Passion fruit

 I can leave Malawi content as I have harvested some passion fruit. 

This little moment matters to me, not leaving something undone. 

I don't really know why but it does.

Leaving behind a legacy of fresh, passion for others to enjoy. 

I perhaps want that on my grave stone. 

Searching for what should make me happy

 I am increasingly relying on fate and not sensible planning. I have applied for a maternity cover - the Headteacher was very nice but I got the feeling I'm not what he's looking for. I might be wrong. I've seen another role I think I'd love, but then I feel that clawing doubt that I won't get it, been out of it too long. The news schools might be shut here for longer so frustrating and unnecessary for us and other schools too.  And with the devastation around me, the giving of stuff to those who now have nothing, and those who had almost nothing anyway it just doesn't feel important. 

And yet it is and it is my life and I want to be happy. 

With this sense I'm aware as well that I'm taking a gamble with my scan dates. I'm willing it all to be ok and waiting for July and not thinking about it, but of course that's a lie because I am thinking about it, often and I push it aside. My husband hugged me yesterday, he held me tight as he cried because he had seen a woman and a small child sat with almost nothing, a small cloth with what were probably all their belongings. He went to them and gave them the money he had in his pocket and some food he had bought for other people. As he held me I thought about my kidney! Imagine that, I thought about what is inside me and if it is growing and if it might kill me. The two things at the same time. Such is my privilege. 

Today he has gone off to help again. We have a 4x4 and he's using it to help. I'm here, offering people our shower - people who are used to hot showers when they want them. Not much is it. I'm not sure how I feel. But I know I want to be happy. 

adults think they know everything

When I was about 18 I went to a odd hotel in Great Yarmouth. It was too see if I deserved an arts sponsorship to get to arts school. 

I didn't get it. 

One of the panel + they were all grown up. They were adults. They didn't believe that I could have experience grief or pain. 

Fools. 

Those were some of my darkest days. Those were hard, my art was raw and amateur and real. 

Today I am less of the artist that I was then. 

home is where the heart is

 I am home, in the Warm Heart of Africa. It certainly felt odd. My heart is split and that might never change.

I understand why I'm feeling this way, I don't feel like I am in either home properly, it's a strange transition and one that I don't want to waste on feeling befuddled and feeling sad about. This morning, having grabbed a grapefruit from my tree and had it for breakfast, reminded me to love each moment I can and take it in. 

I've seen people who are leaving find fault and tell themselves it will be so much better somewhere else. It is different but not better. Some things are lovely to leave behind and some things are not. 

I was struck by the huge difference in my friendships  between the two places are very different. It was lovely to see everyone here but really only one person has a piece of my heart. But in the UK I have a bundle of people with whom my heart has grown. 

My heart is my little family - my little girl who is so tall. And so I'm here with her, my heart.