Thankfully, I was also 21 which I mean I had a enire lifetime ahead of me for reinventing myself. I took English lessons to uprade my beginners level to intermediate and then fluent. I was brave enough to start writing in English even though it was not nearly on the level I was used in my mother tounge, naturally. I surrounded myself with English speaking friends who were kind enough to correct me when I made mistakes. Slowly, I got up on my legs, and it turned out there were not lost, they were just broken. But I still was not an athlete.

Now, one might ask, why not just write in Russian then? Here comes a psychological quirk of mine. As a millenial and a journalist, I need to feel relevant to my audience. I want feedback, comments, reaction, even ever so small. But since I left my community of peers in Russia I started feeling irrelevant. It is all in my head, I know, and 14 year later, I am still working to overcome it. Maybe I have finally succeeded and I’m ready to express my voice again.

What happens if I don’t? I know it very well. It starts to poison me from the inside. It seeps out like venom penetrating my thoughts and words. I turn sour. I turn over critical. I hiss and bite everyone around me including the closest people. Like water, it needs movement, it has to flow or nothing good starts growing in that pond.

Right now, I feel like that dark and merky water. Even I don’t know what is lurking in the bottom, and therefore I have to let the energy, the flow of words run. What would people think? Would it make me look stupid? Is my English not good enough? It doesn’t matter because if I don’t the rot will take over me and my life to the point of absolute destruction. So I let the flood gates open.

This experience gave me a new perspective on all the sour and angry people. What is their internal rot poisoning them from the inside? What are their unfullfilled dreams, words they never say and that get stuck in their throats? What river has turned on itself inside of them? And then I ask myself, what is it that I need to scream and don’t allow myself to?

I want to scream about the hypocrisy of liberals who put a blind eye on the genocide in Gaza and crimes of Netanyahu, yet shout from the rooftops about Putin and his war in Ukraine.

I want to scream about the mould the society has carved out for women after they become mothers. The mould of Mother Mary, the ultimate icon of forgiveness, kidness, care and softness. And don’t you dare not fit into that frame, or else!

I want to scream about the reality of being Russian in 2024. Of constant discrimination, judgement and gap in understanding between us and the rest of the world.

I want to scream about the price of immigrating when you are 21 and stupid, and paying this price at 35, after having kids in a foreign culture and watching your parents getting older far, far away from you, without kids or grandkids near them.

And I will. I will scream even if no one hears.

В ЮАР очень много красивых мест, но достаточно увидеть один только Кейптаун и не обломаться. Столовая гора, гора Львиная голова, череда белоснежных пляжей, отличные рестораны, магазины местных дизайнеров, весёлые бары и сотни виноградников в получасе езды — в этом городе можно провести неделю, месяц или четыре года, как я. Многие приезжают на каникулы и остаются навсегда. Как я.

Где жить

Местные отели не стоят своих денег, поэтому лучший вариант проживания — Airbnb рядом с классными местами для завтрака. Таких огромное множество.

Центральные районы города — City Bowl и Atlantic Seaboard — находятся в 15 минутах на машине. В южных пригородах (Southern Suburbs) жить не удобно, так как они далеко от центра и в них царит сугубо обывательских образ жизни.

Самые красивые виды и близость к пляжам — в кварталах Camps Bay, Bantry Bay, Sea Point.

Центральные районы с видом на Столовую гору, близко к барам и ресторанам — Tamboerskloof, Gardens, Higgovale.

Золотая середина с видом на океан и тусовкой — Greenpoint, De Waterkant.

Bo Kaap — те самые разноцветные домики с открыток. Там тоже интересно пожить в качестве культурного опыта.

Транспорт

Общественный транспорт в ЮАР существует в виде нескольких автобусных линий, электричек, на которых рекомендуется ездить только отмотавшим срок, и огромного количества маршруток, которые передвигаются по одному Богу понятным правилам. Этими видами транспорта советую пользоваться, только если не хочется острых социо-культурных переживаний.

Лучший способ передвижения в центре города — убер. Средняя поездка по городу обойдется в 3–5 долларов и не нужно искать парковку.

Чтобы выехать за пределы центра (а это сделать нужно обязательно), придется арендовать машину — без неё не добраться ни до Мыса Доброй Надежды, ни до пингвинов, ни до виноградников.

