“A hole in his heart! A hole in his heart!” was the frantic words Doctor Oosthuizen screamed as they did an examination on my heart. The condition was rare, so for the doctor to lose his composure-was expected to say the least.

I, of-course have no remembrance of that day. While still attached to the umbilical cord of my mother, hanging upside down, a 2kg, 31 cm, bloody blessing I was to my folks. I touched down in 1994, my birth occurred on the fulcrum of an historical event being written in South African history. The “born free” generation we were called.

Dubbed the “Holy child”, the irony was never lacking in my nickname. The rumour spread like wild-fire in the small community of Estcourt. Growing up of-course everyone was extremely benevolent and courteous to me. Teachers were forbidden from hitting me, to which I mischievously took full advantage of. No physical requirements were expected of me so physical education I passed with flying colours.

However, I always felt that there was something missing in my heart. The pun which I write is definitely not intended, I write it whole heartedly or rather semi-heartedly seems more fitting.

Love! Was the missing piece to my heart. Andria was her name, certain that she was the one to make me whole.

The coastal summer in Port Shepstone, that sea breeze smell of 27 December 2012 still lingers in my memory. Andria and I, both eighteen years had met at a cousin’s house. Though we shared the same cousin, which was awkward nonetheless we weren’t, however, related by blood. Phew, much to my relief.

She wore a pair of faded jeans, a blue skipper and a head band attached with a flower on top. A game of snooker became the greatest game of my life. Andria being an amateur carved the perfect opportunity for me to make a move.

Instructing, by going behind her and teaching her the best positions for the game. Indeed I was quiet naughty in the prime of my youth. I was infatuated with her, any opportunity to touch her was my sole purpose. The intoxicating smell from her perfume was reverting to me. My heart still skips a beat at the thought of it all.

Childish, maybe, but special to me. I believed that portion in my life, I attained a small glimpse of heaven. Love! Love! Love! Crazed over such an ecstasy feeling, I yearned to tell Andria,

“I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.” William Shakespeare (Much ado about nothing)

However, I soon came to realise that love is a double edged sword. As I force myself though to continue the writing of my epoch, I have to struggle in fending off the tears and bitter taste in my heart.

In a state of pure happiness, I was. The thought of Andria as both a wife and soul-mate, filled the horizon of my mind. Pictures were taken of the both of us, to which I still have framed.

I followed her whereever she went, for all I care, I would have followed her to the ends of the Earth. I wore a flamboyant flower printed shorts, a stripped black and white skipper with blue sandals. Though not presentable, I was durable to the cold breeze of the South Coast.

“Darriann come with me for a jacket by my father’s car.”

“Yeah sure, hey Andria what do you intend on studying once you go to university.” I asked, we both were doing matric in the same year.

“A teacher in accounting,” she replied with no hesitation for one so young.

“Yuck! Do you have any idea how much I hate accounting?” I mentioned in a disgusting manner.

“Well then, what do you want to be once you matriculate?”

“Let me see Andria mmm…. I don’t know hey.” I replied, after all, which matriculant ever knows what they wish to do. All I was jubilant about was leaving school and never returning to that hell.

***

Tell us what you think: What do you want to be after matric? Did you know when you were still in high school?