Short notes, honestly kept.

1. 23 September 2026· So happy I could burst

   Ntombi's good news — the exercising is working

   

   This morning Ntombi told me something that made my whole day, maybe my whole week: the exercising has truly helped her, healthwise. Truly helped. She can feel it in her body, and her life is improving because of it.

   Do you know what that does to me? Watching someone you love take her health back, one walk, one stretch, one deliberate breath at a time. I know how hard it is to begin when your body feels like it is working against you — nobody knows that better than I do. And she began. And she kept at it. And now she can feel the difference.

   It makes me so happy that her life is improving. That is what movement does when you are gentle and stubborn about it — it does not shout, it just quietly hands you back your life, piece by piece.

   So this entry is a cheer from the sidelines. Ntombi, I am so proud of you. Here is to more walks, more tai chi in the garden, and to health that keeps quietly getting better.

2. 22 September 2026· Remembering opulence — and my first eight-course meal

   The woman who opened the door to French food

   

   My favourite South African chef is Chantel Dartnall. I remember Restaurant Mosaic at The Orient Hotel in Elandsfontein: the room, the view, the opulence of the setting. It was the most incredible French experience. Chantel came in and read the French menu to us, and I was introduced to French wine — not simply drinking it, but pairing a different wine with each course. It was my first eight-course meal ever. She opened my eyes to the fantasticness of French food. Fantasticness is my word, and it is the only word big enough.

   Chantel trained at Prue Leith, then in the kitchens of Michelin-starred masters: Nico Ladenis at the three-star Chez Nico at 90 Park Lane and Michael Caines at the two-star Gidleigh Park. Back home, she made Restaurant Mosaic one of South Africa's great fine-dining destinations, twice earning South African Chef of the Year and being named Best Female Chef in the World at The Best Chef Awards in 2017. Her food is botanical, painterly and unmistakably hers — flowers, herbs, memory and nature composed on a plate.

   A small but important correction to the story people sometimes tell: Chantel herself has not yet been awarded a Michelin star. South Africa is not covered by the Michelin Guide. Her Michelin connection is through the remarkable kitchens in which she trained, and her new restaurant in France is openly reaching for that star. Her achievements need no borrowed sparkle; they are extraordinary in their own right.

   Restaurant Mosaic closed its South African chapter in 2021 after fifteen years at The Orient. Chantel and her family moved to Brittany, restored the nineteenth-century Château des Tesnières, and opened a new Restaurant Mosaic there in May 2025. She is now its chef-proprietor and director, carrying that South African brilliance into France — which feels beautifully full-circle for the woman who first brought France to my table in Elandsfontein.

   I went to The Orient many times. It holds another version of me, too: in 2011 I took a year off, bought a camera and began doing wedding photography. I even photographed a wedding-dress shoot there. Of course I did — those arches, those views, that delicious drama. Before I knew how large a part food would play in my life, I was already chasing beauty through a lens in the same place where Chantel taught me how a meal could become theatre.

   Meet Chef Chantel — official biography →Restaurant Mosaic at Château des Tesnières →The Orient and Restaurant Mosaic — photographic story →

   

   

3. 21 September 2026· In love — with Rome, and with this pasta

   Meant to be born in Rome — spaghetti with anchovy butter

   

   Bobby Flay is my absolute favourite chef. A few years ago now — before he opened his Italian restaurant, Amalfi — he did a show with Giada De Laurentiis where they travelled to Rome and Florence. And there is a pasta dish that aired on that show that I have thought about ever since: Bobby at Roscioli, eating spaghetti tossed in anchovy butter, rendered completely speechless.

   On Saturday, I made said dish. AMAZING!!!!!!! The anchovies never touch direct heat — they melt into the butter and hot pasta water into the silkiest emulsion, and then you crown the bowl with more anchovy. Three ingredients and I was transported. The full recipe is in Recipes & Ratings, with a proper nod to Bobby, Giada and Roscioli Ristorante Salumeria in Rome — where Bobby fell in love with the dish.

   Now, do not get me wrong: I am 100% South African and absolutely proud of it. But I swear I was meant to be born in Rome. I love Rome. Being there a few years ago was life changing. I can totally see myself in a Fellini movie — jumping into a fountain, being totally over dramatic. I love me some loved-up drama.

   And yes — I did throw a coin into the Trevi fountain when I was there. Over the left shoulder, with the right hand, the way you are supposed to. They say it means you will return to Rome. So I hope and I pray that I will be going back soon. Roma, aspettami — wait for me.

   Spaghetti with anchovy butter, alla Roscioli — the recipe →
4. 21 September 2026· Hot, happy, back on track

   Clock it, girl — New York energy, Britney's Fantasy, and a granita in the freezer

   

   We slept late, but we slept through. This morning I went for a walk and did tai chi — it was tough getting back into my workout routine, but yes, I did it. Back on the horse, dear reader, one slow, deliberate move at a time.

   I made an orange, guava and mint granita, because it is hot enough for it. We are close to 30 degrees this week. Spring for who? We have slipped right into summer while no one was looking. The recipe is in Recipes & Ratings — get your forks ready to rake.

   Now, the outfit. It is so New York. I could be from the Bronx or Brooklyn — even though I would love to be from the Upper East Side! But I am a Jozi girl, and Mzansi runs through my veins. The pink heels are giving the pop of colour that was so needed, the sequinned hat is incredible, and the capri pants and the black bodysuit! Wowzers.

   And then it hit me: Carrie Bradshaw, season four, walking Aiden's dog Pete in her striped suit. And me, today, in my striped capris with Stretford photobombing the frame. I cannot believe how matchy-matchy our looks are! She did full tailoring to walk the dog — and then Pete chewed up her Manolos. "That dog owes me $380!" Stretford, my professional photobomber, just strolls through like he owns the sidewalk. I will take my version of the scene.

   Today's perfume: Fantasy by the one and only Britney Spears. Love me some Britney — I am hearing "Piece of Me" in the background, and honestly, it suits the whole look.

   There is a beef red Thai curry cooking as we speak, and it is going to be amazing. And look who strolled right through the frame in one of the pictures — Stretford, always photobombing. That alone made my day.

   Love today. Do everything you can today to make you happy, because tomorrow is not promised.

   Orange, guava and mint granita — the recipe →

   

   

   

5. 20 September 2026· European. Joyful. Playing dress up.

   Focus on the shoes — emerald silk, shell heels, and Light Blue

   

   I do love the colour of this dress — and the design, and the material. Exquisite. Emerald green, ruched and ruffled, silk that moves when I move. Some dresses are clothes; this one is an occasion.

   And no, dear reader, I was not looking at Stretford's bum — he photobombs every single shoot. Focus on the shoes! The flower, the colour, the inches! Wow. Blush shells blooming over the toes on a heel that goes on forever. They deserved their own close-up, and they got one.

   Today's perfume: Dolce & Gabbana Light Blue. I have loved this perfume for years — I used to work at Red Square, all perfumes and cosmetics, and that is where I was introduced to it. It is so perfect for summer. I wish I was at the beach, but it still works.

   The weather is perfect — a slight breeze, not too hot, temperate. I felt very Rome/Paris today. Totally a European look. I love it. I love playing dress up; it brings me so much joy. When I was younger I would pose in shop windows — pose hard, like I was a mannequin. What was that movie with the mannequin again? Mannequin, 1987. I loved it.

   Speaking of movies: G and I are going through thrillers at the moment, but I keep pushing for Van Wilder. Ryan Reynolds is amazing in that movie and I laugh so hard every time. Last night we watched What Lies Beneath — Michelle Pfeiffer is so beautiful! I love that movie.

   Oh — and the nails. Not quite salmon, not quite peach… a spring colour I cannot name but instantly love. I hope you like this ensemble as much as I do.

   

   

6. 19 September 2026· Delighted. Yum!

   Rusks meets matcha — arigato, Ambassador Shimizu!

   

   I had a matcha latte for the very first time, and there is something fun happening in South Africa. The Japanese ambassador to South Africa — his name is Ambassador Shimizu! — posts challenges on Instagram to get the full South African experience. He gives himself challenges to try our food, and we genuinely love that he wants to assimilate, to have the full experience.

   Well, he had a rusk. Rusks meets matcha! Yum! The ambassador has tried biltong as well, and made a peppermint crisp tart. Now, I don't have a sweet tooth, but the ambassador loved it — and I say arigato! He is fun and I love it.

   South Africans love meeting new people, trying new things, people who want to know and understand us. This is amazing.

   And because a rusk this good deserves to be baked at home, my Ouma-style buttermilk rusks recipe is now in Recipes & Ratings — save it for your next tea break.

   @embassyofjapaninsouthafrica on Instagram →Ouma-style buttermilk rusks — the recipe →
7. 18 September 2026· Not happy. Exhausted. Still here.

   In the trenches — when my own body becomes the battering ram

   I feel like a stuck record. I keep repeating that I am not having a good time, that my health is taking a beating. My brain uses my body like a battering ram. Whenever there is conflict, it sends my brain into override and then it just assaults me.

   Yesterday I was vomiting. Food got stuck in my throat. I could not breathe and, oh my God, I was passing out. Ntombi was desperately trying to help me, but nothing was working. I fainted several times just trying to walk to the couch. I slept for the rest of the day.

   This morning my mom came through, and she and Ntombi helped me to the couch. Thirty minutes later — boom. Before the seizure, something bizarre happened: my head fell backwards and locked hard. I could not move it forward. My mom helped me, and then the seizure hit. It was seismic. Afterwards I vomited what felt like an hour of bile upon bile. Dear reader, I just cannot. I cannot.

   The medical word for difficulty swallowing is dysphagia. I had oesophageal manometry: a thin tube passed through my nostril and down the back of my throat while my breathing and swallowing were monitored. Then came tiny sips of water as the doctor watched what happened. My oesophagus opened and closed, then became ‘lazy’ and slow; next it closed halfway; lastly it closed shut and would not open. It was painful and horrible. I would not wish that test on my worst enemy — and truth be told, I am too old and too over it to even have enemies.

   The condition is called achalasia. The muscles at the bottom of the oesophagus do not relax properly, so food and drink cannot move into the stomach as they should. It is rare and can be mistaken for reflux, but this is not stomach contents coming back up in the same way as GERD — food can remain trapped in the oesophagus. There is no cure that restores the damaged nerves and muscle function, but symptoms can often be managed with endoscopic treatment, minimally invasive procedures or surgery. With thanks to Mayo Clinic for its clear achalasia information.

