Good Riddance 2011!

I'm going to India! The land of colour, curries and extremities. You can't even fathom how excited I am - after growing up on a staple of Bollywood movies and after reading so many books describing this massively over-populated and mellifluous country, with it's melting rhythm of cultures and people - even the fact that the streets will be filled with thousands of disgusting spit-balls doesn't squash my excitement!

So, this is to be my last blog post in a rather long time (about 3 weeks max). Don't worry though, I've got my journal and will be happily jotting down everything I see and hear and taste and smell and feel! It's going to be a sensory over-load and I know I'm going to love every minute of it! I'll come back spewing my experiences onto The Pinus in a truly retard fashion!

My packing's done and right now I'm just eagerly awaiting the arrival of tomorrow morning...come 7:00am I officially become a globe trotter up up up in the air!

Goodbye for now my lovely retards, I wish you all a Merry Christmas and an ecstatically fabulous New Year! - I'll be somewhere in Delhi, watching the fireworks and dancing to some obscure hindi song in the streets (in true Bollywood style), but I'll be thinking of all my wonderful friends still wallowing in a South African summers festive, bright, bubbly, hot and insanely ayoba New Years celebration!

Make a wish on a star for me and I'll pick you every colour India paints for me!

XXXO!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

December is the month of Birthdays on my calendar - there is no other month in my year, where I have so many birthdays to remember!
This post is in dedication to the girl who traipsed all over town with me in search of the single last Chocolate Log - all because I had an all consuming craving for one.

You're the cotton to my candy, the pop to my corn and the brownie to my avalanche! Dude, I think I loved you since the day you drank copper-sulphate in grade four - even I wasn't crazy enough to try that. And over the years, you just kept on giving me reasons to love you even  more - your dimples for one, the way you talk so fast that even I sometimes can't understand you (and you know that's a stretch considering how fast I talk myself), the way you always have a smile on your face and the way you look as if you have a nuclear bomb about to go off inside you when you have something to tell me.

This girl, lovely people of planet Earth, used to bring lunch for me to school every day; she used to pitch up at my house at 8am with KFC for breakfast; she used to bake me a batch of blue cupcakes just because I said that I had a craving for them. She's one of the most selfless people I know. A true friend.

I remember the days of surfing on sunshine - when nothing I did was too crazy or outlandish, when even looking like a drenched out, half drowned raccoon, she still looked at me and said, "you know, I do quite love you too". The same girl who, when everyone thought I was mad to spin around in the rain, she ran out to spin with me too. Oh Bob, what would I have done without you all these years? That's a question I don't think I can possibly answer, because she's become so integrated into my world that it's like wondering, "Oh what would I do without you Left Arm?"

So the point of this is me, proposing a toast (common, raise your virtual glasses everyone, nobody is watching I swear), to the only girl I know who will kiss a camel to say thank you for the ride instead of just patting it on the head: may Life bring you new and unexpectedly pleasant surprises, may your dreams come true and your aspirations be realised, may you forever be wonderfully healthy and happy.

I Love You, Bob the Builder.

XXXO
Your Smurf.

Kay's Cradle

When I was little, my weeks were divided between the middle of nowhere (Stanger), and the middle of somewhere (Durban). My Mum was the first of her siblings to marry, and so too, the first to have a child - Me. For years I enjoyed the lofty and much enviable status of the only child in that household - fawned over by my grandparents and spoilt rotten by my aunties and uncle. They were so besotted with me (and yes, I say that with a smug, affectionate smile), that nearly every weekend, either one of my mother's siblings (or even all of them), would drive up to our cosy flat, pick me up and cart me off to Durban for a weekend (or sometimes even week) of fun, junk and tomato sauce.

My Mum's eldest sister, Kay, was the aunt who majored in the art All Things Fun: I could always count on her to have a stash of chocolates hidden not-so-efficiently in her room or to come home from work in a fantastic mood carting me off to the Movies or to get some ice-cream (or both). And the weekends were never dull either - we'd go to the beach and the flea markets, to the animal farm and the fun fair, to mini-town or the dolphin show; there were always people to see and places to go. It was a happy-coloured-chocolate-flavoured-candy-coated kind of bonding time. On some days, she'd even take me to work with her, and I remember I didn't even find that tedious (she's the kind of person who manages to make almost anything fun) - especially since, like at home, there was always sweets to be got. She had this nifty gadget, Newton's Cradle (its a series of swinging spheres, if one is pulled away and let to fall, then the impact produces a shock wave that propagates through the intermediate balls...that ball strikes the next ball in the series and comes to a complete stop. The ball on the opposite side acquires most of the velocity and almost instantaneously swings in an arc about as high as the first ball), on her desk, and I remember, I used to be so fascinated by it (still am if truth be told).

Kay taught me many lessons. The most important, I feel it necessary to share:
1) Chocolate is good (repeat: chocolate stash).
2) Disney is genius (She took  me to the see the Lion King, among others).
3) Science is fun (Newton's Cradle).
4) Dogs are friends (She got me my first - and so far only - dog: Simba).
5) Be Yourself, coz YOU are awesome (she led by example).

It's her birthday today, and I felt it necessary to share it with the world (and Loyal Followers), because you see Dear Readers, she is one of my inspirations in life. She has always been my friend first and my aunt second, my other Mother, my initial mentor.

Happy Birthday Apakhala, I love you lot's and lot's. I hope you know and never forget that, and I hope that one day I can repay you for all you've done for me.

Fortune Cookie No2. I am NOT a muggle.

