Dear April 2017,

Do me a favour . Fuck. Right. Off!!!!  How much more do you expect my parents and I to endure?  Really?!  Just how fucking much?!  In my short, almost-38 years on this earth, I have never had to deal with so much pain as I have in the past almost-30 days.  Nor have my parents, who are all I actually have in this world.

First you had the bank nearly repossess my car, forcing me to give my only heirloom as collateral for a loan to get the payment up to date.  When my parents are gone, that ring is most likely the only thing I will have that will remind me of my parents, you sonofabitch!

Staying with the subject of wheels , you knocked my parents with the breakdown of their car.   In my opinion, a piece of crap, but a car, nevertheless.  Not only did you decide to allow the water pump to die, you killed the pistons and warped the cylinder head too, just for good measure.  Where on God’s green earth did you expect them to come up with the amount of money needed to repair that?  They are pensioners!  There is no amount of thanks I can relay to Uncle Barry for his help with the repair and to my amazing friend, Kayla, in Johannesburg, who lent me some money to help them, without even batting an eyelid, when her own child had to go to hospital.  Even a colleague, Charlie, helped me with a few bob, because he sees the strain I am taking.  These are the people that will help me give you the finger, you goddamn awful month.  Do you hear me?!

Sure, my Toppie got to celebrate his 70th birthday, but at what cost?  That nice braai cost my parents money that they couldn’t afford, but we, as a family, couldn’t allow a milestone like that to pass.  Something had to be done, even though it lacked the lustre of a real celebration.  One thing you couldn’t take away from us that night was our spirit of fun, but you eventually got your revenge.   This past weekend, all of us had to say goodbye to the home that has been ours for countless years.   We have had to box so many memories and my parents have had to move.  From a comfortable, three-bedroom, 860 square meter property to a three-roomed place, totaling maybe 60 squares in an industrial area, because that is all that they can afford.  Well played, April 2017, well played.  I am breaking my back to help where I can, but I can’t support two families on my salary, and my parents don’t want to stay with me because they don’t want to be a burden.  I don’t see it like that, but they do.  Yes, they could be in a safer area, with people around, closer to civilization.  But no… they’ve been reduced to living like this, because, amongst other things, the Rand has zero value and many of the people closest to them are blissfully ignorant to the true gravity of the situation.

Then you decided to add a little more spice to the mix.  You saw to it that a pipe burst in my bathroom, resulting in the flooding of my flat.  So, even if my parents had wanted to stay with me, you saw to it that it wouldn’t be possible.  Fuck you, April.   Just fuck you!  I’m displaced as a result, having to rely on my friends to house me, because my parents can’t.  I can sleep on their couch, sure, but it’s with my head in the kitchen and my body in the lounge.  It’s fine for a weekend, but long-term?  But, you know what, April 2017?  I don’t really care about the trouble in the flat.  I have great land-people who understand the inconvenience, and who, as a result, are willing to meet me halfway. I also have incredible friends who are willing to help me out, even if it means living between them like a nomad.  So, I’m giving you the finger here.  Look, you doos, do you see that bird I’m throwing you?  Hmmmm, do you!?

Realizing that you struck out with your attempt at a mini-tsunami, you decided to kill my mother today.  And that, you goddamn bastard, was the last straw!  How.  Dare.  You!?!  You took away the only company she had in the day.  Her precious Marley…her little grey meadow. That cockatiel is not ever going to be replaceable, you hear me?  Not. Ever!  She is so devastated.  In my lifetime, I have never seen my mother wracked with sobs telling me she has nothing to live for anymore.  My heart broke a million times for her today.  I can’t bear to see her so soulfully unhappy.  I can’t!!  How much more heartbroken do you need us as a family to be before you relent?  How?  Much?  More?!  We’re beyond worn-out; we’re almost dead.  Are you waiting for me to be driven to prostitution?  Because right now, I actually empathise with ladies of the night, because while it may be the oldest profession in the world, it is driven by desperation.  A desperation with which I can identify.

The problem is:  You know me.  You know the compassionate, involved being I am, but right now, I can’t take this anymore.

So April 2017, I ask you again.  Do me a favour.  Fuck. Right. Off!  Because if you don’t soon, I may be an orphan…  And honestly,  I’m not ready to lose my parents yet.   I’m not! 😦



One thought on “Dear April 2017,

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s