   Then add SMA, which obstructs the passage beyond my stomach, and gastroparesis, which means my stomach does not empty properly. One condition does not cancel out another; they pile on top of each other, making eating, swallowing and keeping food down a daily battle.

   I live a nightmare, as if Freddy Krueger is coming to get me all of the time, at all costs. I do not know, dear reader, how this story ends. Right now I am in the trenches, and it does not feel great. I am not happy. That is the truth today.

   If food is stuck and you cannot breathe, speak or cough — or you lose consciousness — that is an emergency. Call emergency services immediately. This is my lived experience, not medical advice.

8. 17 September 2026· Dreaming big, wildly loved

   No one puts Baby in a corner — I want the lift

   

   I want a Crazy, Stupid, Love moment. The kind of love that walks through a crowd, takes your face in its hands and kisses you like the credits are about to roll. Big, crazy, breath-stealing love — the stuff that leaves you dizzy and laughing and ruined for anything smaller. I want opulence and I want indulgence, and I refuse to apologise for wanting both, loudly.

   And I want the Dirty Dancing moment. Nobody puts Baby in a corner — and then there is a move. The move. I want to be hoisted into the air, arms out, hair everywhere, while "(I've Had) The Time of My Life" is playing, and the whole room holds its breath. God, there would be nothing better. It is officially on the bucket list: one lift, one perfect song, one person strong enough and daft enough to catch me.

   Until that day comes, I am practising being the main character from the couch. Leopard leggings. The orange tee with the blue lettering that says exactly what it says — the aunties can clutch their pearls. Kappa sneakers with the gum sole and that beautiful logo, gold chains stacked, white watch, pink nails, MacBook balanced on my knee.

   I am a gqwegakazi. I'm Xhosa. I am the one. Put that in your corner and watch it dance.

   

   

9. 16 September 2026· Scared, but holding him close

   Churchill's scare — denim, espadrilles, and a rush to the hospital

   

   Today my brave boy scared the life out of me. Churchill fell ill, and there was no thinking, no deciding — just the rush to get him to the hospital. When one of your babies is sick, the world narrows to a single lane road between you and help.

   I did not even change. I went in the denim jumpsuit — one piece, one decision, done, because a bulldog in trouble does not wait for an outfit change. The perfect espadrilles carried me there, and I had topped it all off with Ted Baker, because even in a crisis I am still me.

   The vets took him in and he is in the best hands. I sat there willing him better, remembering every time this boy has caught me mid-seizure — jumping on me, pawing at me, licking my face until the storm passed. He has carried me so many times. Today it was my turn to carry him.

   Whatever comes next, we face it the way this house always has: together, in style, and with a great deal of love. My beautiful boy. Hold on for mama.

   

   

   

10. 15 September 2026· Moved, determined

    She saw more for me

    

    I am watching Jay Shetty's interview with Oprah, and I am crying. I feel like her will and determination mirrors mine.

    My grandmother raised me. She saw more for me — that I could do more, despite the horror of my childhood. She saw more for me, and that is why I questioned, why I reached, why I never settled. I look at a picture of my four-year-old self and I try to honour her, and do more for her.

    I knew that I was different. That I wanted more. That I was far more intelligent and intellectual than the room ever gave me credit for. That no one and nothing defines me but me. Only I knew me.

    I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul. God, use me. May I always honour you, and thank you.

11. 13 September 2026· Heartbroken, grateful

    Goodbye, my baby girl — Sarah Jessica

    

    On the 12th of September 2026, I had to say goodbye to my baby girl, Sarah Jessica. I know I have not written in a bit — there was this deep-seated need to communicate, but things have been very rough, and letting go of my girl has been so hard on me.

    Saturday was a chaotic morning. I fed everyone, but she would not eat. The bulldog twins had a massive fight, and when I went searching for Sarah in the garden, she was hiding under the jasmine and bougainvillea trees. I only found her because Benjamin went looking with me — and he found her. She kept vomiting, and I was frantic. To say that my heart is wrecked is an understatement.

    She has been with me for thirteen years — a fighter like no other. All of my girls were tough, but what Sarah had to overcome was seemingly insurmountable. She was a legend at the vet, and Doctor Caitlyn and the team really loved her. The hug that Doctor Caitlyn gave me was incredible, and I thank God — my veterinary team is unbelievable. I am blessed and surrounded by the most incredible people, and that is all that matters.

    I cried my lashes off when I got home. I laid on the floor, howling in pain. But she is out of pain now, and in doggie heaven. My little girl.

    We went out in style. I got dressed up, I put a little pink dress on Sarah, some Viktor & Rolf perfume for both of us, and I held her until her last breath.

    I love you forever, Sarah Jessica. You have delighted and surprised me; you filled my heart with joy and laughter. Feisty and strong, perfect in every way. My song for you is Jealous by Labrinth. I miss you and I love you. Thank you for your love. I am a better puppy and kitty mama for having had you in my life.

    

    

    

    

    

    

12. 11 September 2026· Humbled, grateful

    Broken, but grateful

    God, I am grateful. Thank you.

    I am broken. I am tired. Some days the body feels like a house with too many doors left open, and the wind blows through all of them at once. And yet — I am loved. Immensely loved. I did not foresee the grace accorded to me, and that is what makes it grace: it arrives unearned, unexpected, and completely overwhelming.

    There is a peculiar mercy in being held together by love when you feel most fractured. People see the heels and the lipstick and the laughter, but the real miracle is the quiet, stubborn gratitude underneath it all. The choice to say thank you even when the night was long. Even when the pain was loud. Even when I did not see the light coming.

    So this is my prayer and my protest in the same breath: broken, but grateful. GRATEFUL. Because grace does not require wholeness. It simply meets you where you are, shattered bits and all, and says, 'Still mine. Still here. Still enough.'

13. 5 September 2026· Joyful, astonished

    240 days, reset to 1

    240 days. That is a very significant number of days, really. I cannot help but feel pure joy — like that of a baby who is given a rattle. Something so small, but the significance feels like a moment in time where the world has come back to life.

    Yesterday I debated with someone the dichotomy of want versus need. I want so much of what others take for granted. Similarly, I need so much more than, let's say, even a toddler would need. But the peace of mind you have when you know that, despite significant disability, you are still loved, wanted, needed, heard and understood — that is everything.

    I also read that grace is where God meets you, and faith is where you meet God. I nodded like a crazed parrot. Something clicked. I just got it. I got it! So I think I have to work on deepening my faith and accepting the grace that I am bestowed upon by my maker.

    In saying all of this — and I am not even sure what yarn I am weaving right here — I would like to propose a significant queen who, to me, is just phenomenal: Henry the Eighth's majestic, fierce red-headed daughter, Elizabeth. I cannot count the number of times I have watched Cate Blanchett portray the force of nature that was the daughter of Anne Boleyn. Maybe, somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I remember the stubbornness it takes to stand clear, head and shoulders, as if levitating above mere mortals. She is my kind of superhero: a star who history, nor beheadings, nor her father's lechery, could stop from getting England kicking and screaming to better days.

    There was her crazy sister, Mary; the Queen of Scots; the French; the Spanish; the Catholic Church; and many men who wanted to marry her off. I would love to believe it would be more so to birth an heir, but maybe it is just what men do — men feel more comfortable around other men when faced with making serious decisions. Anyway, if you remember nothing else, remember this: 240 days were reset back to 1. And all I can attribute it to is the grace. The grace.

14. 3 September 2026· Defiant

    Built, not raised — and another fall in paradise

    

    I fell so hard today. I honestly thought I had twisted my foot right off, and my wrist almost took all of my weight. Anyway — just another day in paradise!

    I love strong, heroic women. Not many may know about her, but Queen Boudicca of the British Iceni launched into the Romans and, while she did not win in the end, she put the fear of God into them. Her name actually means Victory. She did what no other woman had done, and I love her for it. I love that my back-back-back-back heritage comes from deep within her loins.

    A controversial one, but I love Marie-Antoinette. She was opulent and incredible — I mean, who is more bougie than her? No one. She left no feathers on any ostriches. Her quote, 'There is nothing new except what has been forgotten,' is epic. Say it with a French accent. But my favourite quote of hers is not the obvious one: 'I wasn't raised, I was built.' Put that on my tombstone. There is so much beauty in it. She knew she was different and made no bones about living her truth. If she was a rapper, I think she would be Cardi B. I love Cardi. Can't hold her back, can't mess with her. She knows who she is — a fellow Libran. We should come with a warning, not for the faint-hearted. And here is a fact that stops me cold: Marie-Antoinette was executed on 16 October 1793 — my birth date. The woman who built herself from ostrich feathers and gold was beheaded on the very day I was born. Stop it!

    Now, the falling. It is common with FND, but I find that the more stress I have, the more I fall and the more I break. My rheumatologist told me to never fall — I have the bone density of a ninety-year-old. Do I look ninety? Move along with your negative side-eyes. This has never and will never stop me walking in my heels. I think that big living, elite living, is how I dream to go out. Shoot my ashes out of fireworks. Going out with a bang, no matter what anyone thinks.

    The outfit is pure pop art — the tank is akin to the iconic pop-art artists, and I am a die-hard pop-art fan. Slap me upside the head with Andy Warhol any day. Little tiny jeans, iconic baby-pink espadrilles, hot-pink toenails, and I topped it off with iconic Ted Baker. I do not think Ted's perfumes get enough plaudits. He really deserves a slow clap for them — not just the bags, which I am obsessed with, by the way.

    

15. 2 September 2026· Grateful, despite it all

    So hot, so sick, and a granita in the freezer

    

    It is so hot today. The kind of heat that sits on your chest and refuses to move. And I am so sick — I have been in a bad way for a while now. No one can say exactly why, but I have a compromised immune system, and on days like this it announces itself loudly.

    Still, after making lángos for Ntombi — which she loved, by the way — I gave it to her with labneh, which is our favourite. I could honestly live off just that. Lángos and labneh, forever. There are worse lifetimes to imagine.

    Because it is too hot to even think about turning the oven on, I am making a lemon and grapefruit sorbet. Except I do not have an ice-cream machine, so we will call it what it really is: a granita. Same sharp, icy relief, scraped with a fork every few hours until it is a pile of coral-coloured crystals. No machine required. Just citrus, sugar, water, and patience.

