Memoirs of Meg

Writing is [a] Pain!

2012-02-20T11:42:00.001+01:00

I haven't written in a while, and there are days where I have no interest in trying to find something interesting to write about. I mean, right now, this here, this is not interesting! I am struggling to find that spark that I thought I had before. That little part of all writers that makes their writing unique and a part of them.

Some of my favorite authors had very unconventional ways of getting over writer's block (or at least avoiding it). Some like Hunter S.Thompson (Hell's Angels, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas) and F.Scott Fitzgerald (The Great Gatsby) drank themselves into states of (almost) oblivion, and produced some of the most amazing written works in the literary world. They indulged in opiates and psychedelic drugs that forced them to see the world in a way that surpassed so-called 'normal' imagination. Both of these writers died believing ultimately that they were failures, and were disappointed in their inabilities to write the 'perfect book'. They opted out of life feeling a great sense of doubt in themselves and their work. Both left behind unfinished manuscripts.

I have no wish to follow in the footsteps of these writers, and inevitably find myself in a deadly trap that keeps drugs and the imagination co-joined. However some of my favorite pieces have been written over a bottle of wine, and it is perhaps because certain things can make one feel uninhibited. We write for the simplicity of just writing without the baggage and angst that someone somehow will judge what is coming directly from our minds.

We fear the very thought that someone may have the ability to read our minds, because in essence they are the only things that we have all to ourselves. No one can simply 'pop-in' into the inner workings of our minds and that works out just fine. Our thoughts and ideas and fantasies are our own, and often seem better than the real thing. You know, life? Life, that crazy thing where time and time again we have been told that feeling pain is a great way to feel alive, and that we should embrace those feelings, because soon enough we will start to feel great again, and the pain will dissipate over time. Blagh! I would much rather live in a world where pain didn't exist, even though it has indeed been a great source of inspiration for me over the years. And yes pain can be momentary, however when you suffer from clinical depression, pain is not simply a gimmick to get you through a 'dry-patch'. It becomes a permanent fixture in everything you consider your own - including your writing.

So yes, I do sometimes fear the day that I will stop having something to say... And even though I just said that I hated pain, life (and my writing) would be very boring without it!

Goodbye Dear Friend

2012-01-25T11:53:00.000+01:00

It’s always harder to write about things that hurt, and even though emotions such as anger and excitement are also feelings, pain is the one that one struggles to describe on paper. To acknowledge that pain is to put the way it makes us feel on the screen or on the piece of paper in front of us. Then we can see it. It exists. It happened. Not to someone else, but to us. To me.

I miss my cat Gatsby (and as I’m writing these very words I’m getting that stinging sensation behind my eyes, and there are tears forming in the corners of my eyelids). I miss him because he is no longer here, and that really sucks! Wow! What a profound and emotion-filled statement. “It sucks!” Really? You don’t say?! But that’s how I feel. That the world sucks, and Gatsby not being apart of this sucky world also sucks!

About a month ago a puppy that I had begun to think of as my own was killed by a car along a dusty dirt road, and was left by the side of that road as though she were nothing more than a piece of trash. She was beautiful (there I’m getting that stinging tear thing again), and I broke down when she was found. I was too sad to be angry. I just lost a little bit of faith in humanity that day.

Gatsby was not killed by a reckless motorist, but rather by a snake, doing a snake thing. Snakes bite sometimes, and sometimes those bites can kill. That is all there is to it.

It is true that losing an animal is like losing a friend or a member of your family, or even an extension of yourself. Why should it be seen as anything different other than a loss of something you loved?

I will miss his spirit, and I will remember how he once tried to play my guitar by leaping onto it and landing on the strings. I will always acknowledge that his best friend was a Pomeranian puppy, and that he loved sleeping in the pocket of my dungarees when he was barely a few weeks old. I loved that he was a black cat, and being a red-head myself, it just seemed like such a perfect match. Me? With a cat? Well, he found me, and he became my friend. For that I will always be grateful, and I will never forget what an amazing little cat he was.

Rest in Peace my friend.

I Choose Paradise... (I think...)

2012-01-10T13:43:00.000+01:00

The days are getting hotter, and living in a tent is not always the most comfortable experience. HOWEVER, this matters not. I am used to it now, and so therefore the heat is simply just a part of 'tent-living', and must just be accepted as an integral part of the life that I have chosen to live. Hmmmm... Perhaps I should just start a blog entirely dedicated to tent life? No? Too boring. Too specific. I really doubt people will be interested in how smelly my tent gets after weeks (months?) of rain, and being closed up. After you haven't done your laundry in a while, and you've tramped in enough mud to make a pig's Christmas just that more awesome, the comfort factor of your 'cozy little canvas home' switches to cabin fever mixed with hovel status. And again, I am not complaining. I will happily clean up my tent, and make it look as homely as possible.

It's not really about the tent I suppose. Its everything. Its the lack of tourists that frequented these muddy (sometimes dusty) streets that connect all the people living in this 'village' to one another. We are all so different, and yet in so many ways we are exactly the same. We get angry, and on those days the whole world is against us. With anger comes frustration, and that's when you question why on earth you chose to live in a place locked away from the rest of the world. There are no shops, nor banks, nor reliable modes of transport. Weekends don't exist, and when everyone is on holiday you are at your busiest. When all the people have left (and no, its not ever completely empty), and the streets and the nights are quiet, it is easier to breathe, and remember what your favourite things to do are. Ahhhh yes, I am a lover of novels, Sunday mornings, swimming in the ocean and writing rambling journal entries. I like to take photographs and spend a few lazy hours listening to music and drinking red wine. I enjoy standing at the top of a very high hill, and looking down upon this village to the right, and the ocean to the left. Sometimes I can see dolphins and wales from up there, and the people below look like tiny little tie-dyed ants simply trying to get through another day in a so-called 'paradise'.

Its just another perception really... As much as people would like to think that because I live in a seaside village, that comprises mostly of hippies, surfers, and fantastically chilled individuals, I obviously must be just as fantastically chilled, and hippie-like, and know how to surf (of course!) as the rest. There is of course a huge difference between those that have simply come here for a month or two of sand, sun, beer and fun, and those that have chosen not a lifestyle, but a life...

To choose to 'live' here is simply not the same as spending six months drinking beer, smoking joints and working at a bar, and living in a tent. When you live in this village you choose to value everything about it. The hot sun, the pouring rain. The brown and dirty river. The loud drumming. The smiling schoolkids. The begging schoolkids. The crystal blue ocean. The noisy shebeen on Sundays. The inane tourist questions. The lack of fresh vegetables, fruit, running water, electricity, ATM's. Its inconvenient not to have these things. Really? For whom? Its always been this way here, and therefore it is not odd that it is not a part of life now. Do people come here to have access to all the things that they have access to elsewhere? The novelty is then lost if shopping malls are important and a consideration. My opinion remains the same - NO! Hell No!!!

When my grandfather moved to Coffee Bay, I am just about positive that his wish for the place was that it would remain a sanctuary, with enough development to empower the local Xhosa people, and for people to appreciate the beauty of a place he saw the beauty in a long time ago. Have fun, drink whiskey, dance under the stars and watch the fish dart under the waves. Never forget that the things you deem important and relevant, are not necessarily the same in other parts of the country, of the world.

I love this place because not only is it aesthetically beautiful and full of spirit and soul, but it also has attracted some of the most amazing people from all corners of the globe to it, and over time these people have become a part of that beauty, that spirit, that soul.

Paradise is easy to find, but not so easy to accept...

New Year and New Ways!

2011-12-29T10:39:00.000+01:00

It is very likely that this will be my last blog post this year, and in honor of that I am simply going to consider how lucky I have been in the last few months of this year. A year ago my world was very, very different. I was in a job I wasn't particularly happy with, I lived in a house (more of a hippie commune really) that I wasn't particularly happy in, and most importantly I was in a relationship that I definitely wasn't happy in. I was basically miserable, and there was nothing anyone could do to change that, except me. After a whole year of being miserable, one would think that I would have acted sooner, however when you're in the moment, you cease thinking about all the better moves you could make. Everyone has suggestions, and good advice and yet you never seem to take, or listen to any of it. You MUST know better!

A year later I am living in a tent, working at a cafe that sells curry, and live amongst Rastafarian's and whiskey drinkers. I spend my days reading, serving customers, making milkshakes, sending emails, photographing beautiful people, listening to the sounds of unplugged drums and guitars and watching the sun shine amongst a family of dark clouds. When it rains (which is often), I close up my tent and dance in the rain with my gumboots. I lay in a hammock when the sun is hot, and read novels, and smoke cigarettes, whilst reggae artists blare out of enormous speakers above my head.

All the people that live around me have pulled me just that little bit closer towards myself, or the person that I used to be. They make me smile everyday, and that used to be quite rare. For the first time in a very long time there is an actual element of peace and contentment, and (dare I say it?) happiness. I have stopped thinking about the future (in terms of what I am 'supposed' to be doing), and have decided that the 'moment' is more important. I realise that I may sound a little 'flighty' and 'hippie-like', however that is the truth. My truth.

In order for me to get to that point I had to quit the job, move out of the house, and lose the boyfriend! Yes! The hardest part of changing your life is letting go of the past, and not allowing it to control your present. Doing something new and different is ultimately scary, and I have no wish to pretend that it was easy and quick and painless, because it most certainly was not either of those things.

