attempt to call out, when a big grin lit up her face.

She steathily crept to the sofa and then dived under it!

"What on earth…." I started saying aloud.

Tweedle-Dee appeared with a paper bag clutched in her hands, the maniacal grin still on her face. She dumped the bag on the sofa, and then made a quick move for what looked like a filing cabinet. She pulled out one of the drawers and then reached far back into the end of the cabinet and pulled out another paper bag, which she also tossed onto the sofa. She methodically went around the room, into every nook and cranny, pulling out little paper bags (one was located within a hanging chandalier!). She finally went to the TV (Tweedle-Dum’s Domain), gave a smirk, reached under the VCR player and tore out the last paper bag. The sofa was now overflowing with paper bags.

Tweedle-Dee wiped her sweaty brow and checked on Tweedle-Dum once more, asserted he was still happily snoring away and then settled onto the sofa with a contented smile. I strained forward with a frown on my face, wondering what she’d be doing next.

She reached for the first paper bag, slowly ripped it open and tipped the contents out - a Cadbury’s milk chocolate bar! That seemed to set her off. She feverishly set about opening the other bags: Kit kats, Godivas, Twixs, Mars bars…you name it, it was all there. A Sea of Chocolate! It was incredible to witness! A living room practically full of chocolate! Even I had not accomplished such a tremendous feat!

Once opened, Tweedle-Dee delved deep in the pile and started to unwrap a chocolate, the look of pleasure evident on her face as she consumed it. She looked up at this point and froze when she saw me staring open mouthed (drooling a bit I must admit) at her little treasure trove. I gave her a huge smile and a thumbs up and she grinned and waved back madly at me. She understood her secret was safe with me.

The chocolate was gone in no time, empty wrappers carefully placed into a large bin bag, the remaining crumbs swept up, and Tweedle-Dee disappeared - to apparently dispose of the evidence. Tweedle-Dum eventually got up and wandered into the living room, scratching his belly and yawning loudly as he reached for the TV remote, blissfully ignorant as to what sins had taken place previously!

This little episode continued for a few weeks until, eventually, Tweedle-Dum caught her at it. After the first full minute of staring in disbelief at the mountain of chocolate being swallowed, he broke into a hearty laugh, thankfully seeing the funny side of it (the look on her face, which resembled a tigress whose young was about to be taken away from her), and that was the end of the whole hidden paper bags adventure. Tweedle-Dee was free to eat her chocolate when and wherever she wished. She later left a box of Godivas for me (the card inside said: "With thanks, from a fellow Chocoholic")which were gone in no time!

Hey look, there are some new neighbours arriving! Hmmm….I wonder if they’ll get upto anything dark and sinister. Just incase they do, I’ll name them….. I know: Oompa and Loompa!

It seems like forever since I updated my blog. Amazing how time can fly by. Really, truly amazing that Life can just simply whizz past and when you look back, you realise that you have just somehow forgotten some of the important things that make you smile, and that might make others smile, or cry, depending on how you view this blog! I must say though, it is nice to be back, and I will make sure that my little anecdotes continue, because one thing’s for sure, the embarrassing moments don’t look likely to end!

Actually, today’s post is more poetic - the next one can be goofy.

My walk into work (when I do walk) is a long one, and one would think it would get very monotonous. I have developed a keen sense of sight and sound before, during, and after these long trips.

Today is another day.

There’s the insane sound of my alarm clock that always wakes me up at 5:30am sharp with a jump, almost certainly when I’m in my deepest form of slumber. There’s the almost certain crash soon after as I fling my arm in the general direction of the alarm clock. At least it stops the alarm.

There’s the insane sound of my SECOND alarm clock situated waaaaay across the room, strategically placed (by a once sensible and coherent Michelle), enticing me to groan and grunt and moan and shuffle my way out of bed, to the clock and shut it off.

I’m up now. No point going back to bed. Sigh… I LOVE my sleep. The following sounds are the swishing of the toothbrush, the spray of luke warm water from the shower hitting me in a blast, and I am finally…FINALLY awake!

Of course, having realised I am awake, this also means I have also realised I am late to work! A mad dash towards the cereal and fruit bowl, a long swig from the orange juice container, a quick flick of lipstick, the pull of a comb through my hair and it’s time to go.