    And to the man who has carried me through all of this, the one who makes the bad days bearable: Gracias, mi amor, por todos estos años de felicidad.

    

    

16. 26 August 2026· Flying high

    I am an eagle

    

    This is how I went to physio today. Yes, in the perfect espadrille — and I walk in those heels proudly. I have had this jumpsuit since 2016 and look how beautifully it still sits on me.

    I am happy. Things are going better mentally. I am loved and I am supported, and that is all that matters to me. My soul is flying high. I can see my future and I want it — I want everything, all of it. I am an eagle. That is how I do.

    Perfume was Tom Ford Lost Cherry, of course. What a scent. It is everything.

    I got a lot of hugs and smiles today. And why not! Look at me, dammit.

    

    

17. 26 August 2026· Tired, but full

    Physio day with Josh, and a rib that feels like a heart attack

    

    It's Wednesday, which means physio day with Josh. I'm already tired and already in pain before I've even walked through the door, and I often leave Josh feeling completely beaten up. But how would I improve if not for Josh and the team? That is the honest answer. The beating up is the improving.

    This broken rib needs time. That is all it needs — just time. But where the crack is, it is so painful that it feels like a heart attack or an arrhythmia every single time I breathe in and out. There is no position, no distraction and no clever breathing trick that gets around it. You simply breathe, and it bites, and you breathe again.

    The weather here is incredible at the moment. Impeccable, actually. Yesterday's look was casual — the one-shoulder denim maxi jumpsuit — and the compliments were flowing all day. My glow-up is returning. With the support of my beloved, things will improve. Perfume was Tom Ford F'king Fabulous, because casual does not have to mean quiet.

    And look at Stretford posing in the pictures. Sweet boy. He knew exactly which camera was on him.

    One more thing, and it means more than I can say: the support coming in from Taiwan, the United States, the United Kingdom, France, Panama and Qatar. I sit here in Johannesburg with a cracked rib and a body at war with itself, and people on the other side of the world are reading. I am so impressed, and my heart is completely full. Thank you.

    

    

18. 24 August 2026· Angry and relieved

    The one picture that made it all make sense

    

    Someone shared a diagram today, and it stopped me cold. It is the one picture that makes gastroparesis make absolute sense to me. This is what is wrong with me.

    The vagus nerve collapsed onto my stomach, which is why I can't keep food down — the nerves simply cannot work, and this will never recover. And then the superior laryngeal nerve is no longer working either, which is why food lodges in my throat. So now I fight to keep food down. Every day. That is the whole picture, in one drawing.

    This! This is how we uncover what's wrong with you. Not because a doctor explained it, but because good people are working hard to release as much information as they uncover it, to make sure that people with rare and complicated disorders are heard and believed.

    Do you know how long I was made to feel like I was making this up? Years of being looked at sideways. Years of being told, in one way or another, that this was something I was doing to myself.

    I am angry and relieved, all at the same time. Angry for the girl who was disbelieved. Relieved that she was telling the truth the whole time.

    I've added the anatomy and the plain-language explanation to the About FND page, so that the next person who is being disbelieved can point at it and say: this. This is what is happening to me.

19. 24 August 2026· Tenacious

    I thought I couldn't, and then I just did

    

    I thought that I couldn't do it, and then I just did. I simply refused to keep lying down and sleeping, even though I have been gravely ill. The struggle is terrible. I have fallen again. My right arm is completely bruised, and somehow my neck is bruised too. The pain, right down to my marrow, is unbelievably painful.

    And still — I simply love my tenacity. I watched the Serena Williams documentary again. She is a Libra, just like me. That fight, especially when people count you out. The word 'can't' is simply not in my vocabulary.

    I watched Pastor Steven this morning — the last sermon in the series about the prophet Samuel, when he hears the voice of God. Last week Pastor Steven said that when all you hear is your own voice, run it back and remember all the times God showed up for you. The times you believed and did what no one expected. The times God saw you through.

    So I got up, and I walked. I spoke to Ntombi, and with her I got my mind straight about so many things. And I reminded myself that God never slumbers nor sleeps, and that He has His timing. 'G' always says: trust in God and His timing.

    So I walked. And I made food. And on a day when I was written off — by my body, if not by anyone else — that is the whole win.

    And then something else landed today. I came across Stephanie Haveman's book, 'FND — Diary of an Invisible Wound: An Intimate Journey Through Trauma, Silence and Recovery.' You can't see it. Doesn't mean it's not real. That line alone undid me a little, because it is the sentence I have been saying, in one form or another, for years.

    I am going to buy it. Not just to read it, but because I believe in it. The more we know, and the more we love and support each other, the stronger our message becomes: we are not alone. We are not facing this terrible disorder alone. Every book bought, every story read, every voice added — it makes the invisible visible.

    This isn't just her story. It's ours.

    

    

    

    

    

20. 22 August 2026· Resolute

    Still relevant, still fighting — and I saved the pigeon

    I was going to write about how I am still relevant. That my life still has meaning. Then I watched a documentary about Lance Armstrong. The interviewer asks him, 'Do you still want to be relevant after all the scandal?' And he says, straight, 'Frankly, I am still relevant.' Some people would see that as arrogant. I don't.

    The fighter in me — the athlete who competed and won everything, the person in me who always wanted to win — not at all costs, but that fight, that fighter — that's me. I understand that answer in my bones. Relevance is not a popularity contest. It is the refusal to be erased by circumstance.

    I am still here. I am still Cass. I am still fighting, even when the fight is invisible, even when the win is simply getting through another hour. That is relevance enough.

    And then — because the universe clearly had a test lined up — I walked into the room to get my MacBook and there was a pigeon in the room. I automatically lost it! I have never had to deal with something like this in my life. Then the two boys, Jasper, and now everyone was in on the chaos. I had to put my big girl panties on and save this pigeon from two English bulldogs and a cat. Well, I did it. I saved the bird!

    I am not strong enough to open the stack doors in the room, so I ran into the dressing room, grabbed the biggest jersey I own, picked up the pigeon and let it fly out. OMGGGG! I would never have coped with this in the past. Don't get me wrong — I am currently in a world of pain because I tried to open the door — but I did it. I saved the bird.

    In other terrific news, it is another beautiful day in Jozi. My cherry tree has blossoms, and so does my peach tree. Yesterday I saw the falcon that sometimes flies all the way from the botanical gardens to where I stay, and I pointed it out to Ntombi on our walk. Yesterday was a low day, but I am stronger today, mentally that is. And I resolve to be resolute in my fight to live well, no matter what.

21. 21 August 2026· Distraught

    The blitzkrieg inside my bones

    

    I wish that I could run away from myself. The toll that this disorder takes on you can never be articulated. Not ever. There are not enough words to describe the blitzkrieg. The Hiroshima and Nagasaki of it all. How does anyone recover from an unrecoverable?

    You cannot forget your old self, your old life, when you were able-bodied and discontent but still had the ability to be independent, to think independently, to change things if you were unhappy with some particular element of your life. I was able to work hard and make change and do things and be fantastic, truly fantastic. There are so many fantastical highlights, things that I would never have expected.

    Now I struggle to spell words that are rudimentary, that a seven-year-old could spell. I struggle and I search, I work my processor — my brain — but it has a fundamental glitch. A virus that has infiltrated the software of my brain. I feel like my skin has been burned out, raw, unending pain. I go from pain medication to pain medication, and now I wake up screaming in the early hours of the morning, reaching out to anyone who could make it stop.

    My boy, Churchill, helps me through the seizures. He jumps on me and licks my face, pawing at me in an attempt to have a hard shutdown of my body so that the seizure will stop, to distract me. *Sigh.* *Hard, long sigh.* I ask between sobs and almost hyperventilating, when will it end? I know that it will not end, but dear God, why?

    I do not mean to vomit out this verbiage, but I am so distraught. This life is not easy, and the gains can be a lovely distraction, but truthfully, it is just that — a distraction. You know, when you feel the pain right to the hollowest part of your bones, to the marrow. There are just some days when smiling through the pain is just not enough. It just is not.

    I wish people would push past the pictures, or the two minutes that they spend with me, where I play the role of someone who is in control. Someone who can see a future and is working hard to make that happen. But it is just a role I play for the time we are together; the rest of the time, I am hanging on for dear life. This is not fun for me! Yes, I dress up, yes, I smell nice, yes, I try — but that is it. I try. I try harder than anyone!

    But I have lost my independence, I have lost so much more, and I cannot fathom how people would not give me the grace to just live like there is no tomorrow. I am so resolute on that. I cannot foresee me living in any other way. What I had, I have lost. All I have is today, and that is it. I know that it is the same for anyone else, but it is more visceral for me. The boogeyman lives within me, and scares me shitless.

    Breathing is so hard for me right now. The cracked rib makes me feel like I am having a heart attack. The pain and fainting, I lose hours. HOURS! I watch some things in a loop, and then at some point there is some tick of a recollection, like, 'I am sure that I have seen this, possibly?' My life is a true-crime story. I am not as bulletproof as I try to reflect. The person in the pictures and the life that is lived is unlike the one which you see. The mirror image is distorted. In the picture, Churchill, my beautiful boy who helps me when I am mid seizure.

22. 20 August 2026· Triumphant

    Maiden surname, 28 degrees, and a Home Affairs miracle

    Today I reverted back to my maiden surname. It was a name-change day, and I dressed up for it properly — because paperwork feels less like an admin chore when you look like you are accepting an award.

    It is 28 degrees today. Wow, Johannesburg — you showed up to help me celebrate! The heat was the kind that makes you grateful for a sleeveless dress and a patio with shade. I stood on my patio at home for the picture, and I am so proud of the renovations and changes I have paid for myself. Every bit of it is mine.

    The dress is TPD, and it is amazing with the ruching at the side. My Brazilian designer heels are on. The perfume is Tom Ford F'king Fabulous — because of course it is. The woman who helped me at Home Affairs said, 'went umuhle.' When you are South African, you know when you know. Ntombi told me I looked like a Barbie. I don't count her opinion; she is biased. But I will take the compliment anyway.

    It is a small thing, a name. But it is also a big thing. Today I chose to be Cassandra, in my own name and on my own terms.