Безопасность

В ЮАР можно легко избежать неприятностей, следуя нескольким простым правилам:

• не гулять по улицам с ценными вещами напоказ поздним вечером
• не гулять по трущобам в одиночестве
• не оставлять окна машины открытыми

В принципе, это базовые правила безопасности в любом месте с наличием преступности.

Нет, оружие брать с собой не нужно.

Нет, белых людей здесь не дискриминируют.

Нет, на улице на вас никто нападать не будет. Дома тоже не будет.

Я живу здесь много лет, два года жила одна в Кейптауне, много раз возвращалась домой одна на убере после пары (нескольких пар) бокалов вина, и всё всегда было ок. Самая большая неприятность, которая со мной случилась здесь, произошла в Йоханнесбурге: мы с бойфрендом уехали из дома на неделю, оставив открытым окно. Вернувшись, обнаружили, что к нам залезли и вынесли все ценное имущество. Мораль: не надо оставлять окна открытыми.

10 вещей, которые нужно сделать в Кейптауне:

1. Забраться на Львиную Голову ранним утром. Нереальные виды на 360 градусов, отличная физическая нагрузка и чувство достижения до завтрака бесценны. Это несложный хайк, который можно завершить за 2 часа. Начинать лучше как можно раньше, чтобы избежать столпотворения.

2. Искупаться на пляже Bakoven. Местные меня проклянут, но я не могу не поделиться: это самый красивый маленький пляж в городе, о котором не знают туристы (теперь знают). Тут особенно волшебно на закате. Приходите сюда с пикником, бутылкой вина и смотрите, как солнце отражается в горной гряде Двенадцать Апостолов.

3. Потусоваться на улице Bree. Россыпь мелких баров — от артизанальных джин-баров до шумных пивных с крафтовыми наименованиями — идеальное место для бар-хоппинга, новых знакомств и просто наблюдения за модной публикой Кейптауна. Весело всегда.

4. Сходить на субботний рынок. Это что-то вроде воскресной службы по-кейптаунски. Субботним утром открываются модные маркеты — Granger Bay Market и Neighborgoods Market в Old Biscuit Mill. На первый стекаются бегуны в модных кроссовках, молодые семьи с милыми младенцами, холостяки с очаровательными собаками и миллинеалы, которые бомбят инстаграм сториз с кофе и фермерскими тыквами. На втором больше туристов, зато есть классные вещи местных дизайнеров и десятки винтажных магазинчиков вокруг. И там, и там — вкусная еда, отличный кофе, музыка и общее ощущение праздника. Можно платить биткоинами.

5. Прокатиться по дороге Chapman’s Peak до Мыса Доброй Надежды. Это бесспорно самый красивый маршрут в стране. С утра пораньше садитесь в машину и отправляйтесь по серпантину, которая идет между горами и океаном. Остановитесь искупаться на пляже Llandudno, выпейте кофе в Chapman’s Peak Hotel, а доехав до района Noordhoek, загляните на поздний завтрак в Foodbarn Deli. Оттуда до Мыса Доброй Надежды — 20 минут, плюс полчасика в очереди на вход. Оттуда удобно попасть на пляж пингвинов Boulder’s Beach.

6. Провести день на винной ферме. А лучше два или три. О них можно написать отдельный пост, но вот мои любимые:

в пределах города — Beau Constantia, Constantia Glen

Стелленбош — Cavalli, Delaire Graff

Франшук — Boschendal, Babylonstoren

7. Поужинать в классных ресторанах. Вот несколько отличных:

• Kloof Street House — кейптаунская институция в старом особняке
• The Lawns at the Roundhouse. Вкусная еда, красивые виды, столы под открытым небом
• Salsify. Новый ресторан высокой кухни. Крайне модный.
• Test Kitchen. Лучший ресторан в стране.
• Harbour House Kalk Bay. Волны бьются прямо об окна, у окон спят морские котики.
• Chef’s Warehouse Beau Constantia. Виды на виноградники, отличное вино, очень вкусно.

8. Посмотреть на африканское искусство в ZEITZ MOCAA.Новейший музей современного искусства и самое большое собрание работ африканских художников в бывшей силосной башне. Посещение можно совместить с бокалом вина в баре на крыше отеля Silo, который работает тут же.