A post has been in order for a great many days...and I'm ashamed to say I just haven't had the energy or brain power to go ahead and bang the keyboard. Setting aside the fact that, that sentence reads so wrong in so many different ways, I'm going to tell you about the one fact of life I've come to accept: Change. It's everywhere, all around us - not just in the weather: coz admit it, the weather these days has turned into a real fucktardian mood bender hasn't it. Hot, cold, sunny, cloudy, rain, wind: it's a hundred and three seasons all  in one day. Anyway, back to life's fact (change). I'll take you through it step by step, the long walk to realisation (since I'm going to teach for the rest of my legendary life, I may as well practice on you guys - if I mess you up I won't be held accountable see).
Exhibit A:
Joel...has changed. He's no longer the retard, otees-and-nesquik-captain-planet-elemental-hero, kinda guy I'd grown to know and love. I don't see him as the guy who inspired this surprisingly read (thank you World and Loyal Followers) blog - Pinus is no longer his deal. Thursday 17th March...wasn't such a far off account. I guess I lost him, even back when he used to be right next to me. Friendships change - even the best of them. You know someone and then turn around a few times and you can't recognise them - the saddest part is, I liked the old him. It's like playing hide and seek, sometimes I catch a glimpse, but before I can shout, "GOTCHA!", he's disappeared again. I've accepted that though, people will change. If not for THE best, for their best. And a lot of the times, you can't fault them for it either - after all, the human species beat the dinosaurs; change is in our DNA; we adapt to survive.
Exhibit B:
Global warming has ruined my summer (the weather could NOT be summed up in two lines - the bitch needs an entire paragraph). I've spent more time being sick than I have actually soaking up the Vitamin D. In previous years, summer was a stretched out, icicle flavoured affair, spent splashing about in the pool and getting burnt to a crisp at the beach. STOP KILLING THE ATMOSPHERE PEOPLE...I miss the days where we just had one season in a day - in the one season it was supposed to be in. Change is responsible for this, I'm certain of it. More penguins are dying than before - I can feel it in my bones. It's because we keep using up more than we should and manufacturing more than we need, all to appease the monster called consumerism. (Fight Club -English 101 - wasn't lost on me see). Which sort of brings me back to exhibit A - the more we evolve, the more change there is, and the more we consume, and so...the more global warming fucks us over.
Exhibit C:
Harry Potter...do you remember back in the day, when it all began - with the little shack in the middle of the ocean and Hagrid barging in to rescue us from the horrible Dursley's with his all mighty umbrella? Yeah, I think back to that squashed and soggy blue and white birthday cake too and smile fondly. Fuck off Professor Quirrell, I'll punch you in the fucking nose bitch - you're nothing but a spectre Voldemort and in the 7th book I vaporise you (that's what I shout out now days when I reread it). Back in the day, before DVD's became popular, I killed my Video cassette of the Philosophers Stone, just so I could learn all the spells (there were only so many times you could watch something back then before it blew up). We're the generation that grew up in an alternate universe - one where we learnt spells and fought off Basilisks and flew on Hippogriffs - we were the cool generation....the times have changed though, nowadays, kids are running after vampires that sparkle. I mean seriously, freaktards, SPARKLE? Dracula is probably turning in tomb, screeching, "WHY?! MY LIFE'S WORK! ALL CHUCKED UP FOR A FAGGOT?!" Sorry Twilight fans, after the brilliance of Harry Potter and the epic history that vampires have cultivated, I simply cannot condone any vampire that sparkles - except maybe Alice, and that's only because she's awesome and can't create a child with her frozen dead vampire sperm. Like, SERIOUSLY? Times, have definitely changed.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Change...change is the sore throat before the flu letting you know you're fucked. But, I guess change is also...the bud you see before the full blown rose. It's the sun in the morning chasing away the dark and the stars in the evening when the world slips to sleep. Change is part of life. It's tangible, it's inevitable. Change...change my lovely lovely people of Planet Earth, is something I will never quite cheer on, but also something I can never do without.

Fortune Cookie says: Change is like Pi. After a certain point, we never know what number is coming next (well us normal nerds, not the hardcore geeks).

Unsung Hero's

My Heart is the most tenacious creature I've ever encountered. It's not an organ you know, it doesn't just beat. It smiles, and it breathes, and it laughs and cries itself to sleep - it loves and hates, it throws itself against its cage - it fights against all odds, every time you think it's dead. It gets thrown against a wall, and trampled all over...and still gets back up, dusts itself down, and flings itself over the next great cliff. No matter how many times it gets cut up, it somehow manages to mend back together and bounce on to the next adventure - it lives!

And I live in awe of this Heart of mine. Yet again, it's taught me that nothing is too great to overcome: if you just have the will. 

For the first time in a long while, I've realised that I'm ok. I'm not a shell, or a hive of unanswerable questions. I'm not a bundle of brittle nerves and raw-wounds. I can think of all the things that once hurt me, and smile. Because a broken heart has nothing more to fear. And once it's learnt how to fix itself...it's just about invincible. 

Appreciate your little tenacious creatures dear readers of the world, they're your unsung hero's.

Black Tuesday

I haven't been able to log in here for a while - as my contemporary in the blogging world, Sadiyya Sheik suggested, it probably has something to do with the new awesome layout: nothing is perfect. (Might I add, you probably want to check out her blog! The Last Tether). So, anyway, my blogging powers have returned, at just the right time - or wrong, depending on the way you look at it.


Today is Tuesday the 22nd November 2011, the day the Secrecy Bill was waved through, the day we wave farewell to our young democracy of 17 years...


When I first heard about this, I thought to myself, "Now, I'm not a law student, but I know enough to gather that a bill has to be passed by legislature ( parliament/congress) first, and then (usually) approved by the executive branch of government."
I thought that there was still a chance that the bill wouldn't grow into a statute or act. I know, a lot of people would call me naive and a lot of people would laugh at my baseless optimism in the leaders of our country...a lot of people would be saying under their breaths, or with contempt, "you fool." 
And maybe I was. Maybe I was a fool for being a stalwart crusader for the hope that possibly the people 'at the top' had enough honesty in them to lock away their avarice...


Did all those Apartheid hero's fight and suffer and in many cases, die, in vain? Is the democracy they so valiantly gave their all for, the democracy that 17 years ago was so celebrated, already gasping out it's last breaths? Translucency should prevail in a democracy - it is how everyone has a say in what goes on, it is how citizens monitor their elected government, it is how a governing body stays in check...


I lived in the foolish hope, that South African politicians still had enough of the original democratic governments' character, to do the right thing - and ensure that, that is all this Secrecy Bill remained: a Bill.


But my hope was delusive. And our politicians and 'public servants' have no understanding of the fact that, a "Democracy without transparency is not democracy, it's just an empty word". 

"Our deepest fear, is not that we are inadequate..."

It's not exactly a memory. Or a feeling. It's sort of a mental film strip that keeps playing over and over and over again in my head...usually at the most unlikely moments. It's sort of sweet nostalgia I guess. Not a pining for what once was, but a wondering over whether it will ever come around again. But that's the enigma of Life...I think. Or maybe I'm just hoping, hoping that if I don't hold Life to it, it can't disappoint me. So I pretend to be nonchalant - Maybe it will, maybe it won't. And if it doesn't, I could just say that I wasn't really holding my breath for it anyway.

It's like you know, that chill that creeps into your bones on a cold winters day. Even when I'm out in the sunshine, it will sneak up on me, and give me frost bite...a memory. I think the reason I hold onto those memories is because I don't believe that I'm ever going to be able to make new ones that could ever replace them. It seems like quite a masochistic thing to think, I know. But, if I admit it, and now that I've started writing, I guess this is a confession of sorts...I'm not afraid of the dark any more. I used to be terrified of it, because it always felt as if I wasn't alone in it; as if there was always someone else there with me, even when there wasn't. I'm not afraid of the dark. I realised I'm more afraid, of being alone. 

Do you believe in Fairies?

This is an inspired blog (ok, especially inspired). I just watched Finding Neverland, and it just reaffirmed my belief that Peter Pan was one of the greatest stories of all time. More important to me was the inspiration behind it. It only proved to me, that in my tumble-down-chocolate-flavoured-candy-coloured existence, I was doing something right. See, my philosophy is made up of two parts:

1.  It's not where you're at. It's who you're with.
2. The journey is more important than the destination.

I scheme if you can wrap your head (and your attitude) around those two notions, you'll be ok. Because every curve ball will turn into a game, and you'll realise that every person you meet, no matter who, is another character in the greatest play of all. You'll learn to glance at the future and live in the now, savour every step that takes you there and remember every detail that you leave behind. People will turn into living, breathing, laughing, tear-capable beings instead of commodities that you trade in at every fuel-stop in your life, on the way to wherever it is you ultimately hope to reach - because if you don't realise this, once you get wherever it is you hope to eventually get, and you find you're all alone, suddenly, it doesn't seem so worth it all any more. How you get there is more important that where you're going, and if you don't have the right company, no expedition will be worthwhile. 