Sometimes I am greeted by the patter of rain outside and a cold brisk wind making my eyes tear up a little. Sometimes it’s just the cold brisk wind. Like today.

My walk begins. It takes me past other residences, the owners still fast asleep, unaware a new day has begun. It takes me past restaurants, shut until the busy lunch hours. It takes me past coffee shops…the unmistakable coffee aroma wafting over, and I take a few deep breaths in. No time to stop. Gotta keep going.

I walk down the cold, hard pavement, hands in pockets, the breeze blowing through my hair; and I am humming a tune in my head. A fast tune. A fast tune to a fast pace. It brings a smile to my face. Strangers walk past me - some smiling, others stony faced, all heading somewhere.

I walk through a small courtyard. One of the offices there seems to have adopted a cat. It’s always curled up by the window, looking out at all the people getting on with their busy lives. It’s not there today. No wait, there it is. Hello Chubby. Yes, I named it!

On towards the soup shop. My favourite. I always try to guess what the soup is by its aroma as I walk by. Today it’s cream of tomato and basil. I’m sure of it. The shopkeeper always keeps an eye out for me, and gives me a friendly wave. The first hello of the morning and I smile and wave back. I keep telling myself I have to try some of that soup one day.

I’m now getting closer to the work place. I’m on the main road. Lots more people taking long purposeful strides. Restrained yawns. Black coats and expensive suits, steaming polystyrene cups carrying hot liquids and being gripped by most hands. One generic bunch. Buses zooming by already half crammed with passengers. In the distance a church bell tolls. It’s time. And I’m here. I’ve reached my workplace.

And as I go in, greeting my colleagues and setting myself up for the long day ahead, I can’t help thinking  back to all the little observations I picked up on today. The observations I pick up on every single day.

And it’s brilliant, I say to myself, as I greet my first patient. It’s bloody brilliant to be alive.

So here I am, thinking I’m the only one with the most embarrassing moments ever - and yet someone seems to have surpassed me in that department! I was literally on the floor, rolling with laughter, tears streaming down my face, in total stitches from his little story!

I will not reveal his name to you, as he told me what happened in confidence and he’d probably not be too happy about my recounting his story to the world, but I shall warn you in advance that this does contain sensitive material. He’s amazing at telling stories, so I hope I do him justice when I write this. I guess I should also warn you that you may not find it funny at all, but, what the hell, it’s an embarrassing story that’s not one of my own, and so it’s going to get written down on this blog!

I think I’ll call him Mr F.

Mr F and his wife were taking the National Express coach to Destination N from the airport. It’s a long trip - about five hours I think.

Four hours into the trip, Mr F gets the urge to go to the loo. For Number Two. The coach has just left the highway and is starting to go through some winding roads. Tottering a little, Mr F manages to make it to the back of the coach and opens the door to the loo. If you’ve never been in a coach (or a National Express one), the toilets are really really tiny cubicles and there are passengers sitting right outside it, so privacy is at it’s minimum.

Anyway, Mr F gets into the loo. He shuts and locks the door with a sigh of relief. The coach is now staying steady and Mr F starts to get himself sorted.

All of a sudden the coach lurches to the left. And then to the right. It spins off to the left once again. Mr F is terrified! He struggles to keep his balance, unable to stop certain bodily functions. He crashes to the floor at some point, and the female passenger outside gives a little scream. He yells out that he’s fine and clambers up again and onto the toilet seat. He can hear a funny creaking noise, but at this point he just wants to be done and out of there.

The coach turns violently (I told him at this point that the coach driver probably realised he had a passenger in the loo and wanted to cause maximum mayhem to the poor fellow!). The coach turns so violently the creaking Mr F can hear becomes an ominous cracking. Mr F looks down and notices in horror that the toilet seat is coming apart!! He desperately clutches it together with his hands, but the swerving coach wins and Mr F flies off the loo, together with the seat still clutched in his hands onto the floor.

Mr F has had enough at this point. Whether he’s done with Number Two or not, he’s getting out of this godforsaken cubicle alive. He gets up, grateful he hasn’t wet himself or done anything else too gross, and turns around to put the seat back on the loo. He doesn’t realise that his little tumble has unlatched the door by accident.