I spent Christmas in a tent, and a drum cafe with people that are not my immediate family, however they have become my family, and we spent the days listening to Christmas carols (upon my insistence) and drinking beer. It was lovely! I had my tearful moments, when I thought about how it might have been had I been with my family listening to Boney M and eating Christmas cake, however if I could redo my time I would not. Just as I would never redo the last year, and the year before that. Even the job, and the house and the harsh relationship need to remain in my memory bank, and be there forever. I would not be the person I am now if it weren't for all of that experience.

I am luckier than I could ever be, and I know that my family are safe and healthy and happy. I am safe and healthy and happy. The year 2011 may not have started out too well, and I realize there will always be pain attached to that period in my life, however I did jump out of the DARK, and flew into the LIGHT (not unlike a moth to a flame)! When I touched the sun it was hard to imagine the darkness I lived in for so long.

I had not realized how many amazing people there are out there, and they were right there in front of me. Ultimately though, the change was my own to make, and now I can dance in the rain, be warmed by the sun, and feel the ground beneath me - hopefully forever!

Happy New Years Everyone!

Peace Out!

The 'Shut the F**K Up' Bill!

2011-11-22T10:59:00.000+01:00

I am wearing my black The Ramones t-shirt today, with a pair of black tights and my black All-Stars. I am no baddass punk-rocker trying to 'make a point' in a village filled with hippies and Rastas. I am protesting against one of the most shocking bills to ever be put forward in South African government since the Apartheid regime, and the shocking thing is that this bill - The Protection of Information Bill (POIB), or otherwise known as the 'Secrecy Bill' - will more than likely be agreed upon by government. Yes, there are protests, and picketing and appeals, however the scary reality is that we will no longer be safe. In South Africa 'our' constitution means everything. We throw it around as though it were simply a nice accessory, and we use it ALL THE TIME to get out of sticky situations. We claim our constitutional rights, and talk about rights in the same sense as we would privileges, because remember: there are no privileges in this country! 'Our' constitution is supposed to protect us, however...

It is very worrying when a country that claims to be so FREE, and so prepared for integration, and is determined to be taken seriously by the rest of the developed and developing countries of the global village, would put forward a law that will literally stop all ethical journalism in its tracks. Anything related to government/police/state corruption will have to go through extreme measures and the 'proper' channels just to be considered worthy of revealing. Is that journalism? No it fucking isn't!

I have spoken about truth so often that I'm sure I am probably going to end up repeating myself, however the truth has (and always will be) one of the most important things that we can have and maintain in this life. As journalists, writers, members of Parliament, ANC members, the general public, we need to consider the TRUTH something more than just a tool to bring the bad to justice. Yes, it would be fantastic if the world was all about justice and harmony, but it just isn't that fairy-tale-like, and that's unfortunate, but it is a fact. The world is harsh, and people do bad things all the time, and it would be comforting to know that we had some kind of system in place that allowed us the freedom to find the bad, and point out the bad.

I am no expert on bills, the Constitution, or anything relating to government or politics, but I did study journalism, and I believe in the truth, no matter how dark and ugly it may be. The only way to find the good is to reveal the bad. It's simply a matter of eliminating the opposite of a concept. It makes sense that by locating the bad, we can in turn reveal the good. But the press isn't about that, is it? This is where I get bitter and cynical of the media, as we are so intent on the bad, and so obsessed with destruction rather than creation, that we have forgotten the essence of NEWS!!!

I'm backtracking here, and so will go back to this 'bill' thing. If we are to ever get to the roots of our problems, we cannot be told to "Shut the fuck up!" Or else there is simply no point anymore, and we can simply revert back to the dark days of censorship and silence, and once you've silenced a nation, you've silenced one very powerful voice!

A Life of Unconventional Living

2011-11-18T16:24:00.000+01:00

We all have our 'norms', and our ways and means of getting by. We have jobs, schools, friends, hobbies, relationships, families and everything else in between. We have our lives, and we have our lifestyles.

My life is NOT conventional in any sense of the word, and I know for a fact that many people will gladly agree with me. However this life of mine and this lifestyle is the 'norm' for me. I have lived in a little seaside rural village for most of my life, and therefore consider it all my own norm.

I consider it perfectly normal to wake up in the morning and run to the beach and know that I will meet at least 15 people along the way, all of whom I know, and they know me. We see each other more than 5 times a day, and yet for some reason we will always greet each other as though it were for the first time.

It is perfectly 'normal' for everyone here to drink far too much beer, sleep very little, and still get up for work in the morning, and do it all again the following night.

We have the ability to walk barefoot everywhere (well at least most of us do), and survive without water or electricity for days, sometimes weeks on end.

We know not what happens in the rest of the world as television and the news are hard to come by. However we know exactly what everyone is doing, has done, and will do (yes really - even before they do) in this village.

We are excited by the smallest things such as cheese, shampoo, new books, dvds, tampons, cereal and cigarettes that don't cost a fortune.

Clean clothes are a luxury, and so are weekends...

Everyone is a neighbor, and we aren't all on good terms with our neighbors, and so politics are rife within the ranks of this tiny 'paradise' town.

We have no roadsigns, nor do we have house numbers, and therefore describing where you live is a process of finding that broken bridge, specific tree or hut, and giving directions from there, as best you can.

We never really experience winter and so wearing shorts all year round is quite the usual way of things. Except when we have two solid weeks of rain in December, and then its gumboots, hoodies and mud!

I have this long list in my head, and for some reason can't quite make the dedication right now, and therefore will end off this post with this thought:

It may be hard to live in paradise, but it's paradise - so what?!!!!

Tent Living

2011-11-11T16:03:00.000+01:00

Well, it's been about 3 months since my venture into the world of living in a tent....and it's fantastic! I suppose I have just proved everyone right by my decision to completely subvert the norm, and live in such a way that causes most people to laugh at the very concept. However those who know me are not even the slightest bit surprised at my move. To be fair I did have my own doubts and those doubts were mostly due to my love of creature comforts - you know, like electricity and shelving! Living in this village called Coffee Bay teaches all of us daily that we should never take the small things for granted. However those small things to the average city-dweller, are luxuries to the people that choose to call this little piece of paradise home.

The quirks (and little idiosyncrasies) of living in a canvass house are as such: You WILL wake up as the sun rises, because even a little bit of sunshine causes your cozy little tent to turn menacingly into a sauna. A sauna of epic proportions!

You will dread the rainy season, as even though the sound of rain on your tent is romantic and soothes the weary soul, the leaking and muddy footprints, and soggy clothes, will haunt you for days as you attempt to dispel the damp smell from everything you own.

Tents are also NOT soundproof, and whatever kind of noise you choose to make in your tent WILL be heard by all and sundry....

If your tent is not set-up on level ground, you will (and I speak from experience) permanently believe that you are living in a world that is not quite... well level. Yes, I now have a very tilted view of the world, and the disturbing factor is that when I step out of my tent, the rest of the world seems completely off it's axis! Kind of similar to that feeling of stepping off a trampoline and trying to jump on level ground.

Keeping a tent clean is impossible, and no matter how many times you clean it (for me its every second day), there will ALWAYS be sand, grass and dust in your tent. That's just the way it is... Spring cleaning is 'simply' taking EVERYTHING out of the tent, and getting very up close and personal with a broom and dustpan.

Yet there are wonderful elements to tenting, and I have discovered that the most fabulous one of all is that you will feel permanently on holiday! The nomadic and gypsy-like stature of a tent is obvious, and yes there is also the stigma that those who actually LIVE in tents are not the most serious nor ambitious people in the world. So far I have found that on the most part that is indeed true, and yet I have also found that some of the most ambitious people are simply taking time out from whatever keeps them in houses, cars, families and taxes... If just for a little while. I too am ambitious, or at least can be. However right now I am so far removed from being ambitious that tent living suits me just fine.

I do wake up early every morning, and I do get into a bit of a panic when there are heavy rains. I do feel as though my life is slightly slanted, and I am continuously cleaning my little canvas home - and yet, I can see the sunrise from my tent. I can hear the birds singing in the early morning, and hear the ocean's waves crashing wildly. I can feel as if I am on holiday for just a little bit longer, and there is NOTHING wrong with that!

Jah Living

2011-10-17T14:00:00.000+01:00

It's very easy to get caught up in a world where people's lives consist of the same thing everyday. I have become one of those people, and if it wasn't for the simple and amazing fact that the people I share my home with are some pretty amazing human beings certainly makes up for the occasional boredom and feelings of homesickness...

At night I can hear the wind and the rain battering against the canvas walls of my tent, and |I feel safe. As though being inside this dome will protect me from the monsters and the darkness. When I unzip my home in the mornings the roosters crow, and the dogs jump at my feet, and I greet my 'new family' as they emerge from their own canvas bubbles. I live in Tent City, and no matter how long you stay, you always feel as though you're on holiday. As though everything about your life right now is simply temporary, and the thoughts of the 'real world' are but a distant memory.

I glance down towards The Magic Bus, and sitting around the bus on makeshift chairs are men with the longest dreadlocks sipping some early morning tea, and smoking rolled cigarettes. They greet me the same way every morning, and I will never get tired of hearing: "Ahoy Sista", and I wonder off to shower and get ready for another day in my so-called 'paradise'.

During anytime of the day there will always be someone playing a sisal or djembe drum, and the sounds echo through the valley of Coffee Bay, which some have named the 'Impact Zone'. The space where everyone and everything meets in a cacophony of communal chaos.

The beats of reggae music and throbbing trance and house music are a constant backdrop to the barking dogs, neighing horses and grunting pigs. When I have a moment to spare I simply sit back, close my eyes, and try to remember what it was like before people came to this bay. When the ocean was all you could hear, and no one offered anything other than a smile. Cheesy, I know... However I tend to get this way about paradise. It's the cliche I guess - smiling African children putting out their hands for sweets, and now they put out their hands and offer hallucinogenics in matchboxes!