9. Купить вещи местных дизайнеров на маркете Watershed. Это большое собрание всевозможных вещей, украшений и безделушек от юарских дизайнеров. Лучшее место для покупки сувениров.

10. Поплавать с китами. Обычно на морские сафари все едут в Херманус, но на самом деле лучший способ увидеть китов — отправиться плавать на каноэ прямо в городе, в Sea Point. Забронируйте место в одной из многочисленных групп с Kaskazi Kayaks, они плавают каждый день. Лучше плыть ранним утром. Встреча с китами и дельфинами будет намного ближе и особеннее.

I am Russian, born in Moscow to the Russian parents, with all of our ancestors (those we know of at least) being Slavic — from Russia, Ukraine and Poland.

Before the age of 21 I spent almost 2 years in the USA and travelled to around 30 countries. Then, at 21, I left Moscow for Johannesburg and have been living in South Africa since. I am 29 now.

I am a woman. In a gender neutral Western world it is not something one is supposed to stress, but it is important in the context of this post. A Russian woman is a specie of her own kind.

It is only recently, after 8 years of living in South Africa, that I have started to fully realize how radically different the Russian mentality is to the Western. By Western I mean British as it was the main influencer on South Africa as its former colony, and the States which produce most of the media content which then influences the rest of the English-speaking world.

Don’t get me wrong, I have always realized how peculiar Russian culture is. Our food choices (dairy products 3 times a day, obsessive use of dill, herring with beetroot for God’s sake). Our sense of humor which is only really funny to ourselves, and appalling to everyone else — that was a lesson I learned the hard way, after a few of my jokes followed by awkward silence. Courtship rules (flowers is a must), hospitality traditions (never show up empty handed), superstitions, cultural quirks and habits seemed to be a funny difference between “us” and “them”, but not more than a relatively easy adjustment or a topic of an amusing Buzzfeed article.

However the longer I am living away from Russian mentality, immersed in a British-like culture (98% of my South African social circle is of British descent) the more clearly I see the fundamental difference in these two ways and approaches to life. The issues and conflicts people who are close to me are faced with, the issues they are dealing with not during their formative years but well into adulthood show me the value of life lessons and behavioral patterns given to me by Russian culture.

Right now, in the age of a negative perception of Russia mostly created by American news and media channels I believe I can bring some value by impartially sharing the beauty of this culture and its wisdom the Western world could make use of. I consider myself impartial because I have chosen to leave the country yet I treasure and value my roots. I also avoid a black-white view of any subject, including my home land. In this post I am going to share the positive things it has taught me, things that I find unique to Russian mentality and that help me daily. It doesn’t however mean that I see Russia as perfect. Nothing is.

All right, here we go.

1. Life is tough. We learn that before our first birthday, from folklore fairy tales. In a “Kitty’s house” tale the kitty’s house goes on fire and burns. The end. In “Kolobok” tale a round character made of dough runs away from his home and gets eaten by a fox. No happy ending. In a “Mitten” cartoon a little girl wants to get a dog so much she imagines her mitten to be a puppy. They develop a wonderful imaginary friendship. Her parents still don’t get her a puppy though. The tough life lessons continue way into the adolescence when 14 and 15 year olds have to read Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy and Chekhov at school. Not just read but analyze and write essays. Not all the non Russian adults I know have read that stuff. Russian kids can (mostly) quote it by the time they’re 16.

This might sound grim but what it does is sets realistic expectations of life from the early age. People die. No one guarantees a happy ending. Life’s tough and that’s okay.

2. You don’t have to be perfect. In other words, there is no social requirement or expectation to keep a facade of perfection. There are different kinds of social role playing in Russia — mostly to do with power and influence — but perfection is not one of them. That removes a whole lot of pressure. Come as you are, whether you are sick, hangover, in a shit mood, poor, unhappy, anxious, hungry — whatever you are, you don’t have to hide it. Bad’s okay.

I watch my South African friends struggle with having to keep a facade of good mood, positivity and general well being which actually leads to the opposite effect, and I feel very sorry for them and the social construct of “being perfect”. Such an unnecessary thing, in my opinion. It leads to eventually exploding or breaking down, then apologizing for it, feeling guilty and so on — deep into a vicious circle of self loathing. A solution? See point 4.

