That is what I believe: I believe we are born free; then, we give it away. And, for many of us, we spend the rest of our lives trying to regain the freedom that we have lost. When I was a little girl, my Oupa and I planted a Syringa tree in the back garden. After we had planted the tree, we put a big ring around it to catch the water. I think the ring was the top of an old rusted galvanized rubbish bin. I remember how lost the tiny tree looked, jutting out in the middle of what seemed then like a massive circle. Later, I remember that same metal circle choking the trunk of the tree, as the once tiny tree grew. It was a strange sight, this metal ring now embedded in the trunk of the Syringa tree and growing – slowly, but surely - further and further from the ground until the leaves brushed the tin roof of our old house. Many years later we would cut that tree down because we had underestimated how big it would grow to be. I
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remember thinking how, regardless of whether or not we had decided to cut that tree down, it was relentless in its pursuit of growth. There have been times in my life when I could identify with that tree: people and places - that were once a comfort - would begin to choke, and it felt like I had to carry them with me as I grew. Ultimately, the burden was too much for me to bear and I removed myself from those people and those places. While it broke my heart to do so, the pain of remaining was greater than the pain of leaving. At first, I thought it was callous; with time, I realized it was honest. It took me a long time to discover this about myself, which cost me and those around me. I wish I could say that walking healthily away was without pain, but that would not be the truth. For many years now I have been single, too afraid of committing myself to someone who