Its a sad day when the drug trade is larger than tourism, and one has to hold back, shut up, and accept that unless you're going to try and change it, its best to keep your plans to yourself. There is something very addictive about simply 'being', and even though one has to work hard to remain in 'paradise', you need to have your wits about you too... Nothing is ever as it seems, and paradise certainly has its monsters too.

Zen and the Art of Packing Light

2011-08-29T09:24:00.000+01:00

"Easier said than done", mutters disgruntled and tired semi-hippie whose vision of packing a couple of pairs of shorts, a bikini and Indian harem pants, has been slammed to the ground and throttled by her inability (once again) to live 'the simple life'.

It really does not matter how many times I try to tell myself that I will be living in a TENT!!! Therefore I will not have the space for all the crap (yes, crap!) that I have managed to pack in a multitude of suitcases... Why is it so difficult for me to be ruthless with the number of t-shirts and bottles of shampoo one really needs? To be fair, there isn't a washing machine available, and so I will be doing most of my laundry at the very last possible moment, when I will literally have nothing left to wear. And so here comes my logic: pack as much as you can, and you won't have to worry about laundry for at least a month!

Next problem: there are no 'decent' grocery shops anywhere near where I will be living for the next few months, and so having spare shampoo and tampons is not a terrible idea. However lugging around a lifetime supply of tampons can be just a liiiiiiitle bit inconvenient....

Besides all that I am still trying to make (inner) peace with the knowledge that NO! I cannot pack my Persian rug, and my antique writing desk! So what can I pack besides clothes, sunscreen and shampoo? Ha! The first thing I packed was my books, and it is a serious task choosing books to take away for an undisclosed period of time. I always take my staple favourites (which are books I don't mind reading over and over again), such as Robert M. Pirsig's Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and Tom Wolfe's The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test. These books have stood the test of time, and even I don't get around to reading them, they are a comfort to have on my shelf where ever I may be living at the time. Besides the usual suspects I like to pack at least 5 more books than I will really need, as I still believe that if there really is a nuclear disaster, I do NOT want to be left without any reading material.

Once the books were packed I had to have myself a little "WOOOOSAAAAAA" moment.... You know the kind where you lift your arms really high above your head, take a deep breathe, and hope against hope that you will maintain a level of calmness, coolness and collectiveness in everything you must now do. Yes, this moment was needed because packing clothes has NEVER been something that makes me want to dance for joy. I simply have no clue as to what I will feel like wearing in a week's time and therefore believe that I should rather have choices. Sound familiar?

Of course its familiar, as a huge percentage of women have the same problem, and yet this could all be avoided if we simply realised that if you packed less you would simply adapt to that, and would not pine after the yellow coat you didn't pack, and will simply just wear the blue one. It's that simple. Why on earth must I pack so much bloody stuff? Where am I going to put it all? I am going to be living in a tent. I repeat: a TENT!!!

Well, after spending an entire day packing, having semi-zen (hopeful) moments and breaking the cycle occasionally through watching Three's Company reruns, I finally sat on and zipped up the last suitcase, and stepped back to admire my handiwork. UGH! It was as if a giant hippie had regurgitated all over my bedroom floor, and there was nothing I could do about it. There really was too much stuff! And none of it was practical, except for the torch I had intercepted earlier that day.

And so began the GREAT ELIMINATION process. I found my neon-coloured POST-ITS, and set about colour-coding my stuff, into things to take now, stuff to collect later, and (sigh) things that would never see the inside of that tent - ever! It was painful and I was wrought with sorrow, and yet the act was cleansing, and made so much practical sense. It was done. I was ready to move into my tent. Yet the image of me waiting at the bus stop to take me to where I'm going, with 5 bags and a giant blanket and 2 pillows still makes me shudder. I still have too much stuff....

Child[like] Enthusiasm

2011-08-22T14:14:00.000+01:00

It is true about children... They see what we no longer can, and they feel emotions in ways that we can never feel again. There are no hidden agendas and 'baggage' attached to the world, and for that very reason children are able to sometimes experience things in their purest form.

Today I watched my friend's one year-old having an absolutely wonderful time with three plastic bowls. She was ecstatically happy with her new discovery, and she just laughed at the mere pleasure of the whole experience. She placed no attachment to the bowls, and therefore they just simply were... That's it. They are. They were. No explanations needed.

Today I learned to make curry for the first time, and I literally had to hold myself back for fear of appearing too excited and too eager. Yes, the experience of it would leave most people sort of emotionless, and certainly not enthusiastic, because it's just learning to cook something else, isn't it? Aaah! But I am no cook, and therefore am thrilled just to be able to do something for the first time that in anyway has anything to do with the kitchen. I am no domestic goddess, and therefore the thought of slaving at a hot stove scares the living daylights out of me, and yet there is a sense of achievement in learning something new. I do realise that being in my mid-late twenties is rather late for me to be running around and leaping into the air at the thought of something new happening to me - and yet I really want to do that! I want to skip and jump and sing out loud, and not feel the need to look over my shoulder to check that I am not completely embarrassing myself - again!

It's easy for human beings to simply forget what it's like to first use a phone booth, or dive into the ocean, or make curry for that matter. We have too much going on in our heads, in our lives, and there is just too much going on in the world. Dammit! If we aren't considered 'cool' on some level, what are we? Should we simply remain disconnected from new experiences? Though to be fair I'm sure anyone who skydives for the first time is going to be doing a lot more than just smiling and waving...

I know that I have blogged about this same subject before, but I am as adamant as ever that it simply is not enough to just accept everything as just what it is. We must jump and skip and dance in public and sing loudly. Choose your moments of course, there's always a level, but do it! Or else what is there left to be enthusiastic about?

Be Afraid... Be Very Afraid!

2011-08-20T13:50:00.001+01:00

The dictionary definition for phobia is "an unreasonable fear of something that in reality may not be very harmful", according to http://www.buzzle.com/, and I find it absolutely insanely interesting as to how many phobias there are truly out there. If you research the topic on the Internet you can find countless websites that have lists of phobias and their meanings, and today I did just that, and after reading through more than a hundred different phobias I was shocked. Here I am thinking that my irrational fear of confined spaces and clowns was all I had to worry about... No! Apparently I am quite the phobia-ridden person, and so I thought I would share with you some of my 'apparent' phobias:

Scriptophobia - the fear of writing in public (yes, really!)

Selachophobia - the fear of sharks (that's not so unusual, right?)

Agoraphobia - large crowds, therefore I can't stand shopping malls

Claustrophobia - not uncommon, the fear of confined spaces

Coulrophobia - the fear of clowns, and no I have never seen the movie IT

Decidophobia - the fear of making decisions (yes, they have a name for that!)

Deipnophobia - the fear of dinner conversations (I am ashamed to admit this one)

Iatrophobia - the fear of doctors

Nosocomephobia - the fear of hospitals

Prosophobia - the fear of progress and change

Tachophobia - hilariously this is the fear of high speeds (this is true!!!) fast cars, roller coasters and bungee jumping are not things that make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside....

Taeniophobia - disgustingly enough I am indeed afraid of tapeworms - come on! Who isn't?

After this I have come to the conclusion that I am indeed a paranoid freak.... However I am also mildly relieved that I do not suffer from some of these phobias - they range from the downright bizarre to the absolute ridiculous!

Alektorophobia - the fear of chickens, and anything associated with them i.e feathers, eggs, etc.
Anglophobia - the fear of England
Arachibutyrophobia - the fear of peanut butter sticking to your mouth (??????????)
Aluophobia - the fear of flutes (really?)
Bibiophobia - the fear of books - how dreadful that must be!
Cherophobia - the fear of happiness
Consecotaleophobia - the fear of chopsticks (I'm not quite sure how to react to that one...)
Geniophobia - the fear of chins
Hellenologophobia - the fear of greek terms

Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia - yes really! The fear of the number 666!!!
Hippopomonstrosesquippedaliophobia - the fear of loooooooooooong words!
Melophobia - the fear of music
Metrophobia - the fear of poetry
Mnemophobia - the fear of memories

Mycophobia - the fear of mushrooms

Oenophobia - the fear of wine! Now that would never do!

Panophobia - the fear of EVERYTHING!

Paraskaveclekatriaphobia - the fear of Friday the 13th (wooooooo!)

Pediophobia - the fear of dolls and small children (which I don't believe is THAT bizarre)

Philosophobia - the fear of philosophy (yes it can be overwhelming, but scary?)

Philophobia - the fear of falling in-love (ahhhhhh.....)

Phobophobia - the fear of phobias (of course...)

Phronemophobia - the fear of thinking

Pupaphobia - the fear of puppets (I understand the premise, however life would be very sad without Kermit and Miss Piggy)

Taphephobia - the fear of being buried alive and cemeteries (I can honestly say that I have a rather morbid fascination with cemeteries, however the whole being-buried-alive-thing is a no-brainer!)

So yes, these are just some of the many phobias people can and do have... Don't you feel normal already?

Contr(addiction)...

2011-08-20T11:57:00.000+01:00

This is a bit of a sensitive subject, and is obviously going against all my concerted efforts to stay upbeat and happy with life - however the subject matter may be a bit of a downer, but that certainly doesn't mean that it isn't any less serious and important to talk about. It's called control, and without it we often believe we have nothing.