    

    

23. 18 August 2026· Unshakable

    Disappointment roars like a lion

    Disappointment roars like a lion. It shakes you to your bone marrow — the deepest part of your being. Time is the leveller of all, and only time and God, or your maker, can resolve what looks like failure or success in the end.

    Life is what you make of it. How you sum it up. Who cares what the people on the side of the road think? If you fall foul of falling for the pretence of life — the picture that people paint — yet the underbelly is not that at all, then you have missed the point. Push forward. Now, and only now, is guaranteed.

    Your legacy is in the litany of the people who knew you, and how you portrayed yourself. Do not shy away from your calamities or missteps. They only bring you closer to the core of you, who you really are.

    I do not care what anyone thinks of me. I have never wanted to win a popularity contest. I am me — Cassandra, authentically so. And that is enough.

24. 17 August 2026· Hopeful

    Dandelions, four-leaf clovers, and a moon made of cheese

    The weather is utterly gorgeous. What a difference a week makes. South Africa — Johannesburg to be specific — has the most wonderful build-up to summer and the holidays. Imagine: blue, blue skies, birds chirping, from loeries to pied crows, and bees buzzing in the trees while we walked.

    This is the first time I have walked in about three weeks. The flu had me by the jugular, foot right up against my carotid artery. I cannot take any strong medication, especially not without checking in with my gastroenterologist first. Liver failure is a bit of a pig, to be honest — nothing against pigs — but it is unpleasant and it makes life a lot less fun and a lot more rigid. Don't worry, I did not do this to myself. It was sort of gifted to me, and that is all I will say about that.

    Anyway, back to my walk. On the way home I saw my favourite flower: a dandelion. Why, you ask? When I was little my grandfather told me that if you make a wish and blow out the dandelion, your wish would be granted. I think that at that juncture in my life, if I could have blown out nine million and seventy dandelions, I would have.

    I have a beautiful picture of one blown up and framed, hanging on my bathroom wall opposite my Victorian-esque bath. I have always lived by the saying more is more, so call me Marie Antoinette if you please.

    My grandfather also used to say: eat and drink and be merry, for tomorrow you will die. I think I need to make a t-shirt with that printed on it.

    Despite the cracked rib and elbow, I did pretty well at tai chi and stretch today. Proud of myself. It has been a harrowing time and the weight just keeps dropping — for the love of all things gold and shiny.

    I often need to remember to stop and take a breath. Pick up dandelions, make wishes, and pray that they do come true.

    The little bit of Irish in me also used to look for four-leaf clovers and believed in a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. And that fairytales come true. I also, hand on heart, believed the moon was made out of cheese. I'm a hopeless romantic. Curses.

    

    

    

25. 16 August 2026· Illuminated

    Singing at the top of my lungs, and a dress that could cause coronaries

    Singing at the top of my lungs to Whitney — and who cares that I absolutely cannot sing? It's just me and the kitties, and they do not judge their tone-deaf Mama.

    The weather is grand. It feels like a beautiful spring day. I am making plans to get together with my girls — I have not seen them in years, so I am beside myself with excitement.

    In the words of George Michael: I can't make you love me if you don't. Music fills my soul. There is something so spiritual about the way good music illuminates you. It is like being wrapped in a beautiful, fluffy blanket.

    I am not in as much pain today. The stretching yesterday and the tai chi actually helped. Back to full-on exercise tomorrow — I cannot go backwards. Honestly, I cannot.

    Now, let's talk about the dress. Fierce, right? It could cause coronaries. For real. And the cork heel — amazeballs. Then the perfume: the one that makes me feel my most feminine, Jean Paul Gaultier. I bow down to that bottle sometimes.

    I love everything about what I am experiencing — the good and the not-so-good. God knows my heart and knows who I am.

    OMG. Oleta Adams, Get Here. Singing so loudly I might break the windows next minute. 'If I had my way, surely you would be closer' — I need you closer.

    Next in the queue is SWV, Weak. So magnificent. Gawd, I sound like a cat being attacked. Oops. The way the dogs are looking at me. I am laughing so hard. I don't care.

    

    

    

    

26. 15 August 2026· Happy, inexplicably

    The ten plagues, my mother, and a proper laugh

    

    The weather has recalibrated — it is hot again — and I did something amazing today. My mom is retired, and she came over and exercised with me. I have not exercised since I cracked a rib and my left elbow, bruised my chin, and then got the flu. It is like the ten plagues.

    Speaking of plagues: I am watching Outbreak for the nine millionth time. Ebola and the Congo always seem to be kissing cousins in the movies when really it is just a hot mess. And there is another outbreak — an actual one — in the Congo right now. Imagine the horror of living that instead of watching it.

    Back to my mother. We exercised. I was almost paralysed again and the pain is phenomenal. I showered anyway, despite the desensitisation coming back. Then we went to replace my spectacles, because mine were stolen, and afterwards we went for coffee and laughed. Really laughed. That is new.

    Then food shopping. Guess who is making lángos again? Ding, ding, ding — dios mío, it's me. Caliente, as they would say in Mexico. And I looked amazeballs while doing it.

    Lunch today: roast chicken, lángos, roast potatoes, salad, and probably something else because I never know when to stop.

    I am happy, despite everything to the contrary. I should be sad, upset, disappointed. But I'm okay. So I am going to start a girls' supper club, because God, life is too short.

    Also, how good an actor is Kevin Spacey? I am not poo-pooing what he did — but he can act the shit out of a role. It is like rapping alongside Eminem: don't do it.

    And I have been thinking about the theme for my birthday at the Saxon. It is either Emily in Paris, or The Devil Wears Prada, or Gossip Girl. Because who wouldn't want to be Serena van der Woodsen? Blake Lively is incredible.

27. 14 August 2026· Certain

    Faith is most tested in the unknown

    I have just heard the most wonderful, self-affirming thing: faith is most tested, and most required, in the unknown. Isn't that amazing?

    Life has been very hard health-wise for a long while now, and I truly wish it wasn't. I wish that all the strides I had made, and even the decisions I came to, had all worked out. Sadly that is not how life works. But I think that when you do find your path, you choose it every day. No matter how painful, no matter how frightening.

    Not everyone is going to agree with or understand why you have done certain things. Once decided, own the decision. You would think it would be harder for someone with a chronic illness — I think it is the opposite. When you are all you have got, choosing yourself, owning your walk and carving out a future you can be proud of becomes easier. You only have enough strength to fight the internal battle of how good or bad a day has been. Everything else has to be simple.

    It is still possible to shoot for the stars, and if you only reach the stratosphere, that is still something. It is still more than most people who live their lives in fear and indecision ever get to.

    Your walk, the journey, the path — it is your own. You wear your own crown. You are the master of your fate.

    A few years ago I gave in to the pain and the problems and lay very still on the couch, praying for the end. Today — well, not this day, but many, many days since — I have walked unassisted and put on weight. I have to believe better days are coming, that there is more. This is not thinking out loud. This is me screaming into the violent wind, into the tornado that is FND, that I am not scared anymore.

    My faith is the one thing that has not wavered. It has kept me strong and upright when, honestly, I thought that would be the thing to break.

    When I was a little girl I wanted to be Tinker Bell — to live in a realm with Peter Pan where nobody ever gets old. I still have Peter Pan syndrome. But I have adjusted my thinking: I don't want to grow old as the woman defined by her chronic illness and that alone. That is not the badge I want to wear. It is very much a part of me, a significant chunk, because it has the ability to define my day in the most endemic way. But as long as that is all I look at, I lose.

    FND is mental toughness in the face of every odd being against you. The deck is always stacked, your rook is permanently under attack — but you know this. It is not an unknown. You know the rules of the game; you just have to play smarter. You are not the hand you were dealt. You are what you do with it. I will go to my deathbed with that truth.

    This is who I choose to be — the girl in the picture. Flat shoes, because I have broken a toe, and yes, the bulldogs have chewed them, and they are still pretty. A photograph is a point in time. You can be who you choose to be, and project that life into the world.

    The blouse is my favourite flowers. The jeans are amazing. And if I recall, I was wearing Tom Ford Soleil Blanc's cousin in spirit — Tom Ford Soleil, with orchid. To thine own self be true. It has never meant more than it does now.

    

    

28. 11 August 2026· Determined

    Ulysses, a Libra tee, and prawns in their own bisque

    

    Walk with me. Live through me, vicariously if you want to — if you dare.

    I feel like Ulysses today. Tennyson's Ulysses, not Homer's: 'Come, my friends, 'tis not too late to seek a newer world. Push off, and sitting well in order smite the sounding furrows; for my purpose holds to sail beyond the sunset, and the baths of all the western stars, until I die.'

    'Though much is taken, much abides; and though we are not now that strength which in old days moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are — one equal temper of heroic hearts, made weak by time and fate, but strong in will. To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.'

    That is the whole thing, isn't it. Much has been taken. Much abides. I am not the woman I was before FND, gastroparesis and SMA — but that which I am, I am. Weak by time and fate. Strong in will.

    Today I am in a white Libra tee, denim, and black over-the-knee leather boots, with four dogs at my feet who are entirely unmoved by any of it. Chanel No. 5 in the air, because a woman should smell like a decision. I'm expensive. I am fashion. And I am not for everyone — that is not arrogance, it is a filter.

    Because I'm a Libra: the seventh sign, ruled by Venus, the only sign symbolised by an object rather than a creature. The scales. Balance, beauty, fairness — and the exhausting habit of weighing everything twice at 3am.

    Supper is prawns in a prawn bisque. Shells roasted until they smell of the sea and toffee, brandy, tomato, cream, everything pushed through a sieve until it is silk, and the prawns dropped back in at the last second.

    I will be global. I will be profound. Not today, maybe. But the sail is up.

29. 10 August 2026· Sore / Peaceful

    Unbothered — four dogs, two cats, and a tornado omelette

    I live with four dogs and two cats. The twins are two English bulldogs, and boy, do they have character. They bring me so much joy — the snorting, the shoving, the absolute conviction that the couch belongs to them and I am a guest on it.

    I love my life. It is peaceful. Not perfect — peaceful, and transformative. You need things that make you happy, and I think I have finally found my core: I love simple things. Trying simple things. Learning something new every day. Tasting good food that transports me to a country I am not standing in.

    I live my life unbothered, because I have to. If I focus too hard on the pain, or on my food intake, or on the fact that I cannot hold my food down, I would die. So I don't. Being happy is a choice, and I keep choosing it out loud.

