There’s a moment early in parenthood when you realise your life has become a series of calculations. Not the obvious ones. Not money or time, exactly. But softer math. How many nappies are left. How long the baby slept. Whether that warmth is infant teething fever or just another growth spurt passing through. It’s a season where love is measured in small, repetitive acts.

When “Starting Again” Feels Less Like a Reset and More Like a Return There’s a particular feeling that settles in after the holidays. Not dramatic. Not cinematic. Just real. The year hasn’t fully asked anything of us yet, but we can feel it warming up in the background. School lists. Work routines. Budgets that need stretching. Bodies that need care.

When Healthcare Becomes Personal Again There’s a quiet kind of calling that lives inside healthcare professionals who choose to lead. Not because they want power or titles, but because they understand something deeper: care doesn’t scale without intention. Clinics don’t thrive on protocols alone. They thrive on people who see the whole picture — the patient in front of them, the team behind them, and the system holding it all together.

There’s a certain kind of person in every office. They know everything — who’s unhappy, who’s leaving, who shouldn’t be trusted with sensitive emails, who cried in the bathroom last Thursday. They hear it all. And yet, somehow, their name never shows up in whispered complaints or HR emails or “just between us” follow-ups that spiral out of control. They are present but untouched.

can you believe it — a moment of actual, uncomplicated good news. A R2.75 per litre fuel price drop, landing right on December 31. Not a rumour. Not a “maybe next month.” Real, tangible relief. The kind you feel immediately, standing at the pump, watching the numbers climb slower than your heart expects them to. It’s one of the biggest single decreases in recent years, driven by a steadier Rand and softer global oil prices.

When Criticism Turns Into Sport Lately, it has become hard to ignore how easily people seem to find joy in hating Pearl Thusi. Not by questioning her work. Not by engaging with her ideas. But by attacking her existence, her grief, her womanhood, her friendships, her past, and even how she carries herself in public. You do not have to be a fan of Pearl Thusi to see this.

This time of year has a way of bringing everything to the surface. Christmas clothes need to be bought, school terms are ending, family visits are being planned, and calendars start filling up with shared responsibilities. For many co-parents and blended families, the festive season is not only about celebration. It is also a reminder of what has changed and what still needs to be navigated.

Today, we say goodbye to a voice that moved through our radios, our screens, and our lives with ease.A voice that knew how to hold a room, lift a mood, and connect people across cultures, generations, and cities. DJ Warrick Stock, known to so many as DJ Warras, was more than a broadcaster and DJ. He was a storyteller, a cultural bridge, and a son of the soil who never forgot where he came from.

It’s That Time of the Year Again It happens every year without fail. December rolls in, decorations appear, and suddenly there is a message in the group chat announcing that Secret Santa has begun. Names will be drawn. Rules will be set. Excitement will be forced. I usually avoid these things. Not because I lack festive spirit, but because experience has taught me that Secret Santa often delivers disappointment dressed up as cheer.

There are moments when it’s not the situation itself that gets under your skin, but the audacity wrapped around it. The way something is handled. The assumption that you won’t notice. The quiet expectation that you’ll accept less, stay quiet, and move on without question. That’s usually where the real irritation lives. Because most of the time, the issue isn’t complicated.

Dear Netflix, You’ve been around long enough to feel like part of the furniture. For many South Africans, you were the first streaming service that made sense, the one that changed how evenings looked and weekends felt. You became a habit before you became a brand, and for a long time, that worked in your favour. But familiarity is a fragile thing.

Dear Amazon, When you finally launched in South Africa, the reaction wasn’t hysteria or blind excitement. It was measured curiosity. We looked, we clicked around, we compared, and we waited to see how you would behave once the novelty wore off. That’s how South Africans are. We don’t fall in love with brands on arrival. We watch how they move when things don’t go perfectly.

Dear Temu, When you arrived in South Africa, most of us were genuinely curious. New platforms always bring a sense of possibility, especially in a country where people are constantly looking for better value and more choice. But curiosity only lasts when it’s met with honesty. When it isn’t, it turns into something else entirely. Right now, what many South Africans feel about you isn’t anger.