Okay, let me start at the beginning. I was in a relationship once, and let's just say that it probably wasn't the healthiest relationships around, but it certainly taught me some amazing things about myself, and what I was capable of, and one of the hardest lessons I learnt was when to walk (run) away... As difficult as that was to do (and to swallow), there are times when that truly is the only thing one can do. We are not superhuman and bad relationships are not things that need to be worked at. If you have no ties to a person, such as children, there really is no reason for staying put. Why? So that you can prove to yourself and others that you are not really a 'quitter'? In fact marriage and children may just pose as greater obstacles to overcome when in a 'bad' relationship. There are countless opinions and theories on the subject matter, and at the end of the day we all have the right to our conclusions. What I do know is that they are not reasons to stay... They are excuses!

We are on this planet for such a short time anyway, and it just seems pointless to remain unhappy for an extended period of time when we have the tools and the ability to change the very thing we think we can't change. Yes I sound converted, and that is because I recently am. I know what it feels like to be controlled, and hurt and lonely, and yet through all that I was blind. As blind as love can be...

Writers will always get criticised for revealing too much about things that a lot of people feel should be left unsaid, and yet I am not one of those people. I feel far too strongly about the subject to remain quiet. It is absolutely true that we only realise what we are capable of when we jump into something hard and come out the other side bruised, battered and yet relatively stronger for it. Yes, countless people talk about the same subject all the time, and they all say the same thing: Love is NOT pain!

As hopeless as life seems at the time, there IS a light at the end of that dark tunnel, and we won't see that light until we start walking towards it, along that rocky path. And as soon as you reach that light that is when it really becomes hard, because now you are in the light, and everything just seems a little too bright and your eyes have to adjust. You are on your own again finally, and there's no one standing in front of you, or behind you, or even next to you. You may have friends and family, but that connection that you had to that other human being has been severed, and that is where fear of the unknown often makes people unsure of their own self-worth. Sadly, and quite often, there are those who return to the darkness because the light is too much. I was one of those people, and it took running to get me away, because walking didn't quite cut it the last time.

It's pretty much the same theory really when it comes to any kind of addiction. Whether it be drugs, or alcohol, or a certain person, there is something in the human psyche that makes one believe that without that one thing we are not WHOLE. And yet isn't it strange that the very thing that makes us feel whole is the one thing that makes us feel the worst? How can something so bad feel so good, and yet so wrong all at the same time? Simple. Addiction is not for the weak, nor the strong - it creeps up on anyone. People talk about 'addictive personalities', and yes that does indeed exist, however quite a number of us mere mortals have the insane need to fill voids that we believe are in us. If we don't fill them with mind-altering substances or by being in a relationship, then what do we do with that empty hole? Aha! Who do you think dug that hole? Ourselves of course...

Yes I sound all new-earthy and such, however I remain steadfast on this one: We ARE whole without cigarettes, wine, drugs and bad loves! But even though we all know this, the journey is never simple and never easy. It's simply LIFE.

Growing Up In Transkei

2011-08-20T10:41:00.000+01:00

I have lived in Transkei my WHOLE life, and for those of you who aren't aware of such a place - the Transkei is the Xhosa homeland situated in the Eastern Cape in South Africa. For the early years of my childhood Transkei was a sanctuary away from the rest of South Africa, and literally was considered a separate country during apartheid days. It spans from just outside of East London all the way to just outside Durban. Most people in South Africa are familiar with The Wild Coast, which constitutes Port St Johns, Hluleka, Bulungula and of course, Coffee Bay, which is where I call HOME.

From the age of about four months I have been travelling to Coffee Bay with my family, and we used to spend fabulous weekends and holidays next to the beach and under the starry skies. I remember building sandcastles on pristine and mostly deserted beaches, climbing trees and swimming in the Bomvu (meaning: the colour red in Xhosa) river. We never wore shoes during the day, but at night we all had our own black gumboots to protect us against the numerous snakes that roamed the property. Braais in the backyard were frequent, and whilst the adults watched the whiskey and beer flow, all the kids would run amok under the trees playing Hide and Seek and Blind Man's Bluff.

I remember sleep-overs and midnight feasts on the enclosed verandah of my grandfather's home, which was situated almost literally on the beach, and waking up at 2 or 3 am to go 'spear-fishing' with the 'boys' in my pajamas. It also wasn't uncommon for these fishing trips to go wrong occasionally and someone almost always came home with cuts, scrapes and plenty of tears...

But it was exciting, and when you're a kid, and there's no TV the possibilities of living on a large property by the beach are endless. We built ramps for our bicycles, and erected tents in the garden for nights away from our parents. These events also almost always ended in some kind of altercation or accident, but that was just a part of it. I can honestly say that I have the fondest memories of my childhood.

Besides all that race was not an issue in Transkei - not for the kids growing up there. We never experienced apartheid (however I am just speaking for myself, and certainly do not wish to speak for others). The friends I had in Coffee Bay are my friends to this day, and I am just enormously lucky to still have them around me. For some unknown reason it is hard to stay away from this place once you have watched the sun rise and set here a couple hundred times...

As I got older the place changed as all places do, and yes I have my reservations sometimes, but yet when you're a teenager and your home is suddenly invaded with an influx of beautiful strangers from all over the world, you don't complain... You simply adapt, and realise that the rest of the world can SEE the beauty that you've always known. Backpacking hostels popped up all over the Transkei, and to this day Transkei is one of the most popular tourist destinations in South Africa. Why? That's an easy question to answer, and yet everyone will answer it in their own unique way...

I have an attachment to this place that overlooks the nightly parties, and the good surf spots. To attempt to put into words the way you feel when your feet first touch the sand, or when you climb the hill and look down upon the bay is like trying to describe the way your heart aches when you're in-love. It's a feeling, it's an acknowledgement of pure bliss. I feel blessed everyday to be able to wake up and hear the ocean, and watch the sun set over the crashing waves. To watch the Xhosa women bringing firewood many kilometres home sounds very touristy, but its a way of life. It's everything. It's the full moon beaming down on you, and the smell of frangipanis in summer, and watching the surfers dive into the blue waters.

I am grateful everyday for my home, and my childhood, and my adulthood - and the time I have been allowed by the universe to spend in this truly beautiful piece of green grass and blue ocean I call HOME.

T.R.U.T.H

2011-08-10T16:18:00.000+01:00

"I'm in too truthful a mood" claims Russell Hammond, the lead guitarist of the band Stillwater in the film Almost Famous, to wannabe 'rock journalist' William Miller, as he (Miller) stood outside Hammond's hotel room begging for an interview. Being 'too truthful' would have been greatly beneficial to Miller, however it could end up being catastrophic for Hammond, as there are certain things that a few people need to know, as opposed to "a million people".

The truth in its many forms has always fascinated me, and that's mostly owing to the fact that it can be distorted to the point of changing its entire original form. Then its no longer the truth, right? I mean if you can take a simple fact that the ocean is blue today, and twist that around and say that the ocean is only blue because of the reflection of the sky, than what colour is the ocean? Where does one draw the line, and say this is the fact, the truth, and no one can change that?

Is everything simply a matter of a global version of the childhood game, Broken Telephone, where a statement is passed down through several people, and at the end the statement has become almost unrecognisable from the original? Can people's different perspectives influence a statement or fact, or 'truth' for that matter, so much that it begs the question: what is the actual truth? Can the truth be changed, and if so, then how can it even be considered truth, if truth is constant? My truth is considered different to your truth, if religion and politics are anything to go by, and that is where all the trouble starts... If our so-called 'truths' are different to the person on the other side of the world or even standing next to us, then what is the TRUTH?

I have had problems in the past with telling the truth (or apparently my perception of it), and this is usually because the world does not work that way. If Russell Hammond was afraid of being too truthful then what is the point? Yes, there are half truths, and yes we are not always comfortable saying a complete truth because that could be damaging to whomever or whatever the truth involves, and so we flit around an issue for fear of revealing too much, and in the process protect ourselves from the implications of that truth.

This is not an uncommon question or topic to consider as philosophers, journalists, politicians and holy men have been questioning it and discussing it for centuries. The ultimate truth can never truly be known if the whole world is simply afraid of it. Perhaps on some level we are afraid of it because it may reveal too much about ourselves...

When I have spoken 'my truth' (for argument's sake) in the past, I was shot down. Not because it was necessarily wrong, or that certain events that I said had happened, didn't happen, but because one cannot simply walk around telling their truth without some kind of repercussion. It's a scary thought that the concept of freedom of speech often cannot take place because there are so many people and laws blocking it from being pure. Purely truth. Without all the sugar-coating and the kind words. No, lets rather manufacture 'versions' of the truth, in order for it be swallowed with less difficulty. But that's the way of the world. The guilty will always create their own version of events, and I am just as likely to create my own version of an event than the next person. I too am guilty of such.

I guess the only consolation we can take away with us is that there will always be different versions of the truth. This however does not help the innocent man accused of a crime he did not commit. However, at the end of the day he is the only one who will ever really know his truth....

Fishbowl Syndrome

2011-08-10T12:01:00.000+01:00

It is always a serious wake-up call when the people closest to you have something to say that touches all the most vital connections to your already open wounds... What am I saying? Well, I have been a little bit lazy lately, not only physically, but mentally as well, and someone close mentioned that my writing needs to invoke something other than my own personal rantings, and this is so true. However, I had been pondering this very same notion for a while, and all the nerves jangling away in my brain were touched as I realised I have become exactly what I had abhor - a moaner! A whiner! Someone in constant need of acknowledgement, and that is never where I wanted to go with this when I started my blog over a year ago. I wanted to observe the world, and try to convey that little world of mine in the most unique way I could. And yet oftentimes the only thing that came out was ME!