The coach makes a smooth turn and the door slowly swings open. The poor female passenger sitting on the outside can’t help but look in and see the naked ass of Mr F as he bends over to replace the loo seat. She gives the screech of a barn owl, and Mr F wonders why the noise seems so clear and turns around. He gives a bellow of shock, and the female passenger begins to screech louder as she now gets a full frontal view of Mr F.

As the other passengers turn to look, Mr F manages to slam the door shut again, his heart racing nineteen to the dozen. He cleans himself up the best he can, flushes the loo, notices in despair as the toilet begins to flood, and makes the hasty move of unlocking the door and banging it shut behind him.

The female passenger has her face hidden in a magazine and the other passengers are looking at Mr F quizzically.

Mr F sucks in a breath, hitches his trousers up, looks down at the water seeping out of the cubicle, gives a sniff and says to his little audience, "I probably wouldn’t go in there if I were you."

He shakily returns to his wife, who has thankfully fallen asleep and is blissfully unaware of the craziness that has just taken place.

Mr F told me he could have sworn the coach driver looked at him through the mirror and gave an evil wink.

All I can say is I’m glad I’m not alone. There are more of us out there - more of us who are doomed/destined to provide entertainment to others through embarrassing moments. Mr F (and his little audience) certainly won’t be forgetting this incident in a while! Don’t be a stranger - join the club!

I think there comes a point in time where you reach optimal saturation in a certain process…I think my saturation point with regard to embarrassing moments has finally been reached. I think I can finally say, I am "un-embarrass-able"!! (Or in proper English: I cannot be embarrassed anymore).

It’s taken me a good few days to write this little entry, namely because of a slightly protruding disc in my back that causes the most gawd awful pain and pins and needles on standing, sitting and bending for longer than 10-15min. But stubbornness (and being bored out of my mind) has encouraged me to write, get up (groaning like an old woman), walk, lie down, come back, sit down (more groans), write, get up again and so on and so forth until the story has been told.

I tell you about my back problem simply because it features quite prominently in my ESP (Embarrassment Saturation Point).

My doctor decided to send me for x-rays once the problem started (to get a clearer picture) and so I made my slow way to the hospital x-ray department. It’s a massive hospital, made into a maze just to annoy patients who are finding it hard (if not impossible) to perform the simplest of tasks, like yours truly. Sitting on a chair is hard enough….why not add a few flights of stairs (escalator and lift not working…of course), a few twists and turns, and signs with no useful directions and the x-ray dept will probably receive a mentally disturbed cripple into their hands. Send for the men in white coats, who are conveniently located opposite the x-ray dept.

Ok, I’ll try to keep out the sarcasm.

I get to the department. A middle aged man sits there, reading a magazine that seems to feature a picture of a car on every page. He glances up, annoyed about the intrusion, looks me up and down, smirks (yes, I know I’m thin), and then retorts that he was expecting me half an hour ago. I try to explain that getting lost in this hospital wasn’t in the plan and I’m not exactly in the form where I can sprint and bound around the hospital and cartwheel into the dept. (I did say I’d try and keep out the sarcasm) 

His answer is a loud sniff of disdain, he reaches behind him and pulls out a gown and hands it over to me.

"Take off all your clothes and put this on. The technician will call you when he’s ready to take your x-ray," he mumbles, and then goes back to flipping through his magazine.

I venture into one of the changing room stalls and slowly manage to put on the gown. If you’re not sure what this is, I shall try and explain it here. It looks very much like an apron, but the back end is all open and you need to tie up four sets of strings to keep it all together and appear half decent. And, typical, it’s way too big! You can see my entire back end. Damn the old goat!

I call out, "Ummm…excuse me? But do you have anything a little smaller?"

"No can do, lady," he shouts back, "Only one size. The technician is ready. Best not to keep him waiting."

I’m already red as a beetroot as I head out and slowly cross the main reception area to get to the x-ray room. I try to hold the back part of the gown together with my hands, but it’s kinda difficult, especially since I’m trying to hang onto my own clothes and shoes too!

"It’ll be over soon," I mutter, cursing my damn back problem for detaining me from moving any faster.

At this precise moment, three old women in wheelchairs are wheeled in with what seems to be a bus load of their family members, 90% male. They all end up behind me as I continue to make my slow way to the x-ray room.