Fortune Cookie No1

Dear World (and Loyal Followers),


Another one of my insomnia-fused nights. This one, is induced by a good feeling though, instead of the horrible-stone-heavy-gut-wrenching one of the past few months.
"And so, it ends" (my rather tragic sounding post in August) wasn't really the end. Boy, am I glad.
It just proves, I think, that sincerity can go a long way...and true friendships never really die. Sometimes all that's needed is honesty, and a little bit of humbling - Oh, I was definitely humbled. 
So, just remember that. Remember that you're never too big, or too little, to say that five lettered, two-syllable word. And remember too, that mean it when you say it - that's the magic of it, the reason why it works - the wholeheartedness. You've got to say it with your heart, and not half of your heart either.
Some friendships are just too precious to turn your back on. Never forget that. Life's like an ocean, with all it's tempestuous moods and moments, scary inhabitants and beautiful wonderlands: drop a gem in the ocean and chances are you won't ever find it again...rather clench your fist and hold on to it tight; sometimes you might slip up, sometimes it might slide, but never, let it go. 


Fortune cookie says, "Live like Pi."
You have to figure that one out on your own <smile>.

3 Bags Full

I spent my day singing "Ba Ba Black Sheep" and "Humpty Dumpty" in exaggerated tones. This was because one of the kids at school kept crying all the time, so I was put on babysitting duty, involuntary, because she decided that I wasn't allowed more than 30cm away from her. It was cute seeing the little kid's (we'll call her Pip) face light up every time, but somewhere in between my one hundredth go at "have you any wool?" and "all the kings horses", the little voice in my head asked, really? Are you really doing this? Forever? NO! I just about mentally shouted at it, causing me to waver in my all-too-lively rendition, which caused Pip's bottom lip to quiver all too dangerously and made me clap my hands on my face and exclaim, "couldn't put humpty together again!" in my most sugared-up voice EVER (like I'd been stuffing my face with hard candy for the past three days). She beamed and clapped and squealed in delight...and a tiny bit inside me flickered and died.
I don't think that's a good sign.

Dear Mother Nature, I'm so sorry we raped you.

I hear SA has like upped the world population to 7 billion? Damn, China you let me down! Imagine that huh (to be honest though, I always thought that we'd hit the 7 billion mark long ago, despite what statistics say - I don't really tend to always trust them). I'm having one kid, let it be known -that's my contribution to SAVING THE WORLD and by association, Penguins.


Also, I found myself reading rubbish recently: silly hogwash romantic novels - that usually make me want to throw up (actually they still do), but in addition, I find myself smiling at the absurdity of how everything just magically happens to fall together at the exact time that they're supposed to. These are the reason why girls fall hopelessly 'in love' and end up getting their hearts broken a hundred times. Waste of paper - waste of trees. Write less drivel and SAVE THE WORLD! (we'll have more oxygen for the 7 billion plus inhabitants). Plus future generations won't be as stupid as this one is turning out to be (apologies to those who aren't characters out of a bad zombi movie), because they'll be reading meaningful literature and not foggy little romances about nothing and the end of fashionable society. (I do enjoy the classics much though, those are important. There's more to them than pathetic swooning and hot flushes).

And have you noticed how much of food people throw away a day? I hate to sing the same old dreary song, but REALLY, PEOPLE IN SOMALIA WOULD KILL FOR YOUR TRASH. That's not even an exaggeration you know. It sickens me, to see the amount of perfectly good food that gets tossed in the rubbish, because nobody's bothered to finish their lunch, or even fruit that's simply bruised, or candy! Candy would be like...it would be like GOLD in Somalia (red meat would be platinum I scheme - I saw this huge-ass-massive-scary looking bull at the farm, so scary I wasn't willing to go more than five metres near it, even though there was a gate between us, and I swear my first thought was, "Yoh, imagine if we sent that thing to Somalia!" those people would be on it like a bees on a hive). But see, it's amazing, disgusting actually, that nobody around here thinks how lucky they are to be eating a gob of steak, or munching on their so loathed broccoli (Silver). Even I started eating things I hated, simply because Mum put them on the table, and I remembered that people on that end of the world would probably punch the lights out of their own parents to get even half the portion I have. Sick to the gut. We live in a world of greed, where everyone wants more, but increasingly as of late, there's so much less to give.

We keep taking out more than we can replenish. You know what that's essentially called? Stealing. When you take something and don't return it, you're stealing. In essence, we're stealing away our own futures and that of the next generation too.

*Sigh*

Anyway folks, I'm out for now. Sleep well. Don't moan about your peas, read less trash and try to curb your urge to produce a family the size of a mini soccer team. The crux of the matter, SAVE THE damn WORLD! We have nowhere else to go if we finish off this one.

Eyes black, big paws and, it's poison

There's a song that's grown on me, by Fever Ray -  and I've listened to a few other songs of theirs: negative. It's not the sort of song that usually would get stuck in my head, so I'm not sure if I should be disturbed with my preference or if I'm just broadening my tastes (which given the nature of the song, I scheme would be disturbing in any case). It was written specially for Red Riding Hood (which wasn't all too great in itself - but I enjoyed it nonetheless [it was good to see Billy Burke playing a role directly opposite to his meek one in Twilight]).

 But, go ahead and taste this one, and tell me if your palate agrees with me. It's called, "The Wolf".

Uncle Bruce

Living in South Africa makes me feel like this rare and exotic creature. Well, it did during the FIFA Soccer World-Cup 2010 anyway. At the moment, I just feel like this crazy character from one of Steven Spielberg’s films, who keeps going through the same motions every single day – like they’re stuck in a time loop, you know? The only difference is, the details change.

I plan on moving out of this country in any case. Give it five to six years and then I’m packing my bags and exiting sharpish. As they say, when the going gets tough, the tough get going. I scheme it’s my only chance to actually live – without the fear of being hijacked at gun point right outside your front gate. I mean, just this morning, my dad was telling me, “If they try to hijack you, give them the keys. Throw it to them and move away from the car. Don’t try to be a hero or anything”. I’d nodded sagely and assured him that I would NOT try to take out one of my would be hijackers all by my lonesome 4.75 year old self. And besides that, Uncle Bruce (well he’s not my real uncle or anything – but I’ve known him for like EVER, he even painted faces at a few of my birthday parties when I was a kid) got shot right outside his flat. 