3. It’s okay to want to be the best though. Russia has a thing for greatness. Empire state of mind is still very much present. Reaching for the stars, competing from the early age, reciting poetry at house parties — this is the environment many of us grew up in. The striving for greatness, power, influence is reflected in everything — from cars to architecture. In the Western media, I often see the narrative of struggling to ask for more, or claim your rights. Now, I don’t want to generalize as it is quite personal for everyone, but most of my Russian friends have no problem believing that we deserve the best and no problem asking for it. And taking it too.

The shadow side of this is a great deal of pressure and a need to prove yourself. But that’s a subject for another post.

4. It’s okay to call things by their name. This one has been the biggest adjustment for me, and I am still struggling. It’s at least one a week I hear how “straight forward” I am.

A shit deal is a shit deal. Not “not ideal”, or “could be better”. It’s shit. Same goes for body parts. A vagina. It’s not a yoni, a punani, a rose. It has a name — it’s a vagina. Westerners seem to be scared of calling things by their name. Especially the British culture — oh God, there is a hundred ways to call a thing except for what it really is. Everyone knows that about British culture, yet the tradition of covering things up lives on. What it really does is divert from truth. It wastes time which could have been used more efficiently.

Which leads me to the next point and a bigger issue.

5. Be real and speak your mind — it makes yours and everyone’s life easier. A habit of never being real with others and yourself (“How are you” — “Great”, even when you’re feeling shit) causes a pattern of avoidance, cover up and resistance of so called “bad feelings”. A constant tug of what is and what is supposed to be leads to oh so many depressions — too many to count. Guys, “bad stuff” is also a part of the deal called life, and there is no avoiding it. By trying to appear different from what you really are one only complicates their own life and life of others.

Honesty is probably the highest virtue (somewhere on par with generosity) of a Russian person. Which is ironic considering how corrupt the country is, but my sense that personal honesty about how you feel is separated from running an honest business or politics. Correct me if I’m wrong here, fellow Russians.

6. Men and women are different. And that’s okay! The gender topic is one of the most complex in Russian culture. While being a country with patriarchal mentality, it has always been a matriarchal society. Now, I don’t want to go deep into history, but let me say this: there hasn’t been a question of fighting for equal workforce rights for women — they have been an equal part of communist society throughout the 20th century. Yet, they have preserved their femininity and it will never be something they (we) will let go of. Russian women are famous for their love for dressing up, their seduction skills and homemaking magic. If anything, we have to learn that it’s okay to look average sometimes and wear those sweat pants! I personally found it very refreshing.

6. The art of womanly care. Now, this is a dangerous territory. Many women are oppressed and abused as free domestic labor. Many women cook, clean, care for children, work and try their best to look good out of insecurities, generational fear of loneliness, pressure from society and duty. Yet, if taken in its pure expression, a Russian way of caring for others as a woman is really beautiful. It is the kind of selfless service which comes straight out of the heart. Making food is an expression of care. Service is an expression of love. This is something I don’t see among many Western women, while it’s a norm in Russia.

7. Generosity. It’s one of the highest virtues in Russian culture. “The width of the soul” as it’s called. It’s typical for Asian cultures, and in this regard Russia certainly is closer to that side of the world. Whether it’s hospitality, celebrations or courtship, one is expected to be generous with material things. Very generous. Pressure is on!

I believe that money is an energy, and freely sharing it allows this energy to flow — which allows for more of it to come in. It’s a valuable virtue to have, literally.

8. Being badass. It’s my favorite one. The ability to question the status quo and find ways around it is a double edge sword and probably the reason of most of Russia’s trouble. It is also what makes life thrilling, exciting, fun, spontaneous and wild. I can’t live without it. It’s one of the reasons I live in South Africa, of all places.

Now, this is my personal subjective observations which are largely dictated by my social circle and upbringing, as well as personal qualities.

I’d love to know your thoughts on this. If you’re Russian, what do you consider the most valuable lesson of our culture? If you’re not Russian, what is your experience of the points above?