And, go figure, at this very instant, a great big gust of wind hits me (damn the Old Goat for opening the window), drops under the bloody gown and it starts to billow out. I frantically try and adjust my fingers on the gown, but drop the clothes instead. As I try painfully to reach down for them, the gown-holding fingers lose their grip, the gown billows up and away and there I am, in my birthday suit, hearing screeches from the old women and gasps of what I can only describe as delight from the men, followed by croaky chuckles from the Old Goat.

Now would have been a good time to have run fast and far away. But thanks to my back condition, all I could do was bite my lip, gather what was left of my dignity and continue to walk into that room like nothing had ever happened.

Ask me again:

What was that?

Embarrassed?

Me?

NEVER!!

Before I divulge my One Word (followed by lots of exclamation points), I would like to stress that my previous post (entitled ‘A Valentine’s Message’) is not my story, but a letter I created based on a friend’s story. So, dear Readers, you can rest easy with the emails of consolation

And now for my one word, which sums how I am feeling today….

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAArgh!!!!!!"

Whew….I feel better now.

Dear Mr Right,

I have been staring at this blank piece of paper for some time now. I just find it so hard to write what I feel. Well now, maybe I should just start at the beginning.

I suppose by calling you Mr Right, you must think that I am talking about Superman, Hercules, Einstein, Brad Pitt, Frank Sinatra all rolled into one. A perfect concoction you think?

But no, my Mr Right borders none of the fantasies, for you are reality in itself. You are an attractive, fun loving, laughter provoking man. You are someone I might have never noticed before, silly me. But, I notice you now. I notice you when you visit me now and again. I wish I could say something witty or at least appear to have some sort of intellect. I get shy though, and when I do, I always become quiet and reserved and I can never think of one humorous thing to say to you. All the questions I have been meaning to ask you, and little stories I have been meaning to tell you vanish the instant you walk through that door. I couldn’t describe it better than you looking at a blank wall….looking at nothing, seeing nothing, talking to nothing. In the end I feel sorry for you, for you have to withstand these meetings with me through no real desire of your own. How can I even be so sure that you like me?

Alas, I don’t think you do. You smile and crack jokes and even ask me a few questions, and stand there patiently while I mumble incomprehensible answers.

You are niceness itself. I never fell for the Good Guy in the past. And yet, surprisingly, I am falling for you. Ever so slowly. Slowly but surely. You will never know it, but I hold you in the highest regard. It would be a dream come true if, for just once in my life, a fairytale ending was to transpire….the two of us just walking away into the sunset to live happily ever after.

I know it cannot be so. And so, I shall continue to look forward to our meetings and smile and admire from afar. You are someone to look up to. You make me think happy thoughts and smile for the rest of the day just by your presence…someone of true inspiration. And I shall never forget you.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

Yours,

Miss Dreamer

A few days ago I was due to meet a friend of mine at Place X. I was busy shopping at Place A and decided to get a bus that stops at Place X. I checked the bus timetables and finally clambered onto a bus that apparently stopped right outside Place X. Perfect. I’m usually clueless about a lot of things, but I was sure of this. So sure that I didn’t bother to double check the destination with the bus driver. Figures, eh?

Anyway, I was sitting in the bus, had my nice coat on with my best boots and a whole load of shopping in my hands. The idea of uneaten chocolate in one of those bags pre-occupied my mind for some time before I decided to look out the window and realised that I should have reached Destination X a few minutes ago. The scenery outside had changed and it didn’t look particularly friendly or inviting anymore. I figured that I would wait a few more minutes just incase the bus driver had made a wrong turn and was trying to get back on track again. A few moments later things didn’t seem to be improving. In fact the scenery was deteriorating by the second. I approached the driver and asked him when he would be getting to Place X.

Driver: “Place X, baby?”

Me: “Yes, this bus does go to Place X, right?”

Driver: “Oh, right….Place X…”

Me: “Ummm, yes….from the looks of things we seemed to have driven past it without my knowing.”

Driver: “Oh, baby, I never drove near Place X.”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Driver: “Diversions, baby…we totally bypassed Place X. We’re in Place R at the moment, quite a distance away from where you want to go.”