He hears this girl screaming, and runs (like a great gun) after the perp who tried to force entry into her house.
“Next thing you know – now it’s like something out of a horror movie," goes Uncle Bruce, "no, even the scariest horror movie you’ve seen isn’t like this – bha bha bha bha, these bullets are flying everywhere, there I’m ducking and covering my head, and I’m terrified and you have bullets ricocheting off the walls and I don’t know which one is coming from where and next thing, I feel like someone blew up my leg! And down I’m on the floor and this guy comes up to me with the gun in his hand, looks down at me, point blank range, aims the gun while looking into my eyes and I’m thinking, ‘it’s over. I’m gonna die. It’s THE END’, and ‘click click’, the gun is empty. But he goes over to Vinesh and does the same thing, ‘click click’. Can you believe it? The sadism? I tell you these people. No regard for human life! And then he walks away, calm as you please. Now I’m lying here in a pool of blood, and this young girl after hearing the bullets runs downstairs when everything is quiet, and starts screaming, ‘oh my GOD, Uncle Bruce! Just look at you! Look at your leg!’ and this child is sobbing and she runs to Vinesh, ‘oh my GOD Vinesh! You’re bleeding too!’ and she runs back to me, ‘oh my GOD! OH MY GOD!’ and she’s running back and forth between us and all I’m thinking is, ‘call a bloody ambulance you little chit’,” and that’s his version of what happened - which I'm pretty sure, is pretty accurate. Anyway, Uncle Bruce showed us his x-rays, he looks really cool, like wolverine – he’s got these metal rods stuck in him.
“Well, Uncle Bruce,” I told him when we were leaving after visiting him, “I’ve learnt one thing from you at least.”

“Yeah, what’s that my angel?” he asks.

“Never run after a guy with a gun”.

He used some colourful words to describe me after that, but he was smiling. That’s Uncle Bruce for you, shot up and bed bound, but still taking the piss out of life. Oh I love him. And so would you, if you knew him that is.

The Real WMD

I was watching CNN today and heard, "The president said he was making good on his 2008 campaign pledge to end a war," and I thought to myself, about time. And then I heard the rest of it, "that has divided the nation since it began in 2003, and claimed more than 4,400 American lives." And the gross injustice of it all slammed into my gut like a sucker punch. 
Type in "Iraq War" in Google Images and you're bombarded with images of US troops. Type in "Iraqi lives lost in war" in Google Web and the first link will point you to your required  website, while the next six or so will link you to the heroic deaths of US troops. The Iraqi death toll as estimated last year, 2010 (reported by ABC News), was over 100 000. None of these news reports now even make mention of that fact - which, I'm sure, has grown since. Forget troops, Iraqi CIVILIANS, hundreds of thousands of them, have paid the ultimate price. 

But how many people stop to think of all of that? Why is it, that the lives of 4,400 American's is worth more than 100 000 (+) Iraqi's? It is, undoubtedly, a good decision to pull US troops out of Iraq, but what I DO NOT CONDONE, is the way US troops are painted as such heroic martyrs - especially since, if they hadn't gone in there in the first place, there wouldn't be this huge bloody mess to contend with. 
Has this war on Iraq divided the American nation? Well, it has gutted  the Iraqi nation. It has wiped out entire families; maimed innocent civilians; parents have had to bury their children; children's' dreams for their future were simply, 'to be alive' - actually for many, even that was worse than not to be.
I find it intolerably disgusting, when the value of a human life varies according to which nation you belong to. The real weapon of mass destruction, is the debasing of human life - to believe that a peoples life is lesser to ones own, is to believe that the loss of that life is inconsequential - it's how every war began.

Today, I'm an Alpha B!tc#

Today was one of those days, where nearly everyone who tried to have a conversation with me (over the age of like 15) got themselves onto my, "I want to punch you in the nose" list. 
It got to a stage, where this old guy thought he was being absolutely hilarious and instead of giving me my damn KFC Brownie Avalanche, decided to make wierd-not-even-remotely-within-the-realm-of-funny jokes. There I was, window rolled down, leaning half my body out of the bloody car (coz yes, I am Smurf-sized), and he goes on wheezing like it's the most hilarious part of his day. And then he stops, and looks at me expectantly, as if I'm supposed to burst into ridiculous guffaws too. 
"I WILL PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE!" I yelled.
In my mind.
In reality, I said, "It's so hot, please can I have my ice-cream now" and smiled  (no, not a snarl), an actual (fake to the power of China) smile. 
Yes, that is an original Dash sketch. Pulled out of the archives. Highly appropriate considering my vicious mood.
Dear Karma, I hope you're making a note of this, you owe me one.

The Room of Requirement

My desk looks like a disaster zone. Even for me, it's a new record. It's the Japan of all desks.
I have nothing against cluttered desks (I have something against meaningless slop). My dear yellow-wood is sitting on a fine divide at the moment.
I think it has something to do with the fact that I ransacked my drawers and de-booked my shelves in an effort to re-organise (or rather, organise). Probably a rather bad idea for someone who's experience with putting things in order ranges from a pencil case to a ... all right, just a pencil case.
The thing is, I don't know where to put half the things. The little voice in my head says, just throw the damn things away. Logically, if I haven't missed it till I found it, it's not really essential to my survival (or sanity). But then, I feel like an insensitive bitch when I attempt to crumple it up and chuck it in the can. (Even if I don't read it any more - or even care that it exists - the person who wrote it, cared right? And then there's Karma. What if that person is on real friendly terms with it. And I get a bollocking, with like, knobs on?).
It's at times like this, when I really miss D. I think the real reason I have no idea how to avert a sloppy hell, is because she used to come and spring-clean my room annually. Having a best friend who's OCD tidy has definite perks. I need her superhuman powers of organisation round about...yesterday.
Anyway, I'm now stuck. Lost actually. In a city of novels, stationery, and a whole bunch of other things that I forgot I even possessed (like a dead rose for instance). I'm so tempted to just leave it all there and crawl into my bed, but I'm scared that when I wake up in the morning it will be alive. Or, the thought crosses my mind, an army of little people will magically appear and set everything in order.


I like the second scenario more. Goodnight Dear World.

Was I an arsonist in my previous life?

It’s Thursday. After coming home from school (yes school, where I teach though), I ran the risk of wilting into a mush of laziness by flopping down on my bed, and closing my eyes and pondering the risk of this current generation of 3-6year olds (who’s minds I have the profound and daunting task of helping to shape), being our future leaders. (Not to say our generation is any better – but I haven’t seen anyone my age dig their nose, inspect the booger and find it so tempting that they had to eat it...yet).

I decided thereafter, not to bring my work home with me. It seemed like the logical and sanity-saving thing to do. So I unearthed my stash of chocolate and curled up on the sofa to enjoy Michael Cera in the role of Nick Twisp in Youth in Revolt.

Wonder: Has anyone else noticed his repetitive choice in the roles of hormonally driven teenagers? (Superbad; Nick & Nora’s Infinite Playlist; Juno…Youth in Revolt).

He reminds me of a beanstalk. It’s the truth. A really talented beanstalk – because (and no one can argue with me on this point), he is, talented in the art of delivering his lines with the perfect balance of irony and sincerity. He’s not just mocking the guy in the cashmere crème sweater who’s about to beat him up, he’s mocking his character, he’s mocking you, he’s mocking our whole gosh-damned generation. Whether you love him or hate him, he still seems to be laughing at you.