I live in a place where your every move is watched, not just merely observed, but seriously studied. I do realise that this is no different to any small town in the world, and simply living in a fishbowl is just something one has to accept. You learn very quickly whom to trust, and who to be wary of. And yet I ended up in my own fishbowl. Writing about yourself is easy if you love to write, and yet its a cop-out, because if you can't find anything to write you simply rant about your 'feelings' and all that nonsense and there is an immediate sense of relief that takes over you and you feel as though you've done your bit for the day.

I think on some level we all end up in our own self-contained, self-created fishbowls, and no matter how many times we swim around we will always end up at the same point. Breaking free of that glass exterior is the hard part. The world outside looks so distorted sometimes, that its scary to think of leaving the comfort zone - even if that 'comfort zone' is simply what we write about, or what we do on a daily basis that constitutes living. I used to think that it wasn't WHAT I wrote about, but HOW I wrote about it. However, even though this is true, it certainly does not excuse the fact the people do not want to read about my inner turmoils. I certainly don't want to read about Joe Soap's feelings of insecurity, and that's a fact!

Using the rather cheesy metaphor of a fishbowl is, I realise, another cop-out of mine. If in doubt use metaphors! Really? Surely my abilities can stretch beyond the simple comparison of a small town-like existence with a glass bowl in which scaled creatures swim around and around in the same space, never really seeing anything of the outside reality other than a scary distortion? Perhaps this writer has a lot to learn about the reality of life outside the fishbowl.

Therefore I think I will make an effort from now onwards to jump out of my 'glass bowl' brain, and look, really look at the world around me - Oh! and leave myself out of it - well, most of the time...

Bearing in mind that this entire blog post was, once again, all about me.... Better luck next time!

Destination Limbo

2011-07-25T09:18:00.000+01:00

I have come to the foregone conclusion that we are never as in control as we often think we are. Hear me out. I have spent a significant part of my twenties searching for that moment that I will realise my life's true purpose, and everything will just work out 'the way it should'. Obviously in my naive mind I believed that there was a mission for everyone and each person slotted into their predestined positions when it was time for them to do so. HOWEVER. There are no amount of stimulants in the world to make me believe this any longer. Yes, I do believe in destiny and fate and all that, but that leaves very little hope for the street sweeper, and the alcoholic mother who will never amount to anything other than a burden on society. Yes, I do realise that these are very intense ramblings, and perhaps just a tad bit 'out there' to garner me any readers, but I have not written in a while, and have spent the non-writing time considering a lot of new ideas for my life, and have seen how these ideas can change on a daily basis. Being in a space of Limbo can be very detrimental to the human mind, especially when that mind is used to a sense of routine. Not necessarily the kind of routine revered by OCD patients, but certainly a metaphorical 'heads-up' of what's to come...

Being in limbo is one of the most frustrating places that I have ever been in, and for the last year I have made every kind of effort to make myself comfortable within Limbo. I laid out some pretty rugs, located a few comfy couches, brought a vase of flowers, and generally tried to make myself at home in Limbo, but it just wouldn't take. Too many unwanted guests arrived, and being the 'push-over' that I am I couldn't tell them to leave. They stayed, and I was left with nothing. Making sense? Probably not. However I will say this about Limbo. It is certainly a place of reflection, and that is never a bad thing. Its always a good idea to spend some time pondering your life, and considering where the hell your life is going. The problem lies in the mere fact that too much pondering can often be the fatal cause of inaction. And yes dear readers, that is exactly why this blog post has come about. Inaction.

When one is afraid to move forward, staying in the same uncomfortable space is a lot more appealing than the uncomfortable unknown. Like any addiction it is easier to stay in the mess than climb weakly out of it, and attempt strength without it. Fear is a great demotivator, and herein lies my dilemma: Limbo can be a very comfortable uncomfortable space to live in - or crash in. AHA! Perhaps the problem is that instead of crashing temporarily on Limbo's couch, I have started moving in, and who wants unwanted guests confusing 'roomate' with 'visitor'. Maybe I should just pack my bags and move on out... Get a life, Meg!

Simply Being... (It's Been A Long Time Coming)

2011-06-27T11:23:00.000+01:00

Being away from my keyboard for so long has put some serious strain on my ability to think about what I'm going to share next. To pin this post onto one particular topic will be far too difficult at the moment, and I'm afraid that this will therefore not make for very interesting reading. I simply wanted to share some thoughts on my life at the moment. You see, I am HAPPY! Yes, dear readers, Meg is happy at the moment and its been a long time coming.I wish I could pinpoint the reasons and moments for my happiness, and yes there are reasons but I am not in the habit of divulging personal details. I will however say that I have been appreciating the small things...

Back when I started blogging last year I wrote a piece entitled The Little Things (and if you're interested and lazy enough not to search for it here's the link):

http://transkeimeg.blogspot.com/2010/05/little-things.html

In this piece (a very 'little' piece at that) I wrote how as humans we begin to forget, and we lose focus on the small, seemingly insignificant things that make this world worth living in. For me its noticing the sound of rain on your window, and the sheer amazing sight of a flower in full bloom. Its that smell of the ocean, and the stunning green of rolling hills. I closed my eyes several times during my time away from blogging, and attempted to block out all the sounds that weren't enhancing the silence, and I heard the birds...

I felt the icy-cold water kissing my feet, and felt the wind slapping my face. It was invigorating, and just for a brief moment, that was the ONLY moment! That moment right there. That's all there is. And because we are so wrapped up in our lives we forget that the world is living on without us - sometimes despite us! It is so important to remember that happiness can be found in a moment with yourself simply just sitting in the warm winter sun hearing children playing in the background, and a dog barking. I actually found bliss in staring intently at a rose that had just bloomed the night before. It was so beautiful, and sad because it's time on earth is so precious. It only has a few days to shine, and in that time it makes the most of it. Wow! How insignificant do my troubles seem now?

I have learned that simply spending a few minutes a day doing something small (yet great) can be life-changing. As long as you continue to keep in mind those moments, you can never be lost.

Some of these moments were simply laughing with friends (and yes that does sound horribly cheesy, but when you haven't laughed until you've cried for a while, you can forgive the cheesiness), or listening to a great song, and only being aware of that song and nothing else. Being in the moment can be hard because our minds won't allow us to just let things be, and we feel as though simply sitting isn't productive enough. Well, I am guilty of feeling guilt for simply sitting and being... What I have learned is that feeling guilty about that is the real shame.

Yes, we would all love to be successful in our own ways, and for our own reasons, and there's nothing wrong with wanting more. However judging 'success' is a tricky path, and cannot always be simply defined or placed on the yardstick of success. Whatever you're doing has to feel right - not for anyone else but for you. You cannot control the future and that is a very hard lesson to learn - yes, you play a part in it (a BIG part), but things are going to happen in your life that you cannot control and you never dreamed would happen - good or bad - but at the end of the day (or the moment) things happen... Just appreciate them for what they are and move on.

And yes, happiness IS a state of mind...

Where Have All My Brain Cells Gone?

2011-06-06T10:32:00.000+01:00

I have a serious case of withdrawal at the moment, and its not even for something mind-altering or illegal... I am sadly at the point in my life where nostalgia and reminiscing about the 'good old days' at varsity, are no longer simply because I miss the freedom and the parties, but also because I miss being in the position to consistently use my mind. It seems that ever since I graduated I have regressed, and this is never a good thing. In a way I feel as though I have failed myself because I have not pursued the so-called 'dream', and when you have to force yourself away from the television to actually read a book, you know things have gotten out of control. You know the situation is critical when the simplest things are beyond your brain capacity, and your ability to speak English has deteriorated to the point of monosyllables and grunts...

I guess there is nothing wrong with breaking away from the world of academics for a little while, but there comes a time when one can no longer watch bad TV, and forget all about the greatness of Jane Austen and Oscar Wilde. Don't get me wrong - I am in no way an elitist, nor am I a snob, but studying was where I found my niche a few years ago, and since then I have felt as though I am missing something very poingant. The illusive search for knowledge has only left me momentarily, and I know that the only way I can go back to full, gramatically correct sentences, is if I pick up a book that doesn't have a woman holding a shopping bag on the cover - though reading books like that is a whole lot of fun!

I miss being critical of everything (and this in no way makes me a pompous arse!), and spending many nights working at my computer and embracing deadlines. Some people are so relieved to finish school, and move on into the 'real' world, and yet I have found that my world always felt more real when I was ankle-deep in research and observing silence in the library.

Perhaps I should be honest and also admit that my need for intellctual enrichment is also a need to revert back to the student stereotype of irresponsibility and dependence on others to fill up my datebook. Life is not as much fun when self-motivation is the key factor to getting up early.

Look, I am a realist (in most respects) and simply living on a couch is no longer a viable option, and even though I don't literally 'live' on said couch, I have seriously considered it, and that is scarier than any scary movie, and in no way will I become a statistic! I ask you where my brain cells have gone, and to be honest I think they might simply be in hibernation, just waiting for the summer of intelligent thought. Or perhaps they've fallen behind the couch cushions - a great place to find lost change and old snacks!

Growing Up is Hard to Do!

2011-06-03T11:46:00.000+01:00

When exactly are we expected to grow up? At what point to you wake up and the rest of the world considers you an adult, a grown up, a productive and necessary member of society? I suppose by the mere fact that I'm posing these questions, means that I am nowhere near being all grown-up. I just can't seem to shake the idea that I am still stuck in a world of my own that includes Coco Pops, Christmas stockings and stuffed unicorns on my bed. At the age of 26, this may seem a bit depressing to some, but then that only seems relevant if you are one of those who believes in that (scary) theory that we need to follow convention.

