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Word for 2026: Presence...

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At the beginning of every year, I choose a word. Not a resolution with deadlines or targets, but a quiet guide to accompany me—something to return to when life becomes noisy or unclear. Last year, my word was choice . I didn’t know then how central that idea would become. I found myself navigating a series of decisions, big and small, that shaped my days and defined my energy. I had to choose what to say yes to, what to say no to, where to invest, and where to let go. I realised how often we are offered the illusion of control, while in reality we are simply choosing how we respond to what life puts in front of us. But what last year taught me most deeply is that not every choice is ours to make. Some things are taken from us without warning or permission. This past year, I experienced loss—real, irreversible loss—and it shifted something in me. It reminded me, more than any theoretical understanding ever could, that time is not guaranteed, that presence is not something we can postpon...
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Memories of Leentjie: A Love Grown Over Time

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Some people don’t enter your life all at once. They arrive slowly — through habits, through presence, through the ordinary days that quietly shape who you become. Leentjie came into my life as my mother-in-law, but she became much more than that. She became part of my learning — how to mother, how to hold space, how to love without needing softness all the time. She was not someone who announced herself. She showed who she was through consistency, through showing up, through hands that knew what to do. These memories are not written in order, because that is not how love lives. They come as moments, details, gestures — a way of holding a baby, a cake baked without being asked, a sentence said at exactly the right time. Together, they tell the story of how we learned each other, how trust was built, and how love grew — slowly, firmly, and deeply. This is not a tribute meant to idealise her. It is a remembering of her as she was — strong, practical, opinionated, fair, and deeply loving. ...
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The Empty Chairs of Christmas

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Christmas has a way of filling the air with sound—wrapping paper tearing, cutlery clinking, and familiar songs playing softly in the background. The table grows crowded with food and stories, little jokes that only make sense to us, and the joyful chaos of being together. And yet, amid all that fullness, I always notice the empty chairs. Some are momentary—empty not because of absence, but distance. When we are in South Africa, I miss the voices of Greece. When we are in Greece, my heart aches for the rhythm of our life back home. My family has always lived stretched across two continents, two time zones, and two homes. And every festive season, no matter where we are, someone is missing. Technology helps. It pulls us closer. We send photos, call across dinner tables, and share a laugh through screens. It’s something—and I’m thankful for it—but not everything. It doesn’t fill the seat. It doesn’t carry the smell of the food, the warmth of the hug, or the overlapping chatter of a shar...
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For Me: On Opinions, Influence, and Leadership

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  The other day, my son came home visibly unsettled. During a conversation at school, a classmate—confident, influential, and a natural leader—dismissed cricket outright. "Cricket is a bullshit game. It’s not even a sport. Who wants to play cricket?" And just like that, the atmosphere shifted. The classmate’s words didn’t land softly as one boy’s preference—they hit like a verdict. My son, who happens to love cricket, suddenly felt that something he enjoyed was being mocked and invalidated. Not just by one person, but by the silence and subtle agreement of others around him. It stung. That moment has been sitting with me. And what it revealed is something deeply simple but often overlooked: the power of the words “for me.” "I don’t like cricket—it’s boring for me." "Dancing isn’t my thing." "Academia is not the right space for me." When we add “for me,” we open the window to plurality. We signal that this is my truth, not the truth. I have a p...
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Conference Presentations: Like a Good Wine Tasting

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Over the years, I have attended more conference presentations than I can count — and given quite a few myself. Conferences can be energising spaces: you learn new things, see fresh perspectives, and sometimes even stumble on ideas that initiate amazing collaborations. But let’s be honest—not every presentation makes the most of that opportunity. At a recent conference, a professor described conference presentations as wine tasting .  I won’t claim the metaphor, but I will happily borrow it: in a conference session, you don’t drink the whole bottle — you get a small taste. Just enough to decide if you would like to explore further: read the paper in detail, ask a question, or maybe even start a collaboration. And, like wine tasting, some sips stay with you long after, while others you politely move on from. So, what makes me want to “drink more” after a presentation? Five things I like in conference presentations A clear and intriguing opening. The best talks don’t waste time ...
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Read the Manual, My Boys

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  Last night, my two boys were deep into a board game. You would think it was a matter of national security the way things escalated—there was a fierce disagreement about one of the rules. The younger one was cheeky, confidently mocking the older one. The older one, already frustrated, stood up to leave. I asked him to stay—not because I wanted the game to continue at all costs, but because I wanted him to hold his ground. His reply came quickly: “If I stay, I’ll end up using violence.” And I understood. I really did. I told him that sometimes walking away is the best thing we can do. Sometimes we need distance to calm down, to find our balance. But I also reminded him of something else: we don’t shy away from what matters to us. From our wants, our needs, our boundaries. We can hold our ground without losing control. We can stay in the conversation without hurting others. That’s not weakness—it’s strength. And then, almost smiling, I said: “But boys, read the manual! Before you ar...
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When others "see" you...and you "see" you...

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 I was standing just offstage, moments before dancing my solo. My teacher introduced me—not just with my name, but with a few words that caught me completely off guard. She spoke about my journey, my efforts, and how I kept dancing while being a mother of two, a full-time professional, and a woman spinning many plates. And suddenly, something in me softened. I don’t dance for applause. I don’t show up at rehearsals, exhausted after a long day, for recognition. I do it for the joy, the grounding, and the sense of self it gives me. And yet… it mattered. Her words mattered. Being seen mattered. Why does it matter when others recognise our efforts? Why do we care, even when we tell ourselves we don’t need it? Maybe it’s because so much of what we do as women—especially as mothers, professionals, caretakers, and silent warriors—goes unnoticed. We keep it together, we hold it all, we show up, and we often do it quietly. There’s a strange pride in being “low-maintenance,” in not asking fo...
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