But anyway, this post isn’t about Cera, it’s about the movie. Put it on your must-see list. True to form of his sex-crazed adolescent roles, Nick Twisp, is obsessed with losing his virginity. Of course, he’s the mousy, sensible guy who’s intelligently witty but at the same time so monumentally boring to the A-lists in his world that no one spends more than 3minutes of their lives talking to him – thus his true social  potential  is never discovered. I say, righteous dude (I watched Finding Nemo again the other day) – I’d rather the guy who was being punched by the guy in the cashmere crème sweater, than the guy in the cashmere crème sweater. So, Nick creates this alter-ego: Francoise.

With the help of Francoise, our wimpy guy morphs into a suave, ciggi-junki, everything-French-loving charmer - whipping out one liners that are enough to buy him a place under the sheets of the girl he turns rebel for. 


Wonder: Does anyone else think that Cera is brilliant to be able to play someone who is ultra cool and bad-ass, while at the same time ridiculous with a ludicrous dress sense? And then at the turn of a head turn back into the uncool albeit intelligent master character?


One of my friends described the flick as wierd, I couldn't agree more. See though, that's what I admire about it. It's so real while being monumentally surreal. It's like Fight Club minus the combined good looks of Brad Pitt and Edward Norton (and the beating-yourself-up). Its full of wit and warped humour, good acting and a non-conforming plot.

Sweaty Palms and the Death of Justin Bieber...

So anyway, there I was, into like the second week of my first year at campus. Still adjusting to this big scary place (little did I know that just 2 weeks down the line I'd be traipsing all over it as if it were the length of my backyard), and I walk into Mtb (the tallest building on our campus), searching for my Tutorial room. There's a girl sitting outside the venue on the stairs, I smile at her uncertainly. It would be safe to say she smiled back - except that isn't entirely appropriate. Her whole face lit up, as if I'd just handed her a million bucks, it lit up like she'd been sitting and waiting for me there all morning and I'd just arrived.

"Excuse me, are you waiting for the English Tut too?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, in that scholarly voice of hers that I later came to realise she adopted when a) meeting new people b) discussing work c) talking to someone over the age of like retardation. It was actually rather disconcerting, because it was so out of sync with that amazing smile that had literally almost shocked me into tongue-tied-dom as I wondered, am I supposed to know her from somewhere???

"Mind if I sit here?" I asked.

"Not at all!" She beamed. And so I plonked myself down on the step below her.

I'll admit, at first I didn't even pronounce her name for fear of mispronouncing it (I'm not sure how I avoided addressing her by it for so long, but it was a good two or three days yet till I ventured to even try). We got to talking and I learnt that she was studying a BA Legal Studies with aspirations to become a lawyer.

We realised too, that there had been Tut work; since neither of us had bothered to do it, we scrambled madly with ten minutes to go, scribbling and scratching and copying each other till it was time to go in. Since we were the only two people who knew each other there we sat down together.

Our Tutor, Sheldon, was so wierd in this really cool way, and cute (in the way baby aliens would be cute I guess), that we immediately bonded over perving over him (only slightly I swear). The real shocker though, was when he asked us to pair up, and Bean grabbed my hand as if I were her only lifeline to like sanity or something and whispered urgently in my ear, "You HAVE to be my partner".

So, after that, we left the Tut, exchanged numbers and she hurriedly called to me as she headed off in the opposite direction, "Call me when you're stuck about this place with nothing to do. Meet up!" Back then I was a naive little jellybaby, so words like 'Meet up' I'm ashamed to admit, seemed ultra cool and other worldly. Secretly, I was mourning the fact that I'd never see her again (in a resigned sort of way) - campus was like that, most of the people you met, you hardly ever bonded with again.

Two days later, there I was sitting on Mtb steps with a whole hour to kill, and I was scrolling through my archaic phone, looking for someone to call up to kill it with...and happened upon the English Tut girls number. What the heck, I thought and hit the green button before I could chicken out.

"Hi! I'll meet you at Mtb in 5minutes!" was her chirpy reply and the call was cut before I'd even processed that Hi's, How Are You's and Hello's had never even been exchanged.

She was there in 5 minutes flat (the first and last time in all the time I'd know her that she was actually, to-the-dot punctual). We hugged (another thing I had to get used to on campus - at school hugging was, well restricted to like...when you hadn't seen each other all December), and she grabbed my hand and tugged me along, chattering all the way. All I gathered (because I was so amazed at her ability to pull me right into her world on our second meeting) when I finally did comprehend that she actually not only wanted to spend time with me, but introduce  me to her other friends, all I managed to croak out was, "My hand is real sweaty, you don't have to hold it".

She stopped, looked me straight in the eye, and said the most wonderful thing in the world, "You're my friend. I don't care if it's sweaty", and smiled. She tightened her grip on my hand, the serious moment smothered by her excited babbling, and pulled me along. I felt her grip on my sweaty palms echoed on my bounding heart. That moment right there, sealed our friendship.

"OMG Dash you HAVE to see this guy, he's so cute!" she greeted me breathlessly outside Mtb. It was many months down the line from our first English Tut, the second semester to be precise, and we'd never been separated since that day. She was gushing about this guy in her Dutch Lecture. She'd told me about him before, and this morning she was insistent that I accompany her and check him out.

The familiar grasp of her hand, comforted me and I breathed in her scent happily as she smiled her heart out and talked in repetitive sentences in barely contained anticipation.

At the time, I thought he looked like a Justin Bieber wannabe (and I told her so), except I sort of liked him, while I sort of detested Bieber. I watched her sneak furtive glances and blush conspicuously next to me. I was half listening to the lecture and half desecrating the sacred Japanese art of origami with my own monstrous creations.

"I need Pritt," I whispered to her, "Ask him for Pritt".

"No," she hissed back.

"Yes!"

The lecturer bore down on me with all the grandeur of an elephant seal. Uh-oh, I thought. Turns out, the topic was about Muslims in the Netherlands, and of course because I was wearing a scarf that day, my thoughts on the matter obviously, well...mattered. I sat there and nodded my head seriously at everything he said, while he beamed down at me from between his tusky beard (I would not have been so enthusiastic in all my head-nodding, if I'd known that he actually wanted me to VOICE my opinions on the matter), "Well Sir," I said respectfully, before launching into gosh-knows what - I honestly can't remember what I said to him, but it seemed to satisfy him, because he waddled away satisfied and certain that every student of his was as engrossed and knowledgeable as I sounded to be (what he didn't know was that I could spin a story at the top of my head to save my skin whenever I needed to).

I did talk to Lin that day, though what I said then too escapes me. Something along the lines of, "It was nice meeting you" I think. (I hope).

In the beginning I was sceptical of Lin (truth be told). I was sitting on the fence of this romance, waiting to see which tide it swept off with. What mattered most was that Bean was happy though. I sent Lin psychotic mental vibes along the lines of, "I sort of approve of you, but you hurt her and I'll punch your heart out" (I'm pretty sure he never picked them up). Lin, I will admit (I seem to be confessing a lot in this post huh), grew on me. And since sitting on the fence is rather painful, I picked a side - but only after he cut off his VO5 flick for her - after that I figured, he'd probably go to the ends of the earth for her.

