Sunday morning brunches will definitely taste better with this view.

Written in (great) retrospect.

The sixth of September, 2018. 

An ordinary day, to say the least. The neighbourhood was quiet except for twelve bustling few who were busy loading luggages and food coolers into a white twelve-seater mini-coach. They didn't think the day would turn out to be ordinary and neither did I-- it was my birthday, after all, and all twelve of us were going to a secluded refurbished barn in the countryside for some rest and relaxation.

Afternoon has turned to evening over the vineyards of Theescombe.

If, one day, a mad scientist would approach me claiming to have discovered a drug that can banish all despair in the world, I would grimly tell him that his tonic is already being used even long before ancient civilisations came to thrive to modernity-- and it's affectionately called 'vin', the ever-sophisticated 'wine'. Some parts of the Bible even feature this specific fermented solution, while the ancient texts of Greek mythos have a god named "Dionysus" claiming dominion over vineyards and, subsequently, the fruit and the wines cultivated from them.

The European-style Boardwalk in Port Elizabeth, South Africa.

~* This post is dedicated to my father:

the reason why I went to South Africa in the first place.*~

Since childhood, I rarely saw my father. His work as an electrical engineer in cargo ships means he's usually gone for most of the year. Whenever he came home, he just stays for two to three months until he's called to duty and had to leave again. When I was relatively younger, I would cry whenever he'd leave; this happened lesser and lesser as I stacked up on the years.