    The honest part: I woke up screaming in pain this morning. The bruised jaw, the elbow, the ribs. I am weak for most of the day. I push through because there is no other option on the menu.

    The good part: I made a tornado omelette yesterday after seeing it made on MasterChef Australia, and it is incredible. I also made ricotta for the first time. Today that ricotta becomes butternut and ricotta ravioli in burnt butter with candied pine nuts, and then I am attempting choux pastry — never done it before in my life — filled with bananas Foster.

    These pictures are from physio days in 2025. The sneakers are Pierre Cardin, and they carried me through every one of those sessions. The scent was Chanel No. 5, because if you are going to sweat, sweat like a woman in 1921.

    And love. Love makes you happy. Knowing that you are loved no matter how sick you are — that is the thing that holds the rest of it together.

    

    

    

30. 9 August 2026· Sore / Quietly triumphant

    Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue

    Let's begin. Something old: I wore an outfit today that I have worn before. Which is, genuinely, a first for me — so it will serve as my something old. Cream knit, white jeans, the boots, the aviators. Repeating an outfit felt almost illegal, and then it felt like relief.

    Something new: I did my contouring the way Victoria Beckham does hers. Softer, lower, less carved — light and shade rather than stripes. It is the most natural my face has looked in years. A proper nod to VB for that one; she has quietly taught half the world how to stop over-drawing.

    Also new: I made ricotta for the first time in my life. Milk, cream, salt, lemon, patience. It worked. I stood over that sieve like it was a small miracle. And I made chicken chasseur for the first time too — Julia Child's hunter's chicken, reimagined by my favourite, Bobby Flay. An international Sunday lunch, around the world without leaving the kitchen.

    Something borrowed: I needed ingredients for lunch and did not have them all, so I borrowed from my mother. She handed them over without a single question. She also knitted the jersey I am wearing in these pictures — years ago, by hand, and it still looks better than anything I could buy. Mom, please start knitting again. The world needs it and so do I.

    Something blue: my entire chin. I passed out and knocked the bottom of my face on the marble countertop on the way down. It is bruised, swollen and extremely painful. Add that to the ribs that are still bruised and the elbow that is still bruised, and the pain today is unbelievable. Not fun. Not brave. Just sore.

    So that is the whole rhyme in one day. Old outfit, new face, borrowed groceries, blue chin. I still cooked. I still got dressed. I am counting it.

    

    

    

31. 8 August 2026· Euphoric / Plotting a bakery

    The lángos boerie-roll, and my excited is excited

    I recently posted about attempting to make lángos from Hungary. It is now my favourite bread by a million miles. It could be a vetkoek's skinny cousin — except it doesn't suck up too much oil. In fact you don't fry it in a lot of oil at all.

    So I will tell everyone plainly: I am not South African. Not when it comes to food. I prefer to make my sausage — boerewors — the way the Italians do. Fry it to brown with onions, let the onions caramelise, then add the beef stock and let it all cook through in the oven. The sausage stays plump and juicy, and the gravy is sensational.

    And then this is how I would eat a boerie-roll: on the lángos, with lemony labneh, a simple salad in a chive and lemon oil vinaigrette, and then the sausage on top. Let me tell you, the angels from on-high were singing. OMG. It's glorious.

    I would open a lángos bakery and play around with lots of toppings. Watch this space. My excited is excited.

    

    

    

    

32. 8 August 2026· Flattened / Quietly hopeful

    An avocado pip, three toothpicks, and a whole lot of hope

    

    I'm growing an avocado tree. I say this with the utmost positivity. I love avos — in most salads, if not all of them, with breakfast, whipped into avocado mousse, avocado everything. And they cost roughly a gazillion rand each. It would honestly be cheaper to drive to Limpopo, buy two enormous bags on the side of the road, and drive back.

    So: the pip is in a glass of water, three toothpicks holding it up, the base just kissing the surface. That's my win for the day. I already have two lemon trees, a cherry tree, a peach tree and an olive tree. An avocado tree would be a magnificent addition to the family. Fingers crossed. Wish me luck.

    The rest of the day was less glamorous. I slept through most of it. This flu will end me. I feel absolutely terrible — everything hurts, the sneezing is relentless, and my nose is blood red from blowing it. The coughing has subsided slightly, which I'm choosing to count as progress.

    It was a wonderful day in Jo'burg though. The sun has set now and the cold has come in properly. And there were a LOT of X-Men movies that I slept straight through. I'll try again over the long weekend.

    It's Women's Day on Sunday, and Women's Month in South Africa. We need all of the help and all of the advocacy we can get, because my country does not have a good track record when it comes to men abusing and killing women. It is a real problem, and it deserves to be said plainly, not tucked behind a public holiday.

33. 7 August 2026· Cinephile / Hungry

    One hundred films, and a batch of lángos

    

    I am acutely in love with movies. In my second year at varsity, the Afrikaans man who reviewed films came to our lecture, and that year turned out to be outstanding: we were supposed to watch a hundred movies in twelve months. A hundred. It sounded like homework and it turned out to be an education.

    What I learned is as much about what I don't love as what I do. Film noir is not for me — all that shadow and moral fog and no one to root for. The Sarris rubric, auteur theory and all its scaffolding, is not for me either. I don't want to grade a director's fingerprints. I want to be moved.

    What is for me: X-Men. Batman Begins. Exceptional, both of them. Imagine the viewing pleasure of a protagonist carrying real angst — someone who is powerful and afraid at the same time, who has to choose to be good over and over instead of just being born good. That is the whole thing for me. Give me a hero with a wound and I am there for all three hours.

    And I love Jennifer Lawrence. Blue, scaled, furious Mystique, and then that voice in interviews that sounds like someone you'd actually want at your table. She is unbothered in a way I find deeply enjoyable to watch.

    Meanwhile, God, I am making lángos — Hungarian fried bread. Soft, slack dough left to rise all afternoon, stretched thin by hand, dropped into hot oil until it puffs up gold, then brushed with garlic water and smothered in soured cream and grated cheese. A dedication to Hungarian food, which never once pretended to be polite.

    So: dough rising on the counter, blanket on the sofa, and something with a brooding protagonist on the screen. That is a good day by any measure I still have.

34. 6 August 2026· Death warmed up / Strong in mind

    Bless you — I've got Ntombi's flu

    I've got Ntombi's flu. I'm coughing, my chest burns, I'm sneezing, my temperature is off the charts. I'm exhausted and I've been sleeping all day. Oh Lord, someone please say bless you, because I've been sneezing like nobody's business. I even puked out my tea.

    The problem I have is that I have medically induced liver failure, so antibiotics are off the list of things I can take. My white blood cells are also always low because of my autoimmune issues. I have Sjögren's, antiphospholipid syndrome, lupus and scleroderma. Then add FND, and it's a molotov cocktail.

    So getting sick isn't supposed to happen. I stay indoors a lot precisely to prevent complications, because when I do get ill my body just spirals. My mom came over today to give me ACC 600 and Med Lemon. Nothing else. I pray it doesn't affect my lungs more than it already has, because I do not want to go to hospital.

    I feel like death warmed up, but strong in mind. I'm going to cosy up in a blanket and watch a movie. Yesterday it was When a Man Loves a Woman, with Andy Garcia and Meg Ryan. I had such a crush on Andy Garcia in my teens — he is so suave and sexy.

    I want that big, all-consuming, give-up-anything-for-you kind of love. The never-give-up-on-you, be-sure-of-you kind of love. The Pablo Neruda kind of love. I want it to burn so hot that it obliterates the thought of anyone else but you.

    Even if you are broken like me — am I not deserving of that kind of love?

35. 4 August 2026· The ugly truth

    What was, and what will never be

    Sometimes you live with regret. You mourn. You mourn the loss of your past abilities. You mourn the future you thought you would have. You mourn the lies, the untruths, the mistreatment, the misrepresentation — the fact that you were not believed, and that through it your family was led to believe you were somehow making things up, lying about your symptoms.

    And then there are your own choices. The fact that you start to believe that you are the problem. That you are a burden. Their number one problem and regret. You fall for lies. You hold on too tight to possibilities. You stop trusting yourself and your gut, and through it all you watch yourself deteriorate, and you hate yourself. Because somehow it must be your fault, right? How can it not be your fault? How can it not be something you are making up? And so you hate your very own existence.

    Then people make you feel worse. So much worse. And you want it all to end. You want the earth to suck you up, to suck you in, to take you — because dear God, what else is there to live for. And diagnosis after diagnosis, you get blamed for everything. Every misstep, every fall, every problem created. It is all because of you.

    Even the number of miscarriages. Of which I had twenty-four. Yes — 24. So no, my life has never been a picnic. It has never been easy, and I am the one who had to pick myself up, play-act that things are okay, that somehow life goes on. I am the one who had to accept that I would never be a mother, a sister, a grandmother, an anything.

    And so, in the end, you are nothing. Your existence is for nothing. Your fight is your own, your life is singular, and your memory fades. You will not be remembered. Your accomplishments get consumed by the fact that you have always been sick. And that stinks. There is no real happiness. That is the ugly truth.

    You are not alone — but at the core of it, you are alone. No one can save you. This is the fight of your life. YOUR LIFE.

36. 3 August 2026· Grateful / Humbled

    One year into the best day of my life

    

    Today is a watershed day, for one reason and one reason alone: I am officially one year into the best day of my life. Twelve months ago I met someone who has assisted me in every possible way. Since meeting him, I have put on weight. My desensitisation has disappeared. I have been able to shower, to walk, to exercise — to do pilates, yoga, tai chi.

    Before him, I weighed 36kg. By December 2025, I was up to 49kg. And can I just say: everything has improved. My doctors, and everyone around me, has been confounded. I don't know the how and I don't know the why, but I am grateful. So grateful.

    He is the man in the picture. Twelve months of not-so-easy, but oh-so-beautifully wonderful. I am humbled and grateful to Gio. South Africa and Spain, a match made in the best of ways.

37. 2 August 2026· Emotional / Grateful

    Doc gave me my smile back

    When you have SMA and gastroparesis, your teeth take a beating. The acid, the vomiting, the malnutrition — it all lands in your mouth eventually. I have needed all new crowns, and I now have a full upper zirconia set.

    It has taken a year and a lot of pain, but Doc has been with me through the whole journey. She is kind, and she is the most incredible human being. God brings blessings across your path, and Doc has definitely been a great blessing.