I saw this picture today, and my heart did this wierd twisted-flip over itself-splutter-type move in my ribcage. THAT guy over there is Lin; THAT'S the guy I was sceptical about; THAT'S the very same one who, in my post "P Sherman 42 Wallabyway Sidney" in April, wiped my snotty nose on his jacket (I'm also thinking eeeew - but see, he's just THAT awesome!) and hugged me till I stopped sobbing like a two year old. And THAT, THAT beautiful girl next to him is my Bean; THAT is the girl who laughs when I laugh, cries when I cry (sometimes even when I can't cry for myself); threatens to F-up anyone who dares even glare at me, and holds my revoltingly sweaty palms no matter how icky they are; Wonderful, smart, blond, popping, simply amazing G of a Bean. 

It's their 1st Anniversary Dear World and Amazingly Loyal Followers, so give them a round of applause please. I love them you see, more than chocolate even, and I wish them only the best of happiness and patience and love in the years to come.

I could kick Rumplestiltskins ass

Honestly, I'm not a fan of fairytales.
They're these obscenely sugar coated lies that parents feed their naive little children (it's the reason, I scheme, for the explosion in recent generations' metabolic tolerance for idiocy).

I mean really,

a) NO ONE has hair that someone else can climb.
b) Mirrors do NOT reply.
c) Not everyone who offers you an apple is an evil witch who is out to poison you.
d) Anyone named Dopey is probably not sleepy, just a junkie.
e) There is no matronly type fairy god mother who appears in a cloud of sparkly stuff to grant you a wish everytime you turn into a sad sloppy snivelling puddle of tears and snot.
f) Kissing a frog does not make it turn into a prince, Freaktards.
g) Prince charming may be as likely to carry you off into the slave trade in like Nigeria (or somewhere) as he is to carry you off into the sunset.

Essentially, what I'm saying is, if you want to join the ranks of the awesome and realistic, you need to ditch Fairytopia PRONTO (like count back to the day you were born pronto).

Eid 2011

Eid this year was, (as usual), highly anticipated and prepared for well (WELL!) in advance. It came and it went: a blur of cacophony, colour and laughter with the food and drinks thrown in for good measure. The house was fit to burst with children and adults, fresh sea-breeze and the aroma of delicious eats. Squeals of delight and excitement from the children, pierced the constant chatter of the adults - on Eid, no one minded whether they ran in or out, up or down, ate a cupcake (or two, or three, or four), or overdosed on chocolates. Lunch time arrived, and the elegantly laid tables squeezed in more than they catered for, the briyani that mum had spent all of the day before cooking to perfection was salivated over, the kola-tonic and lemonade passed from hand to hand, and the jokes rolled out like ribbons as the sumptuous spread and comfortable companionship was enjoyed. After a while, it was time to open presents, and wrappers where ripped apart while fumbling fingers and wide, expectant eyes found surprise and delight in even the smallest packages - it wasn't so much WHAT you got, it was the simple pleasure of giving and receiving.

Sitting there among my family that Eid, I remembered why it was exactly, that despite it all, I loved them.

RetardLove (Friendship): In Dedication to all the Retards in my life :)

You can know thousands of people, but there will only be a handful that manage to make your heartbeats smile.

I’m a big fan of friendship. It’s the one thing that keeps me a float (that and the Hope that somewhere out there is the perfect divine-cupcake

Friendship is the smile at the end of a crappy day. It’s the silence we share walking together. The laughter: uncontrollable, tummy-clutching, rib-wracking, breath-catching laughter over everything and nothing at the same time. It’s the *smack* you get for being retarded, and the hug when you need it most. It’s sharing lunch and bites of chocolate, bargaining for sips of Milo, and digging around in each other’s bag for gum. Friendship is the secrets shared when sitting on a bench, the feel of someone’s palm in yours, the reassuring pat on your shoulder that lets you know you've got back-up. Friendship is the warm-fuzzy-cotton-candy-melted-toffee feeling that runs through your veins when you’re together. The happy bubble that threatens to burst at any given moment. The scramble to copy homework, the encouragement to study when you least feel like it, the Kleenex you wipe your nose with when the world starts chopping its onions in front of you.

Friendship is the cherry on top, the sugar sprinkles and cream to go…Friendship is Us.

Fish my Life

So, after I heard about the Liverpool-Arsenal match that I missed two days ago I was going to go "FML" (in that absurdly tragic way that I can) but didn't because I realised it would have been sort of blasphemy wouldn't it, considering that it's Ramadaan and everything. I love Ramadaan you see, I just hate that the EPL begins in it. So anyway after getting over the disappointment, I consoled myself by jumping up and down in a rendition of the victory dance I WOULD have done HAD I watched the match. In the end though, it's not the same as spontaneously combusting into it after you've watched your team win.
On the bright side (pun fully intended) the sun has come out to play again! Spring is on the way. Hip hip hooray!

Family Vacations - the trips they take you on, so you can't get tired of them and lock yourself away in your room (^^,)

Family vacations have been end of the year traditions for as long as I can remember (I'm not even being cheesy there).

The first vacation I remember, was our tour of Singapore, Malaysia and Thailand. There are whole albums dedicated to prized pictures (mementoes of far off places I have only vague, foggy recollections of). I, however, only took an interest in photography a few years back, and so, till I scrounge around for my expressions of Zimbabwe, Namibia and the UAE ...our last holiday to Port Elizabeth will have to do.

My four prized photographs will have to suffice, for what was a wonderful experience. It's true. You don't have to leave South Africa to have an amazing time. True, I didn't memorably skin my nose to amused on-lookers (in my excitement to be on a whole new continent), like I did in Thailand; or insist on pulling the chain at our bustop, but fall asleep and pull it long afterwards so we had to get off and trek a whole mile back in the middle of the night; or ride on an elephants back like in Singapore and be disgusted at it's greediness every time it reached it's trunk backwards for more banana's even when it had eaten all I had (I was 4 at the time, I had no notion or comprehension of just how much an elephant could possibly devour); or walk up hundreds of stairs to visit the golden Buddha's; or float on a raft of reeds wondering about those killer fish that might mince me up if I accidentally leaned too far over-board like my mother kept warning me not to do; or sat in a rickety little rick-shaw that threatened to capsize every time it turned a bend going faster than any of us imagined it could possibly go...

But, I saw the Hole in the Wall...and I played with Tiger Cubs and went on bumpy game-drives that jarred every bone in your body but left you in awe...and fell asleep (I won't lie) terrified because the full throated roar of a lion sounded as if it were inches from your doorstep, and a glass sliding door seemed a sorry excuse for protection against a 250kg+ killing machine...

(One of the Tiger cubs we played with. The Tigers, I must say, were far more daring than the little lions. Oh what FUN they were! This was the only one I got, because after he caught sight of me, up he came to investigate, and I happily handed away my camera in exchange for a roll in the grass with this little beauty).