Now, I know I am going to get into a bit of trouble for discussing this but here goes: I have noticed over the last 2 - 5 years that a large majority of my peers are getting married and having children, and wow! some of them are doing both! This is not to say that I disagree with the choices people have made, in fact, I am very happy for my friends and family that have chosen children and marriage (or both), however... I am still going to fight domesticity with every inch of my being. Call me old-fashioned, but the stigma of marriage and kids still conjures up images of 1950's advertisements for dust-busters and china patterns. I can't get past the idea that once you jump into it, that's it! I know this is not true, and life carries on, but I am still very stuck on the whole idea that I am still a kid and could not possibly be responsible for anyone other than myself - and I'm not even great at that. Having a cat is the most responsible thing I've done in years, and that isn't saying very much, as cats (as we all know) pretty much take care of themselves.

On the other hand I also crave the day that I will be totally responsible and independent, and can make dentist appointments all by myself. This is not to say that I can't look after myself, but the fear factor in this whole situation we call life is that 'growing up' is scary. I imagine that my own home will still have lava lamps and fairy wings because these are not elements that are relevant to adulthood, but something will take precedence over everything and that something is called: Moderation! Dammit!What a horrible thought! I have never done very well with moderation, and to end that would be very sad indeed. Or perhaps I am simply over thinking things here a little bit... It is entirely possible that I will find my niche in life and all will work out as it should and I should stop stressing over things that are not even happening. But I can't shake it! I can't shake the thought of leaving my childhood behind, and forgetting the magic.

In the film Under the Tuscan Sun (2003), the character of Katherine tells the main character, Frances, that you should "never lose your childish innocence. It's the most important thing" (Duncan: 2003), and this is exactly how I feel ALL THE TIME!! I feel as though the world is slowly forgetting what its like to be a child. People are forgetting to be innocent and open-minded and honest, and that is exactly what children are. As adults we lose that (through no fault of our own) and that scares the hell out of me! This is so sad because there are amazing things out there, and we have lost the excitement and enthusiasm we used to have for them.

We have forgotten the feeling of rain on our faces; of squishing mud between our toes; the excitement on Christmas morning; birthdays; visiting a new place; watching snow fall; jumping into the waves and splashing in puddles. All this seems trivial but it isn't, and we should never forget how these things made us feel. You don't have to necessarily love the same things I love, but surely there were certain things in your childhood that you remember getting very excited about? Excitement and happiness are a part of being human, and should never be forgotten. Though here I am writing myself into a standstill, because I realise that it must be very exciting to marry the one person in the world that you wish to spend the rest of your life with. And I suppose bringing a child into the world, and reliving your childhood through them can't be all that bad...

I guess the fear will remain until I settle on the idea that doing all these 'grown up' things will (and should) NOT change me. Not my essential parts that is. However I still intend to have Bob Marley posters on my wall, eat Cheerios for breakfast and watch the Muppets for a little while longer...

The Pill of Happiness

2011-06-01T14:27:00.000+01:00

We take it very seriously when someone we know and love breaks a leg, or an arm, or a toe. We despair when people are diagnosed with life-threatening illnesses such as cancer or Leukemia, and our own sense of mortality starts to weigh heavily on our souls. We question our own lives, and wish we could do everything in our power to take the pain away from those we love. So much is said and done to help alleviate the physical pain of those suffering, and even though I am all for this (would it matter if I wasn't?), I have a bit of a bone to pick with society - as per usual... It is not that I disagree with society and it's emphasis on trying to cure/heal the pain of physical hurt, but this is not the only pain out there. Millions of people all around us are constantly suffering from a pain that cannnot always be seen, and that people will often not complain about or even mention. This is a pain I am very familar with, and wish to share with you - it's called Depression, and whether we would like to admit it or not, it is a serious problem, and strangely enough no one wants to talk about it.

I suppose the biggest issue with any kind of mental affliction is that one needs to take the time to understand it, and because we as human beings are usually afraid of the unknown, we avoid it. We cover it up with smiles, and yet that is the BIGGEST problem! Smiling! Sometimes smiling with your heart and soul can be the hardest thing in the world. This may seem like a completely foreign [pill] for some people to swallow, but for those suffering from manic depression, bipolar disorder and many other mental deficiancies, it often comes down to just that: pills! And with these 'happy pills' comes a whole ton of prejudice and stigma that can eat away at any chance we may have at happiness, or something like it.

I have had countless debates (and sometimes even arguments) with some very intelligent and loving people about depression and how it makes you feel, or how it makes you not feel. There are certain feelings and emotions that cannot be 'simply' explained, and until you wake up one day very late crying and don't know why, you cannot understand the depth of this disease. And that is exactly what it is - a disease. Just like cancer! And with all diseases, there are clever people out there searching for the best drugs to combat the pain and hopefully one day even cure us of the pain. Sadly, lifting the weight of pain can be temporary and sooner or later we all have to look at the psychological influences and look at ourselves in the mirror without the haze of induced 'happiness'. Sometimes the pain can be lifted temporarily with alcohol, food and drugs, and millions of people fall into that black hole all the time. Its the loneliness and feelings of being misunderstood that become the biggest instigators. The smallest problems become the biggest catalysts, and crying can be the only healing measure.

It is not about finding a reason or an excuse for these feelings, but until you have sat down and tried desperately to remember the last time you were happy, truly happy, you will never know...

I am not an expert when it comes to dealing with people that are 'sad' and have no idea why, but I can tell you how I feel. There is nothing better than a bit of empathy, not pity, and attempting to understand the pain can go a long way. Sometimes dealing with people that suffer from anxiety/panic attacks and different forms of schizophrenia seems like a daunting mission, but all it takes is a bit of patience and researching these diseases is never a bad idea. We can't all be made happy simply buy plying us with Jelly Babies and vodka. You can change the way you view your own issues, and by surrounding yourself with the right people, and appreciating the sky and the grass can make enormous steps towards dealing with a problem that often seems so overwhelming.

There is nothing shameful about having 'blue' days, but there is a problem when you can't get out of them... Just remember that you do have the ability to make this all pass you by...

The Origin of Love

2011-05-29T13:05:00.000+01:00

We all believe in different things and have different priorities and different things that make us feel happy and complete. Some of us even rely on other people to make happiness a reality. Imagine that? What a highly bizarre notion that a human being might not feel whole on his or her own. Imagine feeling as though another person entirely separate from you could make your life worth living? As bizarre and scary as that may sound, the human race has always felt the need or desire to find some form of companionship and in a way, someone with whom to share their life and witness the world with. Songs are sung about it, poetry written, and all over the media there are stories, some true, some fictional, about two people that meet, fall in love and spend a certain amount of time together. Sometimes they break up and sometimes they remain together forever, but whatever happens there was some moment (defining or not) that made them choose that other person. The romantics amongst us will speak of flashing lights, and how the world ceased to move when they first saw their significant other. They will describe in detail the colour of their lover's eyes, and the shape of their knees and the length of their smile. I am no such person, but that's okay, as there's plenty of romantics out there to go around.

However I admire those that can express the love in their hearts. I can tell you how much I love the sound of the waves crashing on the shore at my favourite beach, and the sound the wind makes when it moves through the trees and I can feel my grandfather's presence in the air. I can describe in perfect detail the exact colour and texture of the roses outside my mother's house, and I practically swoon when describing the falling of raindrops, but human emotions? I am a little bit lacking in that department... That is not to say that I do not love other human beings, and do not have the ability to love again, but rather choose to keep those emotions locked away. Describing the reason for loving another is not a simple task, especially when you are not sure of the reason why...

In Plato's Symposium, a philosophical text on the nature and origin of love, Aristophanes (a comic playwright of Ancient Athens), explains that "the sexes were not two as they are now, but originally three in number; there was man, woman, and the union of the two". He goes on to describe how primeval man was round, his back and sides forming a circle, and this was because the sun, moon, and earth are three, and the man was originally the child of the sun, the woman of the earth, and the man-woman of the moon. However human beings had forgotten how to be righteous and no longer worshipped the gods. This angered the gods, and Zeus decided that he would split them in half with thunderbolts. He did this, but warned them that if they did not find humility they would split a second time, and have to suffer whilst hopping around on one leg. Once the human race were split, "the two parts of man, each desiring his other half, came together, and throwing their arms about one another, entwined in mutual embraces, longing to grow into one, they were on the point of dying from hunger and self-neglect, because they did not like to do anything apart; and when one of the halves died and the other survived, the survivor sought another mate, man or woman as we call them... and clung to that".

The human race was being destroyed because they were unable to function without their other half, and so Zeus took pity on them, and made it so that man and woman could procreate, "by the mutual embraces of man and woman they might breed, and the race might continue". Basically humans could heal the state of man by reuniting, and this caused the incessant need to always be on the look out for the other half.

However - and I am glad to hear I am not alone in thinking this - there are people who pass their whole lives together and cannot describe or explain the desire for one another; the need in each other's souls to be together. Arisophanes' theory is that: "the reason is that human nature was originally one and we were a whole, and the desire and pursuit of the whole is called love". The deal with the gods is that we must remain pious, and if we continue to do so they will return us to our original state - as one with our beloved. Cool, right?

I guess it is a bit of a wild concept, and I am assuming that most people are not literally going to start worshipping ancient gods simply to find their one true love. There is also the matter of believing in the idea that there is ONLY one person for everyone. I think it would more advisable to to simply choose to live an honest and good life, and be thankful to the universe (or whatever religious denomination you fall under) and hopefully you will attract the right people to you. Finding your other half is a beautiful theory, but the world is filled with theories... and one of those crazy theories is that you might be able to find your other half, in you!

The One Hundreth Episode!