    Doc — thank you for being patient and caring, and most of all understanding. I get truly emotional when I think about all that you have done for me. You have given me my smile and my dignity back. For that I am truly grateful. Eternally blessed and grateful.

    My heart is full, and my future is bright now. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

    

    

38. 2 August 2026· Heavy / Holding on

    Happy, grateful, sad, scared — and newly diagnosed with SMA

    I'm happy and grateful, and I'm sad. I am tired and I'm feeling a little lost. I'm scared and exhausted. It's been a great day and a hard day. I miss you so much.

    I have been diagnosed with SMA — Superior Mesenteric Artery Syndrome. It's extremely rare and incurable. This will be my forever life, and it's hard. I'm sleeping a lot again, FND is terrible, and my reality is tough. It sucks, and I'm sad.

    SMA is a compression syndrome: the third part of the duodenum gets pinched between the aorta and the superior mesenteric artery, so food and liquid can't pass through properly. It causes severe nausea, vomiting, bloating, pain after eating, and malnutrition. It's sometimes called Wilkie's syndrome, and it is as rare as it is brutal.

    Another diagnosis. Another thing to learn. Another forever thing layered on top of FND, gastroparesis, dystonia, dysphasia and the rest. I don't have the words to make it sound brave tonight. I just have the truth: I am scared, I am grieving, and I am still here.

    If you are reading this and you also have SMA, or you suspect you do: push for imaging. A CT or MRI with contrast can show the narrowed angle. Find a team that knows motility disorders. And please don't let anyone tell you that rare means imaginary.

39. 1 August 2026· Exhausted / Defiant

    Every time I close my eyes — the negotiator

    Dedication: Every time I close my eyes, by Babyface. That is the soundtrack this morning.

    The self-doubt and self-loathing that come with FND are relentless. No matter how much progress you make, there are just some times — some events, some blackouts — that leave you bruising ribs, cracking an elbow, and growing the biggest bump on your forehead. Then you get cross-questioned: how did it happen? And you don't know. You simply do not know.

    This week I have lost hours. I have absolutely no clue what happened last Saturday, but thank God I'm alive. I am exhausted and sleeping too much again — too much. I get so frustrated with myself. My body is holding me hostage.

    I feel like Samuel L. Jackson in The Negotiator. Where the hell is Kevin Spacey when you need him? All of my Kevin Spaceys are busy or fighting their own life struggles, so in fact I feel alone and isolated. It kills me.

    But today is meant to be spectacular. So I am going to dress up for it, swagger into the dentist, and complete a year-long journey. I am going to take more Lyrica, walk in ready to get this done, and get ready for Spain.

40. 31 July 2026· Terrified / Determined

    Plummeted — but still fighting

    Somewhere between last Saturday and today my health has plummeted. The bruising from where I fell is terrible, and I honestly feel like I have cracked a rib or two. The pain is unbelievable, breathing hurts. Really hurts. My back is in pain, my right sole is constantly in spasm, and I honestly cannot believe the rest of the pain.

    I'm sleeping A LOT. Awake one minute and then lights out, dead sleep — funeral style. I feel like I'm losing days, not remembering what I've done. OMG, if breathing was easier, it would help, but this is the thing with FND. One day you are good and then the next few days, you feel like you are losing the battle.

    I walked for the first time yesterday. It wasn't too bad; we took it slow and took Sarah Jessica to the vet for a pedi. She did so well — better than me, in truth. We did Tai Chi as well, which I haven't done for a good few days. I will definitely try again today. I can't just give up, but also, I cannot overdo it.

    It scares me how terrible the pain is. It scares me that I am sleeping so much. It scares me that I am losing weight again. The gastroparesis is kicking my butt seven ways to Sunday. If only breathing would be easier. Oh wow, I am struggling. Please, I cannot reverse this badly. Keep going, Cassandra. Just fight. Don't give up.

41. 30 July 2026· Ranting / Amused

    Pet peeve Wednesday

    Pet peeve Wednesday — people who smell their food before taking a bite. WHY? Are you a sniffer dog? Seriously, have you missed your calling? Can't you smell it when it comes to the table? Have you lost the sense of smell altogether that you have to bring the ENTIRE PLATE TO YOUR NOSTRILS?

    This cannot possibly be normal. It's not normal! It's right up there with people who slurp their soup or hot drinks, people who chew loudly, gulping drinks. WHY? Lord, WHY? I just can't. It drives me mental!

42. 29 July 2026· Grateful / Making magic

    Seven million and two lemons

    

    I have seven million and two lemons. Two lemon trees, and the yield is insane. This is what happens when I'm asleep, while I'm getting lost in FND — the garden keeps working. Now I have a myriad of lemons and I want to make magic with them.

    Today is lemon curd day. I'm doing a lemon and mint curd — the mint is steeped in warm juice for ten minutes then strained out, so it's a whisper, not a swamp. Ntombi and Happy will try it tomorrow. I don't have a sweet tooth, so they are my testers. It's always lovely to watch, because their diets and the food they grew up on are so vastly different from what I put in front of them. As my testers, they get the best of the best.

    I might just make a lemon and mint meringue pie with the rest of the curd. The crust is the whole point of a lemon meringue pie — blind-baked properly, sealed with egg white while it's still hot, no soggy betrayals. A soggy base is a betrayal.

    My KitchenAid is broken. I need to get it serviced — I'll chuck the coffee machine in too, that's a KitchenAid as well. And I want to start a herb garden, because I rip through herbs like there is no tomorrow. Not since my first Jamie Oliver book have I used dried herbs. Fresh herbs are where it is at.

    

43. 28 July 2026· Frightened / In pain

    Concussion, bruised ribs, and a weekend I cannot account for

    

    Concussion. My ribs and elbow are bruised. I am still unsure of what happened this last weekend. The pain is excruciating, and I think that is what is so scary — when all you are left with is bruises and pain, but you don't know how you got there.

    I just don't know where I fell, how I fell, how I fell. I am still sleeping like crazy. I rose from my deep sleep yesterday at 14h00. I still can't remember conversations. I know that I cried, but who with, I have no idea.

    It's scary. When life is a blur, it scares me. I can't even tell you what happened before or after. The weekend has been erased, and my body is the only witness left.

44. 27 July 2026· Scared / Disoriented

    Woken at 14:30, bruised and blank

    

    I have been so sick. I woke up at 14:30 this afternoon. I have bruises everywhere, I knocked my head, and I can't remember anything. OMG it's so scary.

    The day is half over before I even arrive in it. My body looks like a map of places I don't remember hitting. And my head — the one thing I need to think, to write, to make sense of any of this — feels like it belongs to someone else.

    This is the part I hate most: not the pain, not the bruises, but the blank. The not-knowing. The fear that pieces of my life are being erased while I'm still inside them.

45. 26 July 2026· Scared / Small comfort

    I fell, and yesterday is gone

    

    I fell. Knocked my head, bruised my ribs and practically cracked my elbow. Yesterday is a complete blur. In fact, not so much of a blur as opposed to completely dead to me. I remember NOTHING.

    I've watched The Devil Wears Prada 2 — this is the third time. Dear God, will I remember any of it? I'm frustrated, I'm scared, I feel helpless and hopeless.

    I bought a quilt today. It's beautiful. I love it. That's about it. I have nothing else to say. I'm scared. I'm truly scared.

46. 25 July 2026· Resolute / Quietly fierce

    The optics, and choosing myself anyway

    The optics. Everyone is always so preoccupied with how things will look to the outside world. If you decide to quit or change routes or change doctors or stop certain medications, it's always the optics.

    I've come to the epicentre of my life and I only have room for me right now. I don't have time for lies or passengers or to teach people how to love and accept me for me. Choosing yourself is not a sin, you know — on the contrary, it's why you are here.

    I can't and won't be made to feel like a burden, or for pity to be bestowed upon me because, 'oh shame, look at the poor sick girl'. There will always be mountains to climb, valleys to sit in, but in those peaks and troughs — between the lashes and the makeup — is a human being just fighting for legitimacy.

    I'm not here to impede others. I am here to run my race, to live authentically within the means that I have been given. Walking away from what no longer serves you or brings you joy — that is your right, the same as it is for everyone else.

    The road less travelled by may be dark and lonely, but find the peace and the joy on that journey, because it is one hundred percent your own.

47. 22 July 2026· Tired / In awe

    Precision, Socrati red boots, and Churchill's first frame

    

    Today was a whirlwind of emotions, and I am seriously tired — but I saw this today. The men working at the shopping centre, and look at how amazing they are. I looked on in awe. The way they had the precision down pat — the rhythm, the timing, the quiet skill of it. I mean.

    South Africans are dynamic, amazing and just incredible. I love this so much. I love this country. I love the way ordinary people do extraordinary things and don't ask anyone to clap.

    Today's outfit is inspired by me wanting to dress up despite the pain. I love the cream leather leggings — one clean line, easy to move in, dressed up by everything else. But the boots are what matter. Socrati. Thank you and thank you again.

    I've had these boots since 2017. They are just next-level. The colour is not quite ox-blood, but it's definitely a show-off and show-up piece. A wonderful addition to my lexicon of fashion and Brazilian boots. J'adore again — soft and beautiful — so why not.

    There is a lot happening this month, and I am so looking forward to it, especially with the early spring surprise. And this is also the first time that Churchill made it into my picture — hence the smile.

    

48. 21 July 2026· Frustrated / Fierce

    My hands don't work — and the Mont Blanc still hurts like a mother

    

    My hands don't work. That is one of the crazy things about FND. They hurt. I can't cut my vegetables or meat — or anything. I love cooking, and honestly, I cut myself, I stab myself, and it is painful.

    The pain in my palms, the fact that my fingers don't work, it pains me. I remember when I couldn't even hold a pen. Just because I can hold my Mont Blanc pen now doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt like a mother when I am writing.

    I mess on myself and look like a toddler after I've eaten, because holding a knife and fork — things that get taken for granted — is not guaranteed. My occupational therapist and physios have worked so hard on getting me to overcome the fear and push through the stupid pain to reclaim my life.

    Honestly, it's the climb. It's always a climb. But I am climbing.

49. 20 July 2026· Delighted / Relieved

    ¡Campeones! Spain, a vervet monkey, and a good, good day

    

    Guess who won the FIFA World Cup 2026!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I am so delighted. If I had my own nails, I would have chewed them off. So good to have won.

