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Three words for 2013: what a year.

I wish my laptop would work right now because I’m sitting in Starbucks waiting for Helen to come and I finally have some quiet time to sit down and just pour out my thoughts in this little corner, and bleeding over the keyboard would make things so much more conducive. Nonetheless bleeding is bleeding so a smaller gadget in our 21st century is still a space.

2013 has been such a year. I’m stuck at this line here because I don’t know how to say what a year it’s been; I guess it’s been such an amazing year because I’ve never had a year like this before. The year I turned 21, how apt. It was the most painful year yet the most exciting the most happening and most amazing year I’ve ever had and when you put these together it’s been one hell of a year. I see that my life course has tweaked because of this year and I must say I’m unsurprised. This was my year into adulthood and so much has aptly happened and I’m happy for everything and for everything I’ve learnt about myself, about the world, about life in general.

I make my usual new year resolutions by which they’ve remained unfulfilled for the past 21 years: I resolve to stop biting my nails.

I will stick by this – there’s (almost) no right or wrong, just different perspective and different beliefs and I must always remember to understand and place myself in people’s shoes.

And other secret resolutions.

2013- what a year.
May 2014 bring about more growth, more amazing things and may I grow to be a better person than I’ve ever been. Happy new year 🙂

An unreliable representation of Marrakech, Morocco

First night in Morocco
Smoke, crowds and Arabic.
We navigated along the chaotic streets, fumes in the air, throngs of people in the crowds. People were constantly walking past me and I was dazed. The traffic was chaotic from my risk-averse point of view. (Refraining from being judgemental)
I sincerely feared for my life as we crossed (crossed? Gosh, squeezing past the cars and pleading with my heart they will slow down) the roads in the evening.
The night square was lively, and filled with people. There was a film Fest going on, and at one point the woman flashed her tits. The crowd cheered.
We got lost on the way back, it was dark and the brown alleys blended into one. The stalls, the hanging lights, the Arabic signs I could not fathom for abit, they melded into one long street. We walked and we walked, ‘this looks familiar’, ‘I think we turned this way’. We turned into a narrow alley, hoping to find number 45- and we did, except we were in the wrong lane. We rung the door bell anyway, and a lady in blue appeared. We showed her the address, and she shook her head and pointed ahead.
She led us out along the alley (Fig. 1), past the group of teenage boys gathered kicking a tin can under the dim light, out to the main streets and turned right. We followed ahead. I followed because I did not know where else and how else to go. We walked and walked and walked, and she asked in a language I could not comprehend, presumably Arabic, some shopkeeper on the way. They called the number on our lodge’s namecard, and we walked on, and then a man waved and we knew we were near. We bid our dear lady goodbye, thanked her, and I blessed humanity for all of its goodness. Navigated through the indistinguishable alleyways and reached the lodge safely, bumping into a group of men gathered at the front of our lodge’s door.
I quietly heaved a sigh of relief as I entered.

Fig. 1

dusty doors with its gracefully curled patterns