Last week at the doctor’s, under “Occupation” I wrote “Housewife”. Now, had my 20-year old self seen this, she would have been terrified, disgusted, repulsed. Housewife? At 29 she was going to be a head of the leading publishing house, a self-made millionaire, one of the “30 under 30”. She was a feminist. She still is a feminist. Today, at 29 and a housewife, I am more of a feminist than ever before.

Let’s take my 20-year old self and her ideas of feminism and compare them to my vision of it today, 9 years later. At 20, I worked as an editor of a trendy travel magazine in Moscow, was about to graduate from one of the best universities in the city and would describe myself as an “independent go-getter”. Independence was one of the bases of feminism to me. “I don’t need no man” was something I’d often say at parties, usually to men, usually hoping to look more attractive to them, as someone elusive, someone they will never get. Little did I know that was only attractive to people with very low self esteem and big childhood traumas. I had another 5–6 years to figure that one out.

A “go getter” was a second pillar of feminism in my 20-year old mind. Moving forward despite all odds, getting through the window if the door’s closed, finding a way and always, always getting what I wanted was my daily prayer. I was succeeding in my work but what wasn’t obvious on the photos I posted from my travels and my conversations at parties was a growing disconnection from something important inside myself. Nine years ago, I had no idea what it was. What I also didn’t know, was that it would take moving hemispheres, breaking up with what I thought was the love of my life and finding myself completely alone literally on the opposite side of the planet from home to find that place I lost in the process of achieving.

There is a super power which lies in every woman. Feminism to me is freedom of choice to make magic using this superpower. We can make magic in a work place or at home. I write this from my couch in a house in a suburb by the ocean, with a glass of wine by my side, a chicken soup on the stove, a baby in his cot and a husband on his way home from work. I haven’t made a regular income in a year. Yet, I dare to call myself a feminist and will say it again: feminism is a super power which every woman has inside of her. And it has nothing to do with work status.

What I didn’t realize at 20 was that there is a N amount of life energy running through me (and every human). I can do two things with this energy: I can direct it at things I choose to (work, sports, relationships, complaining, self destruction) and I can disown it. In other words, I can take responsibility for things that are happening in my life or I can blame others or circumstances. Sometimes, the direction of where my energy goes feels out of control. For example, last year I fell pregnant and as hard as I tried to operate in the “old” way — be active, social, effective in my work — I couldn’t. I felt a strong urge to recluse, hibernate and preserve the energy. Eventually I surrendered to this force which was too strong to resist and did just that: spent time researching and buying things for the new baby, making the home cozy (“nesting”), doing yoga and meditating. Only now do I realize why it happened — I needed that energy to grow my baby and nurture the space for my family.

This space has become the soil from where we all grow: my son, my husband and my Self. My husband’s work has been flourishing. He has found freedom to address his deepest personal issues and allowed himself to be held for the first time in his life. My son is happy and healthy. And when it comes to me, well I’m still figuring out who this new person who has my name, my voice and (sort of) my body is. Most importantly, whatever she isn’t has fallen away. The space we have created in our family cultivates for truth and authenticity.

I still feel a need to justify what I do, or don’t do. “I look after my family but I also freelance as a writer”. Every times it comes with an apologetic tone. I know I’m scared of judgement from my career-focused girlfriends even though I feel so strongly about the new way of life and vision I have. My new mission as a woman is creating a nurturing space for creativity to grow. I mean “creativity” in a broad sense — a curious, free way of life which promotes authenticity, a courage of self expression. Whether it’s my courage to put my thoughts into words and publish the results, my husband’s courage to be sensitive and vulnerable or my son’s freedom to be exactly who he is (fortunately, he hasn’t learned any other way yet) I am devoted to putting my energy into nurturing the fertile soil which the seeds will grow from. My feminism is expressed in this choice, and this encapsulates the meaning of this movement to me: the freedom to choose, the freedom to be you even if you are “just a housewife”.

This ability to enable not only yourself but others too is the super power we have as women, I believe. Our capacity to hold and grow is huge and is greater than men’s. It is of a different kind — it’s expansive, it’s spacious, it’s nurturing. It can hold families, communities and entire countries (just look at the female led ones!). This is the new kind of feminism I want to see more or and a be a part of. If a first step in that direction is enabling my son with a lullaby and nurturing my husband with a chicken soup, I am taking it proudly. As long as there is a little glass of wine for myself afterwards, of course.

