Diary of a Cougar: From Essex to Johannesburg with Love: Diary of a Cougar, #1

By Chrispen Dee

Escape into the adventure of a lifetime in this globetrotting memoir about love, risk-taking, and spiritual awakening. 

At 53, Sarah felt trapped in the monotony of her daily routine in England. But when a charming young musician from South Africa enters her life through a chance virtual encounter, everything changes. Throwing caution to the wind, Sarah impulsively books a flight to Johannesburg to finally meet this mysterious man who has captivated her heart. 

What follows is a 12-day odyssey that transforms Sarah's life. Thabo, her passionate young suitor, guides her through the sights, sounds, and secrets of the vibrant city of Johannesburg. From breath-taking safaris to dancing the night away in local nightclubs, Sarah steps outside her comfort zone to embrace new cultures and perspectives. As she learns more about South Africa's complex history and connects with the resilience of its people, Sarah discovers a new zest for life within herself.

But when realities and misgivings about their unlikely relationship begin to sink in, Sarah must dig deep for the courage to follow her heart. Will she stay in Johannesburg and pursue love with Thabo? Or will fear and doubt compel her to return to the safety of her old life in England? 

Overflowing with colorful descriptions of South Africa and its people, Falling in Johannesburg takes readers on an emotional rollercoaster ride through the highs and lows of taking a chance on life-changing love. Sarah's story will resonate with anyone who has felt trapped by the status quo and longed for the freedom to live boldly.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chrispen Dee
• Release date: Sep 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223751434

Book preview

Dear Diary,

It's strange, isn't it? How life, with its winding roads and unexpected turns, has a way of teaching us lessons we never thought we needed. Here I am, sitting by my window, pen in hand, reflecting on the tapestry of my life. The golden threads of joy intertwined with the grays of sorrow, forming a mosaic that's uniquely mine.

I've often found solace in our conversations, dear diary. In these pages, I've laughed, cried, hoped, and dreamt. And now, I want to share these musings with others, not just as a testament to my journey but as an ode to life itself. For life, in all its unpredictability, is a gift—a blessing we sometimes take for granted.

Do you remember the mornings when I woke up with a heavy heart when the weight of the world seemed unbearable? But then, there were also days when the sun shone a little brighter, the flowers smelled a little sweeter, and the world felt like a canvas waiting to be painted with the colours of joy.

As I pen down this introduction, I'm reminded of the countless blessings I've received. The laughter of my children, the unconditional love of my parents, the support of friends who've become family, and the moments of serendipity that added magic to the mundane. Even the storms that raged, the tears that flowed, and the nights that seemed endless were blessings in disguise. They carved out the person I've become, shaping my spirit, and strengthening my resolve.

Dear reader, as you turn these pages, I hope my story reminds you to pause, reflect, and be grateful. Grateful for the highs that made you soar and the lows that grounded you, for the love that warmed your heart and the pain that made you resilient. Remember, each day is a new chapter, a fresh start, an opportunity to write a story worth telling.

And so, as I present to you my diary, my confidante, I hope you find in it a friend, a mirror, a beacon. Let it be a testament to the beauty of life, the rollercoaster of emotions, and the power of gratitude.

With all my heart,

Sarah

Chapter One

An Unfulfilled Life

The piercing beep of my alarm clock startles me awake, its harsh tone already putting me on edge. I fumble to silence it, taking a moment to collect myself before the inevitable drudgery of the day begins.

My feet meet the cold wooden floor as I drag myself up and plod to the bathroom. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror and sigh at the weary woman staring back at me. When did those wrinkles appear? That gray hair? The years have slipped by unnoticed.

I turn on the shower, waiting for it to heat up as I wrap my robe tighter. The hot water provides brief respite as it washes over me, but soon I'm turning the faucets off and facing the day ahead. Droplets trickle down my skin, and I absentmindedly trace their trails with my fingers. Much like these droplets, the days seem to blur and disappear without notice.

The aroma of coffee brewing propels me to the kitchen. I fill my chipped mug and breathe in deeply before taking a sip. The rich flavour used to energize me, but now it's just part of the routine, providing only fleeting comfort.

I spread butter on toast, using the same edge-to-edge technique I've done for years. I can almost hear Robert's playful teasing about my orderly habits. The memory elicits a twinge of sadness. Our once lively breakfast conversations have been reduced to a deafening silence.

Morning light filters through the curtains, casting a dull glow across the worn kitchen table. The faded calendar on the wall announces in bold letters Monday—just another repeat of the weekly cycle. With a heavy sigh, I rise and reluctantly make my way to the living room.

Sinking into the embrace of my chair, I stare blankly ahead for a moment, unable to muster the energy to turn on the TV. The quiet is interrupted by a faint tapping at the window—Mrs. Jones peering in expectantly. I steel myself as I open the window to her overenthusiastic greeting. Our exchange is polite yet perfunctory. She bustles off and I'm left perplexed by how someone can have such zeal so early.

I finally resign myself to turning on the television, mindlessly flipping channels. A travel advertisement mocks me with images of youthful bliss that seem eons removed from my isolating reality. I quickly change the channel to escape, only to be met with annoying coverage of the upcoming local flower show. I turn it off in frustration and sit in pensive silence.

My eyes land on a photo from younger, happier days. Taken on our honeymoon so many years ago, it depicts Robert and I blissfully barefoot on a Greek beach, not a care in the world except our love. It suddenly feels like a photo of different people, now strangers to my tired, lonely self. I can't bear to look at it anymore.

Leaning back, I close my eyes, feeling the weight of resignation. Is this monotonous existence really all that’s left for me in this chapter of life? I once had such spirit, such dreams. But now my days run together in an endless loop of ritual without meaning. There has to be more out there still to experience and feel.

I'm jolted from my thoughts by the jarring ring of the telephone. For a fleeting moment I feel a flutter of anticipation - could it be Robert calling? But I quickly chided myself for the foolish hope. We've hardly spoken since the divorce.

I answer to hear Emily's bubbly voice on the other end. My dear daughter is now grown up and living her own life far from here. Her upbeat energy highlights my weary spirit. We chat about trivial matters. I don't burden her with my melancholy. She has enough to deal with without worrying about her mum.

After we hang up, the silence returns, more acute than before. I drag myself up and shuffle to the kitchen to make another cup of coffee, more for distraction than desire. Waiting for the kettle to boil, I notice the grocery list on the fridge, neatly written in my tidy scrawl. Milk, bread, eggs...mundane essentials to sustain a mundane life.

The shrill whistle of the kettle makes me jump. I pour the hot water over the coffee grounds absently, watching them swirl and diffuse. Some days I feel like I'm just aimlessly drifting too. Steaming mug in hand, I drift back to my chair, not even bothering to turn on the TV now.

My mind wanders to the past - carefree days of youth, my whirlwind romance with Robert, our lively parties and exotic travels. We were adventuresome once, hungry to explore life's offerings. Was complacency our downfall? That insidious comfort that slowly smothers the fiery spirit? Either way, here I am now, a wilted version of myself.

I think of friends who check in regularly, kindly inviting me to lunch, concerts, and community events. I make excuses to avoid their pitying looks and words of concern. I know they mean well, but their help only highlights my own helplessness. This is my battle to fight alone.

But oh, the nights are the worst. The ticking of the clock counting down the endless hours until daylight. Cold sheets that expose my isolation. Fitful sleep plagued by dreams of the past. And waking each morning to the same monotonous ritual. Around and around we go.

I long for change, for upheaval, for something - anything - to break me out of this inertia. But the days plod relentlessly by, indifferent to my silent pleas. So I inhabit this limbo - more spectator than participant - watching life pass