Letter two of eighteen

Dear 2018,

You’ve served me a streak of tsunami’s! 

I grew up in rural Eastern Cape, South Africa. My childhood was not isolated from the typical experiences of girls my age. This means that I also learnt how to cook at a very young age. I might not have had the responsibility of putting meals together but, I knew what to do and how to do it. I learnt how to mix the dough, ukuxova in isiXhosa, for bread, how to prepare pap and rice. Amongst other things. I did all this, with supervision, without burning anything.  I only recall one major incident when I burnt something from my entire childhood. It was on 26 December 2004. I remember it as if I had just walked into the kitchen to my uncle asking what had happened.  

There a multiple reasons why I remember it so vividly. Firstly, because it was the first experience. Secondly, the reason I burnt the rice was that I had been outside with my cousins who were having a face-off with other teens from another kasi (neighbourhood). I was not about to miss out on that! Yes, I was a bit mischievous growing up but that’s a story for another day. The last reason, and probably the strongest, why I remember the day is because I learnt a new word on the day. The word was Tsunami. Yes, that was the same day when headlines across the entire globe were reporting on what had happened. Since then the I personally coined the term to just define any disaster.

2018, you’ve given me a streak of tsunami’s! 

I’ve burnt onion while braising, I’ve burnt chicken while trying to prepare my famous chicken mayo and I burnt muffins. Imagine that?! My stress-baking safe haven had been invaded. And that wasn't the worst of it. I've recently had to face the reality that I had also burnt myself out trying to keep up with you.

There are so many instances when I felt like you were a teapot and I had been a tea bag. Something I had always wished to be since reading Peter Dixon's I'd like to be a Teabag sometime in primary. I paid little consideration, unfortunately, to the last two lines of it: "Except that once in all my life
I`d make a cup of tea!"

In defence of my younger self, making tea as a teenager was no joke. There were only so many times you could succeed in acting as if you were asleep when visitors came over, made a silent exit before mama put in the tea order or, bribed my sister to do it instead of me. That didn't always go so well. My prayers of the guests preferring a cold beverage had higher chances of reaching heaven first. I seldom got those, "no, let the child be. I'm fine" guests. I flipped so many tea bags that I eventually wished I was one of them lol.

Adulting, on the other hand, serves you the harsh reality that you are the tea bag and you actually have to make a cup of tea. Constantly. I've taken up the "tea bag" role over the years but you take the cup. Yes, do mind the pun.

2018, you've served me a hot cups of tsunami's! 

In all fairness, you’ve equally been such a journey. So, not all my letters to you will focus on your potholes and speed humps. You’ve taken me places with beautiful views too…