Last September I closed down my start up Gummie. Gummie was a curated travel marketplace for unique experiences in South Africa.

It still hurts, and I have been avoiding talking or even thinking about it. I have not had a closure neither within myself nor publicly. In fact, I have been feeling as a huge failure, drowning in guilt, shame and self-blame.

The other day I chatted to my co-founder, art director and friend Mitya. With a bated breath I asked him why in his opinion our business had failed. He mentioned a few reasons he had thought about, and let me tell you — none of them was “because you’re lazy / stupid / incompetent”. It might sound silly, but this is what I expected to hear. This is what I have been telling myself for months.

After this conversation I felt a sense of lightness. It was the first time I’ve allowed myself to touch the subject which felt like a sore bruise within my mind and heart. Gummie wasn’t just a start up. It was my brain child, my first business, my passion of 5 years. I had spent countless hours crafting it, changing it, thinking and dreaming about its future, convincing other people — partners, investors, customers, friends — that it was a great business. Its closure felt like a death, or a very painful break up.

So I have decided to, as it is recommended in the case of painful breakups, have a closure. A kind of reconciliation within myself that will allow me to heal my wound and move on. It feels right to publish it openly, not only because to me it would mean overcoming shame but also because hopefully it might help other entrepreneurs to avoid the mistakes I made.

Internal reasons

1. Insecurity

Only in the last year of Gummie’s life did I realize how truly and deeply insecure I was, and how everything I have ever done professionally had been by 90% driven by desire to prove my worth. Proving it to someone else (parents, friends, romantic interests, even strangers sometimes) and to myself. It seemed to be a great motivation and felt like a strong driver that kept me going. Except it had one big flaw: it never truly satisfied the void within me. It always demanded the next article published, the next income increase, the next job taken and in the case of the business, the next milestone achieved. When it finally happened, it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as I had imagined. In fact, my anxiety had been growing proportionally to my achievements.

In the end, the lack of worth and misery it had generated reached such levels that I was left completely disabled. I would feel an extreme rush of panic every time I sat down in front of my computer. I would try and put on a brave face in public, but inside I was crumbling. And so was my business.

To me the work I do has always been an expression of my belief system and my inner world. It has to be fully aligned with my values or I feel depressed. In fact, nothing upsets me more than doing work which I find meaningless. At the same time, nothing gives me more inspiration and a sense of purpose than serving a greater cause which, I am convinced, every business should have.

Gummie wasn’t an exception. At first it was an expression of my enthusiasm, somewhat naive faith and ambition. In the end it became an expression of the void inside me which I could no longer ignore.

In the last year of Gummie’s slow decline I focused on working with my insecurity with the help of meditation, mindfulness, medicine plants and journaling. I believe I am on the path to harmony, but that’s a story for a different post.

Conclusion: the health of the soil determines the quality of the fruit. Coming form a place of lack creates more lack in the end. Always checking in with myself and making sure I am growing abundance and creation is my goal and biggest lesson.

2. Being stubborn and ignoring qualified opinion

My mum has always told me that I thought myself the most clever even when I was 10. It’s true, and it has its pros, like having the courage to pursue my dreams and cons, like ignoring good advice.

Gummie’s business model was a booking commission. We made $5 on average per sale. We targeted mostly foreign tourists arriving to Cape Town and Johannesburg and had to compete both with traditional travel agencies and giants like Tripadvisor and Airbnb.

It was a shit business model. It required huge advertising budgets as the CPO was very high and thousands of sales per month for some kind of profit. Or endless investor money that would afford the company years without one.

I was told it was shit. Many times. I chose not to believe it, even though this opinion came from multiple people with a lot of experience in online retail and travel e-commerce. I believed I was like Airbnb who received so many rejections from potential investors who just didn’t understand how genius this business really was. So I persisted, did not change the model and eventually found the amazing investors who believed in my team, my business, my model, my projections and myself.