2011-05-27T14:22:00.000+01:00

A quick calculation has Memoirs of Meg at its 100th blog post and this is it! I feel like I should be celebrating in some way, but I remember the last time I celebrated this blog, and sadly did so on my own... All jokes aside I do not wish to waste a perfectly good and well-numbered post on sad attempts at frankly celebrating myself here... Its not as if there's anyone else working in the wings helping me come up with ideas and editing my (badly edited) publishing. Its all me, and so what I will do is give a bit of a literal salute to everything and everyone that has inspired me to write, and that have kept me writing, and therefore kept me sane this past year.

They (whoever 'they' are) say that one cannot choose one's family, and this is certainly true when it comes to who you are related to, but there is no rule that you should love nor respect your family. I however have been blessed with an amazing family, and everyday they give me another reason to both LOVE and RESPECT them for who they are and what they always will be. My parents have always been my biggest fans, and trust me, they often shouldn't have been. I have not always been the easiest person around, and have certainly had my share of bad-luck and made my share of bad choices in the whole 26 years of my life, but through (and despite) everything they have been there and supported me through some of the most difficult moments. I often wish that I could be this amazing person, and take back all the bad moments, but one can never go back, and because of these moments we are defined by the way we react. My parents have been defined as amazing, strong, funny, kind, dependable, honest, brave, smart, creative and worth every loving thought I can possibly throw their way. Thank you mom and dad for being you.

My brother certainly deserves a mention here as he has been (and he doesn't even know this) my conscience for years. I should get one of those bands that say WWBD (What Would [B]rother Do?), because ever since I could remember and no longer hated him (as siblings do), I have always admired him for his ability to make the right choice. I didn't always agree with him, and often did the exact opposite of what he suggested, but deep down I knew he was right. Never perturbed by the rest of the crowd, he always makes decisions based on what he feel is right, and can very rarely be persuaded. I both admire and envy him for this, and even though I still pretty much do as I please, I will always respect his opinions and I would like him to know that I am (and always will be) proud of my 'little' brother.

I have had the privledge of meeting and getting to know many people in my lifetime, and have had the even greater privledge of making friends with some of these people. It is to my friends that I dedicate this little piece of cyberspace. As cliched as it may sound it is true that a TRUE friend is very hard to find, and harder to keep, as that can be a great test of friendship. I have some amazing people in my life that have supported not only me and my (often bad) choices, but have supported my great desire to be a writer, which is not always an easy path. Thank you so much to all my friends who religiously read my stuff and that are never afraid to give me constructive criticism every now and again.

To all my school teachers and university lecturers who opened my mind and my soul.

Inspiration comes in all shapes, forms and sizes, and I certainly would not have as much to say if it weren't for my idols whom I've never met but have inspired and continue to inspire me everyday. Some of these people and groups of people include: Bob Marley, Collective Soul, Audrey Hepburn, Alfred Hitchcock, Tracy Chapman, The Clash, Nelson Mandela, J.K Rowling, Enid Blyton, Tim Burton, Rob Zombie, Roald Dahl, Eddie Vedder, Johnny Depp, Hunter S. Thompson, Christopher Mccandless (Alexander Supertramp), Syd Field, Jim Henson, Marian Keyes, Sheryl Crow, Joan Armatrading, Fleetwood Mac, Annie Liebowitz, John Lennon, Ansel Adams, The Eagles, Rian Malan, and Zakes Mda to name a few. Thank you for inspiring me with all the beautiful and creative aspects you have brought and bring to the world.

Finally, I would like to thank the universe for allowing me to live in such a beautiful place. I was born in Transkei, a small part of the world, but as small as it is, it is my world, and everyday I discover another reason to love my home. Home is indeed where your heart lies, and even though I may leave it many times in my lifetime my heart will remain with the mountains and the waves and the winds of this special place...

Thank you for reading Memoirs of Meg - I look forward to the next 100 posts!

Five People At A Braai

2011-05-27T13:07:00.000+01:00

So usually one sits down to dinner with 5 dead celebrities, one of which is quite often Jesus, and from there the controversy ensues, and by the end of the evening, food has been thrown and Jesus has left the building. Its not an usual end to an evening that involved the son of God, and the problem with convention is that very few of us would actually invite a religious icon. Come on! I mean, how much fun is it going to be if you all sit down at a stuffy dinner table and there's Jesus, or Krishna, or the Dalai Lama sitting at the table with you? Not much fun my friend! Then again, maybe this fantasy dinner-thing is not meant to be fun, and is rather a meeting of minds, and there is no place for fun. Be that as it may, my dinner party would never happen. I have never found food to be a particularly social thing, and that is why I was not born in Italy. I was born in good old Africa, South Africa to be exact, and our version of social gatherings usually include cooking meat over an open flame, eating potato chips and drinking copious amounts of liquor. It sounds awful when I put it like that - so raw and 'caveman -like'. But, its the truth. We love our braais (or barbeques) here in SA, and they are usually just an excuse to get together, and get merry without the hassle of dressing up to go anywhere particularly special. Not that people don't get dressed up, but you see where I'm going with this? The illusion of informality...

So, it comes down to this: I must invite 5 people (dead or alive) to my fantasy braai, and with that I must remember that the whole point of a braai is to have fun.

Firstly, I would love to invite the late great Bob Marley, however there is the small problem of him having been a vegetarian and he didn't drink alcohol either, as dictated by the Rastafarian religion. That said I am still going to invite him as I think that perhaps its always good to have a sober guest, even if said guest will probably be smoking spliffs throughout the entire evening. I'll simply make sure there's plenty of salads and fruit juice.

Second on the list will have to be the author and goznzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson. Not only will he be a fascinating person to talk to, he will also I'm sure have more than a few beers, and might even join Bob by the recreational fire. I want to hear all about his time with The Hell's Angels, and his relationship with another beat writer, Ken Kesey, who wrote one of my favourite books The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test. I'd love to invite Ken too, but I only have 5 people to choose, and one rebel author is enough for this little shindig.

Thirdly, I will be adding a lady to the mix, and the beautiful Breakfast at Tiffany's actress Audrey Hepburn will probably arrive in style. I have adored this woman since the first time I ever watched My Fair Lady. Beautiful, poised and immensly talented, Ms Hepburn will certainly bring some class to the party - not that we would be lacking in class, but during the 1960's and 1970's Audrey Hepburn was considered a genuine lady of epic proportions.

Fourth on the list is the creator of the Muppets, Jim Henson. Once the voice of some of the most well-known and loved characters of all time, namely Kermit the Frog and Rowlf the Dog, Henson created the Muppets when he was still at university, and his characters will be eternally a part of culture and history. He was a quiet and reserved man, and I'm not too sure if he was prone to social events, but either way he's invited and whether he pitches up is all up to him.

Lastly I will be extending an invite to my grandfather, whom though not famous in the wordly sense, was certainly well-known in the community I grew up in. Famous for being a friend to all, whether young or old, black or white, my grandfather was more often than not the life of the party - any party. An extremely knowledgeable man who could fit in with almost any crowd, I am inviting him because even if the reggae singer, journalist, actress or Muppet man can't hack it, atleast he will get the party started!

An interesting and rather diverse group of people, and the only thing at this point that they have in common is that none of them are still with us, and all of them have had a significant role to play in my life. It all comes down to the main event whether we find more in common with each other other than our humanness. However the ability to be a human is easy, but the ability to be a great one is not just the way the world sees you, or the amount of people that hang pictures of you on their wall. It all comes down to what you leave behind, and how you treat others and the world around you when you are here. All these people have left great legacies behind them, and I am certain that my little party would no doubt atleast be interesting if not a great success, if it were possible.

(Rap)ture Me This!

2011-05-22T11:45:00.002+01:00

Okay, so I actually had to go online and research The Rapture phenomenon that swept the world yesterday, and apparently I was not the only person that didn't know about the end of the world. Just to give you a brief delve into this theory: Harold Camping, an American Christian radio show host predicted that on the 21st May 2011 at 6pm local time, The Rapture would occur, and would go systematically around the world from time zone to time zone. (Clearly I am paraphrasing Wikipedia here). The 'Rapture' is a biblical term which refers to the taking of select people up to heaven, and this select group would only include 3% of the world's population. Camping also predicted that exactly 5 months after this, on the 21st October 2011, the world would end.

Now I consider myself quite an open-minded person, with patience and interest in all things as long as I am allowed to both constructively criticize and analyse, but there is definitely something strange here, and I just can't seem to put my liberal finger on it. Camping made a similar prediction back in 1994, and since then has made the revised predictions that we have heard about today. It is certainly a comfort to know that there are thousands of people that truly believe that the world will end. And yes, even if the world is ending I will still continue to be as sarcastic and as sceptical as the day I was born... However Camping had been making predictions such as these since the 1970's and I am loathe to agree with him this time. Not that I even knew anything about him until Friday.

So unlike a couple of million people that chose to huddle down and await the Armageddon I sat outside and waited for the moon to rise with a bottle of red wine. The moon was late, and my head felt like it had been driven over by a truck the following Saturday, but at least I knew that I was not one of the chosen people to leave Earth and avoid the end of the world. Look, I am no expert on Nostradamus type predictions and am certainly not in the know when it comes to all things religious, but I can truly respect people's beliefs and their faith in something supposedly greater than us mere mortals. If people want to believe that the world will end, and that all those still left on Earth now were not 'worthy' than so be it. We may just spend our lives trying to figure everything out, and make sense of everything, and do what is expected of us. We can watch propaganda films on the September 11 attacks, and UFOs and the Second Coming, and we can believe them. We can become paranoid and fearful, and suspicious. That we can do. Sometimes I think that perhaps I should embrace all these theories, just in case.... In case what?