I was getting very worried at this point – so worried that I didn’t even realize that he was calling me “baby” every other sentence, which usually ticks me off. Place R is one of the areas you don’t go to alone, or you sure as Hell wouldn’t want to go to on your own.

There was one other person with me on this bus and he looked like he fit in just perfect with Place R. The bus driver seemed to sense my discomfort and smiled encouragingly.

Driver: “I can’t be of much help to you, baby, other than to suggest that you get off at the next stop, cross the road and wait for Bus AR to take you to Place X.”

Me: “Can you just not drop me off at a station, or a hotel or some place I can catch a taxi?”

Driver (whooping with laughter): “A Station? Hotel? Taxi? In this place? Baby, you are one comedian!”

I didn’t feel like a comedian. I felt more like a funeral director, and an unsuccessful funeral director at that. I wearily went back to my seat, where across from me the other passenger was glaring at me. I thought about taking out my mobile to text my friend and letting her know about my predicament, but with the glares I was getting from The Nutter I squashed that thought instead.

The bus stopped with a jolt, and the bus driver turned around with a grin. “There you go, baby,” he yelled, “Cross this road and wait at that bus stop near that demolished house.”

It looked like Satan’s playground out there.

I sucked in a breath, put on my tough look (which didn’t look one bit convincing) and hopped out, scuttling across the road to the other side. The Nutter leapt out of the bus, gave a bit of a yawn and a stretch, and sauntered slowly across the road towards me. I believe I screamed inside my head a few times, and yet tried to look nonchalant on the outside. I tried to think positive thoughts while the Nutter approached me with a smirk on his face.

“Well,” I thought, “If you’re gonna die, might as well have your best clothes on….maybe I could ask him if I could have one last bite of chocolate before the bitter end.”

I turned my back on the Nutter and frantically looked up the road, but there wasn’t a single bus, car, bicycle, tram, plane in sight. Totally deserted. A solitary dog sat a few feet away from me, looking at me with deep soulful eyes. I heard a few mumbles behind me and then rapid footsteps heading my way. I closed my eyes and waited for the worst.

Someone grabbed my arm and I let out a squeal and turned around, my fists up in the air, ready to (I suppose) beat the crap out of the Nutter (yeah right).

Lo and behold, there was a little old lady clutching my sleeve, looking most surprised at my reaction. The Nutter, a few steps away, had stopped in his tracks and stood staring at us.

Little Old Lady: “I’m sorry, dearie, did I startle you?”

Me: “Oh, oh….I daresay you did….let me catch my breath!”

Little Old Lady: “Now, now, you mustn’t be frightened. I was in the shop next door. I came to meet my sweet little boy right here and noticed you standing on your own. Not a nice place for a young lady like yourself to be at, is it? ”

The Nutter – her “sweet little boy”? Mike Tyson would have run away screaming in fear if he saw him!

Me: “No, I took the wrong bus. The driver has told me which bus to wait for.”

Little Old Lady: “Well now, my boy and I will gladly wait with you until the bus shows up, won’t we Al?”

Al grunted and shuffled his feet, which I presumed meant yes.

And that darling little old lady, and her son (not quite such a Nutter anymore, and infact a sweet person indeed) waited in the bitter cold until my bus trundled up and I had safely hopped on. I couldn’t thank them enough (the chocolate I had bought and decided to give to them certainly wasn’t enough) and on the journey back to Place X and a very impatient friend, I couldn’t help but think that, whatever else anyone may say or think, there really is a God out there, and those were two of His Angels.

First of all, many many thanks for all your comments, messages, and smiles, my dear readers. I am sorry I can’t respond to each and every one of your messages and invites, but they are read and treasured and  brighten my day, so Thank You

Now onto a not-so-pretty subject. Racism. You may have seen the latest public display of it from various celebrities. Everyone gets so riled up when it’s shown on TV or involves a public figure - but what about what’s happening right in front of our noses?

Just the other day some drunk started following me and yelling out that I "shouldn’t be allowed to walk on the same path as him and His People" and I "should go back to wherever I belong because I am not welcome here" and I "should not be looked after by a country made up of His People". Do you think being drunk justified what he said? Do you think being angry and bitter justified what he said? Do you think being uneducated and ignorant justified what he said? I don’t think so. Do you think anyone came to confront this man? Maybe everyone is of the idea that "ignore it and maybe it will go away" makes perfect sense.

