ikhaya lam

   "Sometimes I write in self-defense" - Maya Angelou   The day before my birthday I was asked (again) why the search for my biological parents is so important to me; what I hoped to gain by knowing. I found my birth mother several decades ago. She gave birth to both the enquirer and I. I've given up on a relationship with "our" mother, but I would still like to find (out who) my father (was). I will therefore attempt to come up with a once-and-for-all answer on this page, if such a thing is possible. Because I think the answers change as one grows, but more about that later.  I suspect that, when she asked, my genetic half-sister was unaware of the significance of the following day. Not that I mind: I would prefer not to celebrate my birthday. I mark the day only because it seems important to others. This is in no way negative or sad, it's what I feel comfortable with. I don't much see the point of celebrating anybody's birthday after the age of 21....

    No, I'm not LGBTQIA+ . And if you don't know what that means, shame on you click on the letters to find out.      [...waiting for the Flintstones to find their way back from the link...]    Ah, I see you're back.   Sit down.    Let me tell you a story.    At the beginning of this globally conspicuous year a scorpion killed my kitten . I had loved the little critter - the cat, not the scorpion - and I was devastated. Hannes had been given my Dad's name in a hubristic temptation of fate and fate answered. The small, soft, patched body that used to perch on my shoulder and purr into my ear while I sat at my desk lay lifeless under the Oregon pine kitchen cupboard where he'd crawled in to die. I sat outside on the gravel and howled like a mother who'd lost a child, because I had.   His favourite place I thought expressing grief during the loss meant I wouldn't stuggle with depression afterwards. But I stayed listless in ...