    Happy to report that a lot went right today — which, in and of itself, is a blessing. I am so relieved that life is taking a turn. The corner has been long and treacherous, and today felt like actual daylight around the bend.

    Also — I saw a monkey on our way to Home Affairs. A whole monkey, in a residential area. Who keeps a monkey in Jo'burg?! Bizarre. It was a vervet monkey, normally found in Durban, KZN — not Jo'burg. I did a double take. So did the monkey.

    I am evolving. I am cooking again. I do it to show my love, but also as a source of relaxation. There is something about the peel of an onion, the sizzle of butter, the quiet of a warm kitchen, that puts my whole nervous system back where it belongs.

    If I am not reading my cookbooks, then I am reading my magazines. The ones I collect are BBC Good Food and Woolworths Taste, and my absolute best is Food and Home South Africa. I also use @Allrecipes.com and @Epicurious. These are my bibles when it comes to trying new recipes. Check out the apps — they are so good.

    Perfect Sunday-into-Monday: Spain lifting the trophy, a rogue vervet monkey in the suburbs, a warm kitchen, and a stack of magazines beside me. ¡Campeones! ¡Vámonos!

    

    

    

50. 19 July 2026· Honest / Reaching back

    Gastroparesis, the not-so-silent killer

    

    I have found out so much about gastroparesis by following the Instagram handle @gastroparesisawareness2024. If you get a chance, if you feel alone with this condition, there are so many of us now who can share and understand.

    Lead with kindness, able-bodied humans. This is the one that almost killed me in 2023. Of all the FND or FND-adjacent symptoms, this is the not-so-silent killer. It robs you of your heart and soul, of your nutrients, of your body.

    Please share your story. You never know who it may help. And I hope that I am helping someone out there.

    If this is you — if your stomach has forgotten how to be a stomach — please know you are not going crazy, and you are not alone.

51. 19 July 2026· Glorious / Sun-drunk

    Viva España, a fresh face, and the hawk in the jacaranda

    

    It's Sunday, and that means full makeup — but never caked on. I prefer looking fresh-faced. A little skin still visible under the liner and the lash.

    Today I am screaming so loudly for Spain in the final of the FIFA World Cup. I don't want to capitulate before the whistle, but I reckon I win no matter the result. My private tutor is Spanish, everywhere I turn there is a mention of Spain. ¡Viva España!

    Today's perfume is Chanel Coco Mademoiselle Intense — so soft and beautiful, warm on the wrist without ever shouting.

    By the way — we have had five days of winter, and we are seemingly 100% into spring. The weather is glorious. There is also this wonderful phenomenon that pollinates the whole of Gauteng, known as the 'August winds' — acorns are blown around, all sorts of plants and trees, new ones germinate from this. But it is July, and on our walks there are already trees with new leaves. Incredible.

    Yesterday there was a hawk in the jacaranda tree in the neighbour's yard. I hadn't seen it for a good few years, and then, as I sat in my bedroom, the bird with the beautiful yellow beak was back.

    Johannesburg has the largest man-made forest in the world. The whole city is beautiful — blue skies, and a sunset that is properly special. I hail from the most glorious country in the world. If you'd like to prove me wrong, please visit. South Africa is special. Great people, and everything that is exquisite about Africa and about all the nations who have moved here and made it their home too.

    Perfume of the day: Chanel Coco Mademoiselle Intense.

    

    

    

52. 18 July 2026· Unbowed / Fierce

    Count me out at your peril

    

    Finding the strength to overcome — that is a daily dedication. The daily grind and push to do the things that healthy people take for granted. One thing I know for sure: you cannot do this without an incredible mindset and the will to do the impossible every day.

    People see me walking. Walking in heels, no less. They see me dressing up and doing my makeup, and from the outside it is a mirage. The truth is that on the inside there is a raging bull — a person thirsting for the life they once had, wishing for it, praying for it, begging for it.

    But looking back is lovely, and it will trip you up. It will be the reason you cry and beg for forgiveness for sins you never committed, in the hope that the nasty dream that is your reality would be just that — a dream. But it's not. And without healthy relationships and an outlet to pour out your heart to a neutral person who can guide you, you feel less like a fighter and more like a burden.

    If truth be told, fighting is all there is to do. Because if you stop, you will regress. You will deplete your journey. FND will not kill you physically, but mentally it will kick you in the gut, punch you in the throat, and ask you to thank it for the pleasure. FND is a narcissist. It will mentally collapse you if you let it.

    My stubbornness, my team, and those who love me will drive me forward — catapult me into the future I can still have. The story is a little different now, but it is a story of inspiration, of someone who, with admiration, gives it her all.

    Count me out, at your peril. FND is not my story; my fight is. I am strong in will and in mind. I will breathe through the pain and fight like crazy to make myself proud every day.

    

53. 16 July 2026· Spring-confused / Lighter

    The 4am club, a foreman, and 'eish' hair

    

    Today, is it spring or what? On our walks we've seen budding trees — but what kind of spring weather is this in July? It's crazy. Woke up at 4am (does this make me part of the 4am club?), and walked 5.5km's.

    On the walk, there were workers digging a trench. I got tons of kisses blown at me, and I blew some back (wrong move). The foreman ran after me, wanting to hug me — I ran! Not Usain Bolt or anything, but full Trevor Noah "bite me… don't bite me!" VERNACULA!

    Then home for tai chi (why so many squats?!), pilates and stretch — a much better day today. But I feel like the woman from The Ring when we do yoga, because my hair — eish! The wall-sitting in pilates kills me every time. And namaste, everyone.

    Then the look: winter/spring weather confusion, and pencil high-ankle boots. The perfume is CK One Essence — Lord have mercy, it is fresh and vibrant.

    

    

54. 15 July 2026· Tired but hopeful

    Supporting England, bubbling lava, and a little reprieve

    

    I look completely miserable, but it's from a lack of sleep watching my newly adopted country Spain make it to the final of the FIFA World Cup. Viva España! And today I am supporting England — my nod to part of my heritage. I lived in England and I still hold it dear to my heart. Also: justice for Sir David Beckham!

    I slept well, and the excruciating pain that started last weekend has finally subsided a bit. Just enough for me to complete my walk, do yoga stretches, pilates and tai chi. It's intense, the workout, but it's only about 15 minutes and therefore manageable. It's amazing to have a little bit of reprieve from the murderous pain.

    So, in short: fingers crossed for England, and the hope and prayer that the intensity of the chronic pain will remain like bubbling lava as opposed to blowing its top off ala Mount Vesuvius.

55. 13 July 2026· Reflective / Unbowed

    Start again from where I left off

    Sometimes, I look back on my life and what I was able to achieve, and I wonder how on earth I got here. I prefer to look back and remember the wins and the achievements, the good times. I can't dwell on what will not get me to move forward and carve out a life that has meaning and that I can love.

    I'm truly sad today. But I will wake up tomorrow and start again from where I left off. #wemove #alutacontinua #don'tgiveup — until my last breath, I will do more and make my dreams come true. Even if I have to get my body there kicking and screaming.

56. 12 July 2026· Diabolical / Still standing

    Daenerys, dragonfire, and the Night King of stretches

    

    Daenerys Targaryen — the fine balance of taming the dragon and having the dragon blast you with fire. Today was one of those days where the pain was just too much.

    The 4km walk was okay until about the last 200 metres. Honestly, the shooting fireball of pain from the base of my spine down into my left hip — I truly thought I was going to collapse right there on the pavement.

    Then, because I know my determination will falter the second I sit down, we went straight into 17 minutes of tai chi. If only you could be a fly on the wall of that unfinished room: the cruel grunting, the leaning against the wall after every move, the negotiations with gravity. I was as flat as my little English bulldog Stretford — named after the famous Stretford End at Manchester United, my first love.

    After almost falling and fainting and just giving up, I did wall pilates — which is a monster all on its own. But we pushed through. The final 17 minutes of stretch is the real monster. Like the Night King of the undead in Game of Thrones — silent, patient, and coming for everything you have left.

    I could not get up after we finished. Ntombi had to lift me up off the floor. A diabolical day of pain is what I feel is ahead.

    What healthy, able-bodied people cannot fathom is the excruciating pain that chronic pain causes. It overtakes you at some point in the day. Always there. Catching up on any will and determination you thought you had banked.

    I hear myself whisper: "be gentle and kind to yourself for the rest of the day, Cassandra." I hope I heed that whisper — and enter the rest of my day with kindness, and the will to keep fighting despite my ever-present pain.

    

    

    

    

57. 11 July 2026· Raw / Praying for rest

    The night of the long knives

    I have been invaded by a tsunami of pain. It feels like my brain is invading every part of me — muscle, sinew and bone. Everything hurts. Everything.

    People look at the pictures and think, hey, she must be having the time of her life. Um, quite the opposite. Every picture is a moment in time, a wish, a hope for reprieve. I hope for a gentle day and a restful sleep. But no.

    Last night, I passed out cold. Then the pain travelled down my spine, into my joints, and everything started hurting. Everything felt like an impossible life. How could it end like this, yet again? Another night where I was either wrapped in pain or having seizures — yes, multiples. Muscles pulling and cramping. The crying. The absolute sobbing. My cries to God for help, to stop the pain somehow.

    I called my mom at 1:30 am. I just couldn't bear the burden on my own. I was desperate to try and get my brain on something other than mock-killing me. My steely determination wavers so much when I have such catastrophic nights.

    I need to sleep. I'm desperate for some rest, for some space, so that I can summon the strength to get up and go to the dentist. I just pray that I don't have another seizure in the dentist chair.

    Please keep me in your prayers.

58. 10 July 2026· Determined

    Whitney, talons, and my sherpa Ntombi

    

    I woke this morning with vigour and determination, listening to Whitney Houston sing that she didn't know her own strength. That line means so much more when you are in chronic pain and living inside a body that is failing a determined mind.

    I climb Everest to K2 every single day. With my talons, I grab hold of the earth and drag myself through the day. Ntombi is my sherpa. Together we move — yoga, pilates, tai chi — and every new position, every new pose, spikes the pain.

    But it is crystal clear to me: if I do not do this, I will slump into an abyss. My brain will keep misfiring and sending diabolical pain to my entire body, and I will have nothing to fight it with. My feet are the worst — when I sit, they curl in and pull into a permanent spasm. So I walk on my pins-and-needles feet, in the hope that one day it won't hurt as much.

