My way. A journey through life from Johannesburg to Cape Town

The fire outside crackled softly, its embers casting a golden glow against the darkened sky. The night was silent save for the faint rustle of leaves and the distant call of the wind. The world seemed at peace, as though it, too, was resting before the weight of the days to come.

As the weeks turned to months, the trust between us grew unshakable. What had started as an idea was now tangible, etched into the lives we touched and the futures we shaped. The wells we dug brought more than water – they brought dignity and hope, a testament to the power of vision and purpose.

On the final evening of this chapter, Konstantin and I stood outside, the stars above reflecting the firelight below. The vast landscape we had transformed stretched out before us, illuminated in hues of amber and crimson as the night closed in.

“To think this was once just a vision,” I said, my voice tinged with awe.

“And now,” Konstantin replied, his tone resolute, “it is a legacy. But not one to rest upon. This is only the foundation of what we will build.”

His words resonated deeply, filling the stillness with certainty. This was more than ambition – it was something eternal, something that would outlive us both.

“You make the impossible feel inevitable,” I said, glancing at him, the firelight catching the sharp lines of his features.

“And you,” he replied, his voice steady, “make it happen. Together, Eugеnie, we are not just building projects. We are building a future – one that will endure.”

I turned back to the horizon, the vast expanse of possibilities stretching endlessly before us. The night was quiet, the fire’s warmth a silent witness to our resolve. And in that moment, I knew with absolute certainty that this was not the end, but the beginning of something far greater.

You’ll miss me through the long and restless night,

And time will fail to heal your aching plight.

You’ll come to see, in separation’s haze,

Each moment with me was a dreamlike maze.

Without my touch, you’ll burn in endless pain,

Loving me madly, as if bound by a chain.

You’ll finally know how I loved, how I stayed,

How I waited in silence, though my heart dismayed.

But you let it all slip, not knowing the cost,

The pain of forgetting, the self you have lost.

Forgive me for teaching you sorrow too late,

For longing for me, as your unyielding fate.

I fly through silence, through clouds without end,

The plane breaks the hush, yet my thoughts won’t bend.

My mind in chaos, entangled with care,

While my heart longs for silence, suspended in air.

On the pages of books, no symbols in vain,

No meaningless patterns in ink that remain.

For there lies the ache of a heart alive,

And love that shatters despair to survive.

Knotting paths as I tread, weary and worn,

With the weight of lifeless lines deeply borne.

The traveller lifts his gaze to the sky,

Where mercy of knowledge grants him to fly.

A desert unfolds in its golden expanse,

No mirage misguides him, no stumbling trance.

No poison tree looms, no anchor of dread,

But visions of life on a planet ahead.

I soar through the silence of clouds ever still,

The plane breaks the quiet, bends sky to its will.

In my heart lies the love of this life that I claim,

Living within it, I trust it again.

CHAPTER 6. A LEGACY WOVEN IN GLASS AND WATER

Konstantin’s story began long before he ever crossed my path. By the age of 27, he had already carved his place in a world not easily impressed. In the arid heart of Africa, where others saw only desolation, Konstantin discovered an untapped source of water – a revelation that would become the cornerstone of his first empire. From those humble beginnings, he built a glass factory, turning sand and gas into something transformative. The raw simplicity of his materials mirrored the clarity of his vision.

“Glass is a paradox,” he once said to me, his voice carrying the weight of both ambition and introspection. “Fragile yet enduring. It reflects, refracts, protects, and reveals. Much like life itself.”

Those words stayed with me. Konstantin’s foresight was unmatched. He anticipated shifts in energy conservation and food production long before others dared to dream of such things. His company’s stock soared as he implemented energy-efficient methods and expanded into sustainable practices. Yet, what set him apart was his uncanny ability to balance the material and the ethereal. Beneath the sharp precision of a businessman beat the heart of an artist, a poet, and a dreamer.

THE WEIGHT OF THE PAST, THE FIRE OF CREATION

My own family’s legacy was not unfamiliar with glass. My grandfather, after the war, had been sent to rebuild a glass factory, pouring his resilience and creativity into every piece. As Konstantin recounted his early years to me, I couldn’t help but see parallels between him and my grandfather. Both men believed in the transformative power of their craft, imbuing it with a sense of purpose far beyond its practical use.

“A house cannot truly be a home without water and a garden,” I told Konstantin one evening as we walked through one of his projects. “Concrete and stone are not enough. There has to be something alive within it.”

He paused, considering my words. “You’re right,” he said. “The soul of a building is in its light, its water, its breath. I try to design with that in mind.”

A VISION BEYOND BUSINESS