Very quickly though we all realized it was a mistake, but the attempts to change the model did not work either, and this is why:

• I was too deeply submerged into my anxiety by that time, as I had been watching my deepest fear of not being good enough getting proven right in front of my eyes. It paralyzed me and I was not able to see the wood for the trees.
• I didn’t want to just have a working business, e.g. I had no interest in running a travel agency or organizing corporate events — those were the two models we tested but due to the lack of energy and enthusiasm from my side they didn’t work out. What I wanted was to change the way tourists experienced the city they arrived in, but my anxiety prevented me from pivoting and finding a model that worked within that context.

Conclusion: I could say I’ve learned that I had to listen to mentors with more experience but that would be a lie. Sometimes, yes, but not always. Knowing when to take advice and when to persist comes with experience and / or strong intuition, and both can’t be learned. C’est la vie.

External reasons.

These are the less important yet valid reasons which I am frankly not too concerned with. They are just a story, the odds which can be overcome. In my case, since I was not coming from a place of strength but was driven by fear which is the ultimate weakness, the odds won.

• Lack of experience. For each team member it was the first start up. For our investors, it was the first B2C e-commerce business, and first online travel venture they invested in. Having at least one experienced person on our team would have helped.
• Small network. By the time I started Gummie I had been living in South Africa for only 1 year and hence have always felt a lack of network. Sounds like a lame excuse but in this country connections, especially long standing ones, mean a lot.
• Lacking “entrepreneurial mindset”. I have always felt a guilty for not being willing to be one of those entrepreneurs who put everything on the line to make their business work. I wanted a decent salary, a satisfying lifestyle and free time — things few entrepreneurs get before their business succeeds. Thinking back now, I still wouldn’t eat cereal just to save cash for my business. My intuition tells me mindset like that was not going to crack it in the start up world. Or am I wrong?

Having said all this, the first and most important reason for Gummie’s failure is my deep seated insecurity. Everything else could have been solved had it not been the case. Had I been able to admit to myself and my team that something wasn’t working, and find another solution quickly, effectively and without endless self beating, we could have either pivoted or failed earlier, which would have saved our investors money, us time and our suppliers debt that Gummie still owes.

At the same time, had I not had this learning curve I would have been able to ignore this issue for much longer. It would still control my life and actions and would have destroyed other ventures in my future. I truly can’t be more grateful for how it all turned out — I was forced to deal with my inner “monster”, which was just a sad little girl inside me who needed love and acceptance.

The moral of the story — find, face and befriend your inner monster before starting a venture, kids.

K

There is nothing really comfortable about that place at all, yet I return there again and again. It’s familiar. I know the yellow tone of that darkness, the sticky sound of silence. The corner where I lie has taken the shape of my body. I hate it, but I fit in.

When I’m there, all I think about is how to leave. Or rather, all the terrible things that will most definitely happen to me when I do. How I will fail again and again. How I will end up all alone, sick, poor, in a place even more miserable than this one. No, I’d rather stay there. At least it’s dry and warm.

Sometimes I get enough courage to step outside. It’s extremely bright out there. I squint like a mole. I can see every line on my skin. I can see my dreams so clearly too. I make a step towards them — they are so clear I can almost touch them. I make a few more steps, each one getting more and more confident. Some days, I start running. I run like a horse, firmly stepping onto the ground, feeling the play of my muscles in my body. It feels amazing.

And then it touches me again — the shiver of the cold shadow. It has been following me all the way. It moves with me, every step I take. I look at it, I sink in. It grows until I am completely consumed by its darkness again. Only yellow rays are seeping through the cracks.

She has always been there, but it is only recently that I have started listening to her, seeing her and getting to know her on a daily basis.

She is a woman in me. She has lived many lifetimes. She knows a truth from a lie. She recognises love. She also respects passion, she believes life to be bland without it. She is brave, honest, determined and unstoppable. She is me, but I am only becoming her.

Largely I am still a girl. Dependant on her mother’s approval and needing support, like I am about to fall over at any moment. Not giving myself a chance to stand on my own. Allowing myself to be disrespected, manipulated and dictated to. Suppressing my real feelings and needs, acting from a place of pain, from a need for recognition. This is me too.

The transition from maidenhood to womanhood coincided with finding true love, falling pregnant and starting a family. An important part of it is separating from my mother. All of it could not be more archetypical, really.

