the cheese platter

Haven't been cheesy in a while (or have I?), but it's nice to talk about lovey stuff when you've spoken about so many cynical and heartsore moments in the past.

Cheesiness once in a while warms the cockles. Cynical stuff makes my heart go hard and I get depressed. So while in the moment – let's talk cheesy. Also it's Friday. And after a long week, my brain hurts.

Relationships aren't easy things, as idealistic as they are. They take work, compromise, sacrifice, compassion, communication and a lot of love. The latter is what it's all worth working for. Love doesn't happen everyday to everybody – hell, it saddens me to know that there are some people in the world who'll never experience love at all.

It hurts like a bitch too – but love really is an incredible thing. That you can take two people, in any one place who will meet, and 9 times out of 10 never speak again. The one odd – the one – is that the two actually connect there and then. Maybe a tenth of an odd that they'll actually fall in love. A twentieth of a chance thereafter – will the love last, will the two be compatible forever after? Will they be able to ride the storms? If they can – like 80-year couples who are still together – then wow. It's very rare these days. But not impossible. Which is why even though I am tormented by constant hang-ups, I know they can be softened. I am in love after all. And that is what makes life whole.

It's worth the risk if it brings happiness, right?

Shit this is cheesy.

Anyway, there are things I love about a relationship or being close to someone. End-of-the-day phonecalls, emails while you work, having someone's feet touching yours at the end of the bed, kissing and all the physical stuff, and sharing personal jokes.
Laughter is so important – I've heard that from lots of people lately. “We're doing great, we laugh at each other all the time,” or “Thank God she makes me laugh.” Or even, “He actually laughs at my pirate joke, no one has done that before.” That kind of crap. Laughter is a big one.

Love is also for the brave. You have to open up, you can't not. (Usually I find it hard to hold it all in – but I'm more cautious now.) If you don't open up, you don't experience it full-throttle. And what's the point doing it in half-measures?

It may leave a big gaping wound if it ends though, which will make the room spin, and you'll want to vomit and you'll cry for a while and drink shitloads of alcohol, but it's all worth it.

Right, no more Lionel Richie for me.

PS: I mean Lionel Richie and a glass of wine.

laxing

Well it's certainly been a couple of amazing days.

The honeymooning neighbours only relinquished us with a soap opera on full blast at 2:30am, and I've become accustomed to waiting for the chattering and slothful sisterhood rather well.
I've eaten chocolate crepes every morning for breakfast and fear that I may miss the buffet breakfasts quite unbelievably on my return to, oh God, don't remind me.

We ferryed it over to Praslin Island the day before yesterday - and honestly, what a paradise. Little coves surrounded by boulders, snorkeling - with a vast array of lumo-coloured fish...you know, stuff they make movies out of. We also went to Curieuse Island and made happy with land tortoises the size of a Fiat Punto. The island was a place for lepers back in the day, but hell, I don't reckon it would've been a bad idea to catch leprosy just based on the fact you could fanny about here for the rest of your limbs-falling-off days. Fuck it's gorgeous.

I've made a few friends - mostly Creole okes wondering along the beach. I suppose they are in awe of my gold blinkini and want to make its acquaintance. One of our cousins is taking me and my Kiwi cuz to a nightclub tonight for some high-powered rum drinking at a local hotspot in Victoria called The Love Nut. (Perhaps a spelling mistake...but I would've called it The Love Hut myself.)

I presume it'll be hangovers and peeling skin on the plane home tomorrow. God's truth, I actually have to sit in an office on Monday. What utter and deplorable pants! OK, I will not think of this. I have spent so much time basking on the sand, staring at the waves, swimming nine times a day and turning a wonderful shade of ebony. And I shall stuff my little brown face with a final smorgasbord of rougaille, lentils and rice just now.

Oh and Grandmere found a genuine coco de mer on the beach today. She reckoned it had been washed off some oke's boat during the tsunami. Whatever. Canadian aunt adopted a liking to Mahe Kings, the local cigaroo. My family is still very gassy. Perhaps it's my colonial ladylike upbringing - no shut up seriously - but I tend not to burp/expel air/do that sort of stuff out loud. They really don't give a damn. It's a little offputting.

Oh well. Off to eat more food. Bye.