(A Tigress at the Tiger enclosure at Kwantu Game-reserve. I will always be in awe of lions - thank Disney's The Lion King for that - but I still think that Tigers are the most regal of all big cats! I simply couldn't resist a click at such a classically imposing pose).

(A deer camouflaged in the bushes on one of our game drives - If I remember correctly, it's a water buck. I almost didn't see it as we drove by!)

(At the Beach @ the Hole in the wall, just before Sunset)

Yes, it is a pretty devious plot to force you to bond with them...but I have to give my parents credit - they have planned and successfully executed wonderful family vacations!

2010 in 6

A trip down memory lane...the stoney-cam, the nosey-cam...whatever you call it, you can't doubt that it's captured some memories :) (Now you guys know why I used to take tons of pictures!)

Who can forget Sameera's???

Joel

Lovers Lane

Sultry and sleepy

Who's a G??? Pop of course :D

Tarryn and Bhai acting out their own sappy hindi movie (minus the sappy love song (G))

D-Day

So, did I tell you? My best friend got married.

(oh hi! yes, I'm back...from Pluto).
That's not the only thing that's happened...I'm working too (look at me, I'm growing up! - Not).
Anyway, because I thought you'd love to see all about it, take a look at how gorgeous she looked. Courtesy of me, and my nosey-cam. P.s aren't those shoes stunning???

I've become so numb, i can't feel you there...

I miss old school Lp - while their new sound is well...interesting, I miss the Lp who gave us Papercut; Numb; Breaking the Habit; Faint; What I've Done...the Linkin Park that set the bar for alternative rock.

In all honesty I do not (DO NOT) dig the Lp c0ver of Adele's Rolling in the Deep (kudoz for making it such a likeness - not everyone can sing that pitch sure), but really...if it doesn't jump right into my veins and rush through me like a high voltage current, or reverbrate right down my spine...to me, it's not Lp.

P Sherman 42 Wallaby Way Sydney

Spinning in the rain, have you tried it? It’s a wonderful, dizzying feeling. On Wednesday I spun in the rain, like a lone Retard. And it made me laugh. Real laughter, not forced or make-believe, real laughter that had euphoria bubbling through my veins, rushing to my heart and sending loud, jumpy bursts of happiness out at each beat. Cue some music and hello Hindi movie.

I should have known right then though, that happiness really was just an occasional episode in the general drama of life (as Elizabeth Farfrae so eloquently put it in the Mayor of Casterbridge), because when I stopped spinning and my world stopped gyrating in a haze of colour, and I remembered that I wasn’t a little deer with a little yellow butterfly on her butt, vivid reality painted a sombre truth. I caught my balance just before the scales tipped, sending me tumbling off the precipice of melancholy.

So I did the only thing that I knew would calm my addled mind. I went to look for Nemo. That little fish somehow always seems to sooth me. Maybe it’s because I can talk to him and I know he’s not going to tell anyone else, or maybe it’s because sometimes we need to ask questions to which we really don’t want to be given an answer – and Nemo, never ever replies. He just listens (I’d like to pretend he does), swimming in and out of his little reef-like home: It amazes me how he can swim in virtually the same spot for hours, and I can stand there and watch him for about as long.

Though just when I thought that I was fine, just when I could begin my William Blake essay with a clear mind, along came Lin. Lin with a white Kit-Kat and everything’s-going-to-be-alright hug. And that’s when the rickety vault I’d managed to assemble cracked, and feeling the familiar arms of someone who cared, set me off blubbering like a three year old. Not many people who have their own woes to contend with, will wring you off your tears and wipe your nose and stroke your hair till you feel safe and stitched together again, but Lin did. Our worlds are full of people we may know, acquaintances who flit in and out of our lives lending a smile or a nod or sometimes even the knife that’s stuck in our back, but very few of those associates we can call Friend. Dear God, I thank you for my friend, Lin.

I’m sitting here in the dining room, looking out at the ocean. It’s a deep sapphire this morning, with gentle ripples to break its otherwise unmoving surface. How deceptive it is, don’t you think? There is a tumult in those depths, yet to the observer it seems as calm as a sleeping child. The sea reminds me, that still waters are never as they seem, immobility and tranquillity sometimes hide the furore at its core. The sea reminds me, of the heart.I’m sitting here in the dining room, looking out at the ocean. It’s a deep sapphire this morning, with gentle ripples to break its otherwise unmoving surface. How deceptive it is, don’t you think? There is a tumult in those depths, yet to the observer it seems as calm as a sleeping child. The sea reminds me, that still waters are never as they seem, immobility and tranquillity sometimes hide the furore at its core. The sea reminds me, of the heart.

Nothing Lasts Forever

I walked around in the rain yesterday. It was wonderful. I had my iPod jammed into my ears, the volume turned up, blotting out everything including my thoughts. Thoughts make me sad you see. I'd walked about, tilting my head up to see the dull silver of the sky. The water droplets, falling down, almost like the heavens had been flooded and the worlds ceiling was leaking. It was more of a drizzle, and my outstretched fingers wiggled through the chilly air, trying to catch the tears of the sky. I'd watched those water droplets slide off of leaves and stain the pavement with their gentle beat. The world is beautiful when it showers. Elegance in simplicity, I can stand and watch it unfold for hours. And my thoughts and tears were washed away, till the wound inside was raw. The rain is my antiseptic, and I knew, as it scrubbed the well of my heart dry, that I would one day heal. Because nothing lasts forever, not even pain.

Despite it all...in my world, there is no greater man...

I'm a Pisces. Which, I guess, means it’s only natural that I’ve been a water baby ever since I can remember, like a fish to water, that’s the expression isn’t it? Swimming is one of my catharses. I can swim and swim, up and down the length of a pool, till my body is exhausted and my mind is a blank slate of nothing, till I’m too tired to do anything including think. It’s one of the balms to my abrasion riddled soul. My Dad taught me how to swim. I still remember how he'd taken off my floaters that day and held me there, belly down, making me move my arms and kick my legs in a comical imitation of a stagnant freestyle. And then he’d let go, and I’d floundered, and sputtered and sunk in a thrashing mass of four-year old. But he’d been there, to pull me out before I even knew that I’d gone under and we’d tried again. And the only reason I’d kept on at it, was because I knew I wasn’t going to drown, I knew that every time I went under, he’d be there to pluck me back out. And then, eventually, he let go, and I was moving! A clumsy first lap, that had me utterly spent at the end, and when I reached the wall and grasped onto it with my tiny fingers and turned back, there he was at the start, clapping and beaming. And I coughed and sniffed and smiled my huge, gap toothed grin, then kicked off and swam all the way back to him. And when I reached him and he picked me up, out of the water and spun me about, I knew, he’d never let me drown. Ever.