    I must say — my motivation, my stubborn determination to overcome, is far stronger than the pain. It has to be. I can't and won't return to nothingness. That black hole is a dangerous place, and I can attest first hand how bad it gets when you feel worthless, like a burden. I am not going back there.

    The two prints in this picture matter to me. On the right is the Winged Victory of Samothrace — Nike. She was an inspiration to me as a child, when I ran track: wings out, head lifted, moving forward even without a face. She is what winning looks like when you're too tired to smile about it.

    On the left is Caravaggio's Conversion of Saint Paul — Saul on the ground, the horse enormous above him, the world tilted, the light doing all the work. It is one of the most powerful paintings I know. I too met God along the way, and that is when my life truly changed. Every day since has been a quieter version of that same falling-and-then-getting-up.

    So: Nike behind me, Caravaggio beside me, Whitney in my ears, Ntombi at my feet. Onwards.

59. 9 July 2026· Tender-fierce

    Blue skies, budding trees, and three seizures I did not order

    

    Jo'burg in winter can be deceptively bizarre — the blue skies and the sun make you think it must be hot outside. Luckily today the high is 21°C. At night it plummets and you're back to winter, hands wrapped around a mug, feet under the dog.

    To improve my walking, I walk with Ntombi five days a week. 5km's is a short one; the longer routes push closer to 7. On one of our routes the trees are budding — I know it's global warming, but the dichotomy is beautiful and terrible at once: the quintessential new life and the death of the old, side by side on the same pavement.

    Today has been particularly tough. I had three functional seizures overnight. When you add stress to the Molotov cocktail that is FND, it settles in with glee — you are uncontrollably shaking, clenching, every muscle pulling, and you are 100% aware of it. Pain shoots through every nerve and sinew. And then I cry. The ugly cry. The one that dislodges waterproof lashes. It's an insanity that, sadly, most people never see or experience. When you are in that fight, it's a fight to the death — or to exhaustion, and more pain, for me.

    Because of this horror story, I am determined to live a good life. Who cares — tomorrow could be my funeral. So today I dance and have fun. I eat what I like, despite the gastroparesis holding me hostage. I am convinced my body hates me some days.

    I did yoga stretches and tai chi anyway. My balance and dexterity are awful right now. I am falling all over the place, but I push through, in the hope that one day I'll do it all again and be proud of myself once more.

    If you know me personally — or you're only just meeting me through this entry — I hope you can tell there is someone in here fighting hard to reclaim her old self. Please be kind, and please do not disturb my peace. Please, and thank you.

60. 8 July 2026· Fierce

    Tai chi, 7km, and Bongi's undying love

    Tai chi — who knew it would be like one million and ten squats?! I am not that great with dexterity, and balance is still such a problem, but oh my god do you squat for your life. My thighs are stiff and tired. I push through the pain anyway.

    I walked 7km's today. Started a Beachbody challenge. Then tai chi, then yoga stretches. Pushing through chronic pain no one could even conceive of. But I do it because what I can change, I will change. What I can't change, I will not make my master.

    And then — the litany of whistles and cat-calls. Bongi actually stopped and introduced himself to Ntombi and me, and pledged his undying love for the both of us. My poor boyfriend is going to have a coronary when he hears. I laughed the whole way home. Jo'burg, you are a lot.

    Sore. Stiff. Smug. A good day.

61. 7 July 2026· Sunlit

    Lasagna, roses, and a lovely day

    I've decided to make lasagna, and — of course — I've made the pasta dough from scratch. I swear I've been kneading for what felt like an hour (a small exaggeration). My hands are not what they were before. It hurts like a mother.

    I remember when this started, I couldn't hold a pen. My chopping is still awful — the knife and I are in ongoing negotiations — but I push through the pain. Sheet by sheet, the pasta gets rolled. Slowly. Stubbornly. Mine.

    Ntombi and I walked to my favourite food store this morning. One of the men loading the shelves stopped, looked at me, and said — I quote — "your beauty is appreciated." I went completely shy. He handed me two beautiful bunches of roses. Madness. But the good kind.

    We walked home in the sun. The cold madness of last night is gone; Jo'burg has turned on the blue skies and put out the good light. Then Ntombi and I did yoga and Pilates on the mat. We usually add tai chi but the walk was long today, and the body had already said its piece.

    Right now Bill Withers is on — "Lovely Day" — and I am so, so distracted. Dancing between the stove and the counter. Hands sore, heart full, roses on the table, lasagna in the oven soon. It's a lovely day.

62. 6 July 2026· Defiant

    5:15am, Rapture, and a migraine that won't quit

    

    It's 5:15am and I have Rapture by Black Coffee on. This song is so beautiful. Black Coffee is a GOAT — making South Africans proud. It's never too early for dance music. Dancing is liberating for me, and in that moment I feel like I can fly.

    So, let me be honest: I've woken with that migraine that won't quit, and the pain — I can't sit, I can't stand, I can't lie down. No position offers relief. So I'm not going to wait for it. I will walk. I will do pilates. Tai chi. Yoga stretches. I'm going to push past the pain, and I am resolved not to make pain my master.

    I am the master of my soul, my heart and my body. I can't sit still — I have to at least fix the things I can, and make peace with the things I can't change.

    Attached is my favourite picture of me, sitting on the Azure Window on Gozo Island. Sadly, the window is no more — but the aviators are fierce.

63. 5 July 2026· Tender

    The day I forgot how to spell 'and'

    I put music on blast and dance while I'm cooking, shaking what my Mama gave me. My life has been coloured by music. We always had music playing at home when I was a pre-teen, and music still reminds me of happier times — of moments when, no matter how anxious I felt, a song would soothe me.

    I can remember exactly where I was, what I was wearing, even the shadows the sun cast through the trees. When I first fell in love, I sang to him on the lawn of my varsity while the campus radio played KC and JoJo. (Let me premise this by stating clearly: I am tone deaf. 😂😂😂😂) But my current person always wants me to sing to him, and I end up butchering Teddy Swims, or Whitney.

    The discography of my life spans big band — Glenn Miller, Satchmo — to Gladys Knight and the Pips, to Michael Jackson, who I was obsessed with. When Michael's hair burnt, I cried like it had happened to me. My teen years were grunge, Faithless, Janet Jackson, Stevie Wonder, Marvin Gaye, Tupac. Lately it's H.E.R. and Teddy Swims on repeat.

    The fact that I can remember all of this is, honestly, remarkable. Because when I was in hospital, there was a day I was so confused I had forgotten how to spell the word "and". It made me sob. I had majored in English. I read prodigiously. And I could not remember something so rudimental. It broke me. I had not imagined how brain fog would beset me.

    Brain fog is one of the pillars of FND, and it had me in its grip — and held on so tightly. I have worked hard with my team to regain what was lost. I used to read a recipe or a line in a book what felt like 500 times; I just couldn't retain anything. It was frustrating and heart-wrenching. Sometimes I couldn't even cry, because I was so numb.

    So today, when the kitchen is loud and Whitney is winning and I remember every lyric — that is a small, private miracle. I dance for the version of me who couldn't spell 'and'. She is still in here. She is doing better.

64. 4 July 2026· Fierce

    For the four-year-old in the sunhat

    

    Never deny yourself the opportunity to live a beautiful life — a life that is full of your hopes and dreams for yourself.

    I have this picture of myself as a four-year-old, and I speak to her while I'm doing my make-up. I say: today, we will make us proud.

    So I push. Every day. Every single day, to make that little girl — so innocent, but already wanting more — proud of who I have become. I do it for us.

    And every person in my life knows, or needs to know: you have to earn me. I know what's in my picnic basket. I know what I bring to the table. I will not settle for less than I know I deserve.

    Look at the pose. The fierce stare. I always knew I would be a gladiator in a suit. Or — no, not maybe — I wanted to be Olivia Pope. I still do. And on my best days, I am.

65. 3 July 2026· Defiant

    Pushing through the pain

    There is nothing like it — when your body feels under attack. I had desensitisation once where my whole body was 100% always on fire. No one could touch me. Not a hand on my arm, not a sheet on my leg. Every day was more painful than the one before it — until, honestly, I prayed for death. I just wanted the pain to stop. It was too hard.

    But I have learned something the hard way: if I give in to the pain, then that is all I will have. Just the pain. Nothing else gets a look-in.

    So I push. I push hard. I do the impossible in the small hope of relief — a walk, a shower, one honest task done. Sometimes the relief comes. Sometimes it doesn't, and I push anyway, because the pushing is its own answer to the pain: I am still here, still choosing, still mine.

    If you feel the same — the fire, the exhaustion, the quiet negotiations with your own body — let me know. We are not alone in this, even when the room is very quiet.

66. 3 July 2026· Sore

    Breathing through it

    Woke up in a lot of pain. It's freezing in Johannesburg today, and the cold always dials the pain up to completely unbearable. My joints feel like glass; my back is a fist.

    The medication is proving no relief. I've taken all of my meds — nothing forgotten, nothing skipped — so that isn't a factor. This is just one of those mornings the body refuses to be reasoned with.

    So I'm breathing through it. Slow in, slower out. Kettle on. Blanket. Sarah Jessica has assigned herself to my lap. Sometimes the whole plan for the day is: keep breathing until the next hour is kinder than this one.

67. 1 July 2026· Hopeful

    A gentle start

    Opened the journal today because so much of this site is essays and lists — but not every day earns an essay. Some days are just a sentence.

    Walked with Ntombi at 6am. The light was that pale winter-Joburg gold that makes the garden look French. Coffee after. Nothing spasmed. A quiet win.

68. 24 June 2026· Content

    Cacio e pepe kind of night

    Made cacio e pepe for one. Cooled the pasta water. Whisked slowly. It behaved.

    Watched the light move across the New York wall. Sarah Jessica curled at my feet. This is the version of me I fought for.

69. 12 June 2026· Tender

    The lie of 'I'm fine'

    Cancelled two things. Felt the old guilt rise. Reminded myself: the body sets the pace, not the diary.

    Baked camembert, crusty bread, one glass of Chablis. Small rituals are still rituals.

70. 3 August 2025· Grateful

    The turn

    The date I mark as the turn. Not a cure — a corner. From that day forward my body started to trust me back, in inches.

    Writing it down so I never lose the date. #G14

More entries as the days ask to be written down.