I am thankful to my inner woman who is guiding me. Every day I align myself to her deep stillness within. To her knowledge and knowing, her trust and confidence. All I need to do is go inward and connect with her. Her answer is always there, and the choice is mine: do I take responsibility and stand on my own or do I look for someone to lean on, not allowing myself my power? The old patterns of the mind run deep. When a difficulty arises I look for someone to fall on to — my mom, my man, my friends. Everyone can catch me, but for the first time in my life, I am ready to catch myself.

To be honest, I’m not even falling.

My roots are strong. The have been running through Earth for many years. They have given life to many fruit trees, and every generation is stronger than the one before. I am allowing this strength, and letting it blossom.

His phone rings.

- Speaking. Yes. Which publication? I can speak to them next week…No, nothing for this week… They can wait. Ok, set it up from Friday, but only 30 minutes.

He arrives to a gate. He parks on the street, leans back in his seats and closes his eyes. The phone rings again but he doesn’t pick up.

He rings the intercom at the gate, briefly says “Jeff” in the speaker. The gate buzzes.

A woman opens the front door. She is in her 40s. She smiles sincerely, but with a hint of sadness. “I’m glad you came”, she says.

They are in the kitchen. She pours tea. He is seemingly uncomfortable and hesitant.

• I’m sorry it took me so long, — Jeff is avoiding looking her in the eyes.

She is watching him quietly.

• When I heard the news, I knew straight away… I have to come. But it took me ages to actually call you…
• It’s okay, — she says. I’m glad you’re here. He’ll be happy to see you.
• You think? — Jeff looks at her with hope. His phone rings again.
• I know it, — She looks at his phone. — Is it work? Take it if you need to.
• No, no, later. They’ve been calling all morning… another interview. It’s endless, — he sounds irritated.
• “Another interview”- she mocks him kindly and giggles. — I read the “Times” — I take it the business is going well?
• Yes, too well. “Zipster” just sold for a fortune… We’ve started a new one. It’s going great.
• I’m happy for you, dear, — she smiles, comes closer to him and takes his hand.
• Ah, Joanne… You’ve always been a sister I didn’t deserve to have.
• Cut the bullshit. You have done more than anyone has for me and all of us, and you know it. Everyone makes mistakes, and it’s time you forgive yourself.
• Jo… Thank you. — Jeff stand up to hug her. — I’ll go see him now.

She nods towards the corridor.

• He is in the last room on the left.

Jeff walks down the corridor. He can hear his heart beating with every step. He breathes out and opens the door.

• Dad? — He walks in quietly. - It’s me.

Bedridden old man looks at him. He doesn’t say anything. Jeff sits down next to him.

• Dad… I’m sorry. I really am sorry. I am sorry for…

His father takes his hand and squeezes it in his.

• It’s okay Jeffrey. You’re here.

Jeff starts sobbing.

• I’m so sorry. I’m sorry… I’m sorry…

Next scene.

Jeffrey opens his eyes. He is in a bed. Next to him is a naked back of a man. He sits up in the bed, still puzzled. He takes his phone off the bedside table and looks at the screen.

In English or Russian.

Day 1, Story 1

A fun ride

Anne was really annoyed with her self. In fact, she has been for days. She has been skipping her regular mediation hours for a few weeks now. As a result, her head was a mess, mood swinging so hard even her cat has been in hiding. She wasn’t doing anyone a favour.

But somehow she just couldn’t do it. Any intention to get up early, take her cozy meditation cushion, wrap herself in a blanket and dive deep into stillness was to no avail. She kept on snoozing under the blanket until it was too late even for a breakfast. Her chia seeds have been standing in a jar, untouched for weeks — Anne has become a regular at the local bakery, and not the artisanal one.

Obviously, she has consulted with her Tarot cards. The answer gave her hope — she will eventually dive out of this slumber. All she had to do know is wait and breathe. The rest will follow, the cards said.

So she did. Wandering around the house in her robe, picking up cups with cold, half finished coffee. By lunchtime she’d shower. Around 4 she’d take a dog for a walk. A snack, an Instagram, a chat with a friend, and it is already evening. The feeling of guilt for not getting much done has just increased by a day load.

Anne journaled and wrote down pros and cons of asking her parents for money. The rent payment day was getting closer, while her bank account had been steadily shrinking, with no promise of the opposite.