He’d just taken my training wheels of my little pink bike, there I was, swathed in body armour like I was going into some kind of battle (which wouldn’t have been too far-fetched, considering I’d been at war with the ground since the day I first took my few teetering steps): elbow guards, knee guards, gloves for my hands and a bright blue helmet strapped to my head. A comic little knight atop a little pink bicycle: I would have laughed at me, if I wasn’t so concentrated on pedalling as fast as I could, and not toppling over. It was fine, I knew he was right behind me, latched on to my seat all the way, I wasn’t going to fall. And then suddenly I was moving so fast! And I looked behind to see his big grin and realised I was all on my own. He was all the way up the hill, smiling like Eid had come early, while I was whooshing down. And I remember my shriek of terror and delight, as I realised I was riding a bike, all by myself! I remember him clapping and whooping with me. And I remember, how I crashed at the bottom and how he’d run over to pick me up, and we both laughed and got me back on my bike so that I’d have another go, “You’ll be right behind me won’t you?”, I’d asked as we pushed my little pink steed up the driveway again, “Always” he’d replied.

And when I was eleven, we'd gone to Drakensberg as was tradition every year, and I'd learnt to ride a horse - not a little pony at the circus - a horse, and I've loved it ever since. And my Dad was the one who held the reigns when I got unsteady and when I was comfortable taught me to trot and canter and gallop. My Dad was the one who cupped his hands and hoisted me up and was right there to bring me back down. I was never afraid of falling off, I knew my Dad would catch me.

The first time I drove a car, was on the Sappi dirt road. It was my Dad's Eid present to me. His Merc was his pride and joy, and he let me, who had no experience with cars whatsoever, take his baby out on the road. It was his way of giving me an incentive - and it worked, because a month later I got my learners and began driving lessons. And a few weeks back, on the way to Durban one early morning I'd joked, "Why don't you let me drive?" and he'd agreed, in a beat. An hour and a half on the highway, in peak traffic, and he never batted an eyelid. All my life, I'd been placing my little person in his hands, and that day, the tables turned. I could have crashed the car, I could have met in an accident, I could have panicked and killed us both...but I didn't, though he hadn't known that I wouldn't. Just like I hadn't known for sure that he'd be there to pull me out from under the water; that he would be there to balance the bike; that he would be there when I fell off my horse...

Trust is the greatest gift a child can give and the most difficult thing for an adult to hand over.

“Our relationship is the day I taught you to swim, the day I taught you to ride a bike, the day I taught you to ride a horse, the day I got in the car and gave you the keys and let you drive us all the way to Durban in peak hour traffic.”

Numb is the worst kind of pain

I never did understand why people would do something so idiotic like take a blade to their own skin. It used to appal me, just thinking about it. What stupidity, I thought it was, to cut yourself. How could it possibly make anything better?

They do it, because then the pain inside hurts less. It’s so much easier to focus on a tangible wound that you can see, that you can watch bleed, a visible tear so you can go, ‘ah, that’s why it hurts so much’ rather than one you can’t. When you’re hurt inside you can’t touch it, or soothe it, or at the very least see it, to know the reason for its existence. It’s just there. And that’s so much more painful. Because there’s nothing you can do about it.

At least, you feel each searing sting as the skin is rent, and even as blood droplets bead the torn seams, you hurt a little less inside. There is something you can fix: with some water, antiseptic, a bandage, and a little bit of time – it will heal.

It’s just an exchange, of one sort of pain for another. And at night when you curl into the tiniest ball you can manage, and you cry, it’s not because there’s a gaping hole inside you, no, it’s because you cut yourself and watched it bleed…it has nothing at all to do with the degenerate wound beneath your skin. You tell yourself, it’s the one you can see that cries its little bloody rivulets and stains your sheets and your soul, with its regenerative burn - not the one that you can't.

In Dedication to the Woodstock Stealer

Today is Wednesday, a hot, sunny, wonderful Wednesday. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining about the heat, oh no, I love it. Really. Just, you know for someone who has overactive sweat glands, it's so not as wonderful as it should be (get rid of that little flaw and I shall be just dandy).

Let me tell you about the awesomeness of my week thus far - Monday began with a little mixed martial arts: I totally annihilated the concrete outside campus. I swear, the ground didn't stand a chance against me, I was THAT good. One minute, there I was strolling into campus and the next thing I know the grounds rushing up to fist me and my glasses is flying in one direction, my bag in another and I just decided to knee it in the groin and move on. So, the results of Round 1: Dash 1; Ground 0.

Tuesday was decidedly uneventful. Oh! Unless you count the fire at campus. I know, we see black billowing smoke and run to find out whats happeneng (someone did say that normal people would be running in the opposite direction, but then again, we're not normal are we?). Anyway, the fire was put out with two extinguishers and three bins of water - it was almost exciting, except I didn't really get to add my 'man-power' to the extinguishing effort (I don't think that I would have made much of a difference though, do you? I give off so much hot air with all my rambling and senseless jargon though, that I might have fuelled that mini furnace).

And now we've turned full cirlce, back to this 29 degree day. I woke up this morning feeling sick, like you know, SICK. I thought, 'oh damn, here we go again, the annual flu is here to bug me'. I couldn't even have been bothered to set my hair properly. And what do you know, the day I don't spend two minutes on the way I look, is the day people keep telling me, 'Oh! I love your look!' Fml, I didn't even comb my hair.

On the bright side, I've got taebo today. Oh yeah! I, literally cannot wait! If I were a ping pong, I'd be bouncing off the walls with anticipation!

Ok, let me go, and entertain the Siv - who's literally pacing up and down the place in boredom.

Bye people of the world (and Kerl-i). Adios, till the next time my very busy and sometimes exasperating scehdule of assignments and readings lets me visit you on the world wide.

Never Let a Pot Plant Fall into the Wrong Hands

AMANDLA!!! Pump your fists in the air and stamp your feet, we’re striking! I think that striking is part of the South African culture. However, when I picture freedom fighters, I picture them serious, well informed and intelligently sensible protestors, calling for our freedom from oppression…AMANDLA! Today, I looked at the strikers and saw rather unfit college students, dragging their feet in a somewhat pathetic rendition (not all of them, some of them were very energetic and in sync) of a rhythmic beat, dancing and waving yellow banners about, calling for Lord knows only what.

Every year, without fail, the Durban Universities can anticipate a strike of some sort, for this or the other. Honestly, they should now print it on the campus calendars, “Week 5: strike,” it’s becoming so regular.

Laurenzo (yup, like from the Merchant of Venice), was telling us how the strikers told him, “join the strike or die.” To which Laurenzo rejoined, “No, we’re going home.” And the strikers blankly concluded, “Oh okay. That too.”

My question is, do half of these people even know what it is that they’re striking about? And secondly, why can’t it be negotiated in a civil manner? What, could you please inform me, is the need to whack a girl with a pot-plant (A POTPLANT!) – while you’re in stitches of laughter, give some thought to the poor things face – I know I certainly wouldn’t want to be taken by surprise like that (especially not with a potplant!)

So in conclusion, while the German students may find watching tyres burning in the quad an experience of great thrill and excitement, many of us are quite simply annoyed with this whole striking business.

Boy are they lucky they didn’t try the whole, “strike or die,” line on me. I would have gone all psycho smurf on them for sure and bombed their ingratiating asses all the way to the fifteenth planet.