I suppose telling him that my "home" could range from a wide variety of backgrounds, that I have every right to walk on any path I choose to, and that I work hard, earn a living and pay my taxes like every other decent person wouldn’t have helped.

Racism can happen to anyone. So when does it all stop? When do we finally stand our ground and speak out against what is surely cruel and hateful in our society. Would you be willing to make that move? Can YOU do it?

I had mentioned that someday I would tell you my mom and dad’s story and why they inspire me so much to be a better person. I might as well do so now. I’ve omitted certain details but the rest remains true to what they have recounted to me. This is Their Story.

My Dad’s family is Catholic. My Dad’s father passed away while my dad was still quite young. He had his little brother and mother to take care of. He was left the sole supporter and had to work extra hard at two jobs to make ends meet. One job was as a jazz pianist (and he still continues to perform to this day) and the other was a music teacher. He had a lot of scripts he needed typing and that’s how he met my Mom.

My Mom comes from a big family - three sisters and two brothers. She was brought up primarily by her grandparents and had little to do with her parents until a much later age (she calls them by their first names, which I still find a bit odd!). I suspect she had always been a bit of a rebel - a tiny woman with a feisty spirit. You see, her family are Hindus. A very strict family, with strict rules and plenty of restrictions - a major one being that one should always marry someone with the same religion and same community. My Mom was a lot more "Westernised" and open minded than that and she was willing to look outside that circle.

She was a secretary when they met, helping type my Dad’s scripts, and (my Dad always gets a gleam in his eye when he says this) he fell madly in love with her. His attempts to ask her out were first met with hesitance (she still had her strict family to think of) and were then met with acceptance.

What followed was a ten year secret courtship. Nope, not joking…TEN years! My Mom knew her father would never accept her dating a Catholic musician. My Dad was a bit skeptical about his extended family (aunts and uncles) accepting his gf. His Mom (my grandma) didn’t seem to mind too much.

The first time my Dad met my Mom’s family was not in particularly good circumstances. My Dad was taking my Mom to the cinema in his little VW and there was a car crash (it wasn’t his fault) which near enough broke my mom’s nose. He had to rush her to the hospital and while she was getting stitches, he had to make the dreaded call to her father. The entire family showed up and, to put it short, gave him grief. But he stood there, right beside my mom’s bed, and didn’t budge. He took all they had to give. My mom finally told them to shut it and made it clear that he was the one for her.

What followed were months of hell for them as her parents tried to split them, and then my dad’s extended family tried to do the same. But hey, love conquers (and boy, am I glad it does!) and they stuck with each other through it all. My Mom made the decision to convert to being Catholic (which infuriated her father even more) and she remains one to this day (she’s a better Catholic than my Dad, who would rather watch the footie on TV than attend Mass!).

It’s a shame when religion gets in the way of complete happiness, isn’t it? There is a lot I’m missing out here, but I can say that there aren’t many couples who would have successfully continued on with their relationships with all the hurdles thrown their way.

My parents got engaged in 1975 and then celebrated their marriage the following year, with both immediate families blessings. My brother was born the year after and that pretty much ended the feud on my Mom’s side.

Sadly, it wasn’t to be on my Dad’s extended family’s side. His aunts in particular couldn’t seem to get over him marrying someone so different to what they believed was "right and good" in a woman. They were cruel and spiteful while my Mom was still pregnant with my brother and later with me and, even despite meeting them shortly in 1996, I haven’t bothered to keep in touch or communicate with them.

I suppose what I’m trying to share here is, if you know you have something good going, and in your heart feel that this is the right thing for you, go for it. Go for it all the way. Filter out the trash. Keep following that heart…keep opening those doors…and stick to who you are and what you believe…even if it takes ten years. My parents did it…and so can you.

There haven’t been any regrets. My parents are still as much in love now as they were all those years ago. We’re an extremely close knit family and my best times have been spent with them. It hurts that someday the four of us won’t be together anymore, as is life….but I am and shall forever be grateful for what I have, and for the times we have spent and continue to spend together and for all I am learning and continuing to learn from my darling family. You are my parents. You are my brother. And you are all my very best friends. I love you.