In case I am wrong. In case my liberal open-mindedness isn't enough, and I should have believed all the people I thought were perhaps a little crazy and fanatical. Maybe I should repent and pray for forgiveness, and build a bomb-shelter and wear a white robe, and call everyone 'brothers' and 'sisters'. Or I could just carry on as though I firmly believed that the world would never end, and sure we have Global Warming and there's a lot of natural disasters happening because of man's selfishness, but hey! As long as the world keeps ticking along, right?

There's nothing to worry about. The world is just taking it's sweet time in ending... One earthquake and tsunami at a time!

Too Much Africa

2011-05-20T12:38:00.001+01:00

On Wednesday this week, South Africa had a national election, and I did not vote. I just wanted to get that out of the way before things became complicated, and I certainly am not going to pretend to be anything other than who I am right now. A non-voter. Actually, if I really think about it I am extremely dissapointed with myself for not voting.... Not really. I could say that to make myself feel and look better, but I would be lying and that is not the point. Here is the truth: I simply didn't vote because I was lazy. Yes, readers, I was too lazy to go and get registered and then to vote for a party that I preferred more than the parties that were vying for my county's affections. And I dare call myself patriotic? Actually I do, and that I guess is where the self-loathing comes from. My shameless ability to be a hypocrite in all shapes, ways and forms.

I am very opinionated about this country's political situation, and yet know absolutely nothing about this country or politics, and my only opinion is that I think South Africa is an undercover Communist state, and we are on the verge of becoming (perhaps not economically, but poltically) very much like Zimbabwe. The censorship and corruption are quite clear examples of this, and yet I suppose one can find an example of both these elemments in all countries. However South Africa has a distinctive Big Brother - esque attitude about it, and I will not just accept the political babble that we are an emerging nation. We are so freaking backwards it's actually frightening!

Cape Town may have the cultured air of Europe about it, but the rest of the country is still struggling with an identity crisis, and surely we would not want to emulate a part of the country that doesn't even know where the bloody hell it is? Don't get me wrong, I have heard great things of Cape Town, and the people there are only 'mildly' annoying and only a tad pretentious, but surely we can find Africa somewhere in there? Or do we really want to find Africa in Africa? I mean, it doesn't really seem to be doing that well on the global front is it? Maybe Africa needs to stop being so damn African, and then we can start afresh and become western clones. Perhaps then the rest of the world will stop mocking us for our penchant to be late. I mean there would be no such thing then as 'African time'. We'd just be late.

Maybe we could stop slaughtering sheep when there was a celebration, and instead we could go out to a fastfood chain store and eat battery chickens and processed meat products? We could stop making fun of our colour differences, and use a politically correct word for everything, and if we didn't we could always just sue or be sued. There is of course no humor in the dreaded human condition of being either black or white...

We could stop beading beautiful designs and rather wear generic Asian synthetics that underage workers have literally sweated over. Hell, while we're at it, why don't we just stop drinking on thursdays, and going to church on sundays. We do that you know? Then again so does the rest of the world, though we do seem to do it really well! We could make dance/hip hop/pop music about love,sex and alcohol - wait! everyone does that. Those however that do veer away from the mainstream are the only ones truly famous outside of Africa, and only for the very fact that they are doing it the African way. It's the only thing that sets us apart from the rest of the world, and geographically this makes the most sense.

So what pray tell is wrong with Africa? Everything and nothing I suppose. I guess I am just another confused individual who didn't vote. Dammit! I should have voted, and then I might actually have a legitimate say, right?

Rest in Peace, Nesta Robert Marley

2011-05-11T11:36:00.002+01:00

Thirty years ago today, the great reggae singer and songwriter Bob Marley passed away in 1981, and this is as much a sobering day as it is a day of intraspection. Not only is it awe-inspiring to think of all the music that this man brought into so many of our lives, and sad to think that someone as peaceful and as peace-loving as him could suffer the inevitable fate of death so early in life, but it is also a day for serious life-considerations. I mean, it was 1981 30 years ago, and I don't know about you but time seems to be flying by way too fast. What on earth have we been doing for the last 30 years?

This is not the time nor the place I suppose to ponder such thoughts. The whole notion of time speeding up gives me the heebie-jeebies. It's moments such as these that make one want to go and do something worthwhile and I have quickly made up a short list of things that I would wish to do if the options were open for me to do anything and everything without pesky factors such as time, money or logic.

1. I would go to New York and walk the streets just because I have always wanted to do that.
2. I would visit the Bob Marley museum in Kingston, Jamaica.
3. Attempt to watch every single episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer in a single sitting (this would take DAYS!!!)
4. Visit all the people I have promised to catch up with when I'm in their area (even if that 'area' is New Zealand or Timbuktu).
5. Sell my TV/movie script and become instantly famous amongst the cult film circuit.
6. Get an amazing tattoo somewhere visible.
7. Learn to surf in Bali.
8. Walk through the hallowed halls of Oxford University - as a student.
9. Spend a month scouring second hand bookstores all over London.
10. Make sure that I have told everyone that I love, that I love them.

This may seem like a very frivolous list, and to be honest it will probably change slightly (and sometimes quite dramatically) every time that I think to ponder it. However the death of a man and the memory of someone as powerful as Bob Marley calls for such lists to be made.

You may never fully grasp the importance this man has had on my life, but I will try to ease you into it slowly. One of the first records (LPs) I remember listening to was Confrontation which belonged to my dad. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen or heard, and to this day that record cover is my favourite of all time. Bob Marley riding a white horse, dreads flying, sword at the ready. I would dance around the living room to Buffalo Soldier and know that this was 'real' music. As a teenager I carried on this love for Bob, by plastering my pink bedroom walls with his face, and wearing oversized reggae T-shirts to school every civvies day. It's not an usual thing to do, but most white girls back then were not listening to reggae music. Reggae music was ALL I listened to.

I would spend my pocket money every month on a new album, and I will always remember the day I managed to track down Babylon by Bus and listened to 'Punky Reggae Party' in the car home after said purchase. I became obsessed with reading up everything I could on his life, and by the time I was 16 I had read 3 biographies on the man, had at least 10 albums and my room was an add campaign for spliff-smoking and guitar riffs. I was not the coolest of kids, you see, in the eyes of everyone else I was the redheaded pale kid who spent her life buried in the school library and had not even been near a cigarette or a beer until she was about 18! A recluse I was, but I found comfort in my books and my music, and it was Bob who always saved the day.

In Matric I wrote my final speech for English on the life of Bob Marley, and if I'm not mistaken there were distinct tears in the audience (though I try to think that it was the content and not the poorly executed speech). When I adopted a stray puppy years ago, I named him Nesta, which means messanger, and that Bob's mother had bestowed on her son as a first name on his birth certificate. When Nesta passed away a few years later, I would have the name inked into my skin as a reminder of not only a great friend, but also of the music that had blessed my life for so long - so the name was quite convenient as I could honor more than just a single entity.

His music became part of my memories and my life-affirming experiences. I remember listening to Could You Be Loved on the way to university for the first time with my mother, and to Stir It Up when we painted my bedroom walls purple. Easy Skanking and No Woman No Cry were popular varsity songs, and Chances Are was a reminder of love lost. Somehow I had managed to find a song for every moment in my life, whether sad or happy, and have never given up the hope that there will alway be a Bob Marley song for every occasion.

He was, and is my happy thought for now, for then and for always. Rest in Peace Nesta Robert Marley, thank you for being (and continuing to be) a part of my 26 years on earth. Jah Rastafari!

The Chair

2011-05-11T08:43:00.000+01:00

I'm off to the dentist in a couple of hours and have been to The One Who Wields the Drills and the Little Mirror-Thingy a hundred times before, and yet every time without fail I get all nervous and twitchy and wish that I could be swallowed by the earth before it's my turn to go into that little room. Seriously though, I have been going to the same dentist my whole life. Its been over 24 years (I'm 26, but I'm not sure when one actually starts developing teeth, and subsequently needs to go the dentist to check on said teeth, and am therefore giving myself two years room for error), and the place still looks exactly the same as it did in 1987 (assuming I was 2 when I first went for a check-up - which is starting to sound a little wrong - and could actually remember what the place looked like in 1987!). I swear to you the waiting room has the same dusty floral curtains, the same 'homely' cushions on the chairs, and by god those are probably the same gross magazines that give you an in-depth foray into gum disease and and root canals. They must be the same magazines. I am convinced.

The waiting room however is also not the only part that has remained in 1987 (lets just assume that I was a very healthy and astute 2 year-old). The actual room where it all goes down is STILL the same. Sure, the instruments of visual (and sometimes physical) torture have probably been upgraded in the last 20 odd years, and there probably have been a picture change or two (though this is just speculation, and more wishful thinking than anything else), but I am pretty sure that The Chair (italicised, in bold and being underlined are necessary at this point) is the same one I have been sitting on more or less every year for over 20 years. The SAME CHAIR! I cannot help but imagine all the people that have sat there before me... This is both a scary and a gross visual picture, and I can't help but wonder what on earth possessed me to write about all of this and then think about all of this, when in just a few hours I will be sitting on that bloody chair - again!

Yes well, its a strange world and not everything is easy to write about. Sometimes we have to just close our eyes and jump in at the deep end. I am going for a routine filling (only the second one in my life, though believe me, this is a travesty, and not an achievement), and yes there will be an injection, and the possible sound of drills when I sit in the retro-80's waiting-room, and the tut-tutting of my dentist when she questions why I have not been to see her about the filling earlier, but at least it will not be the unknown. Apparently human beings fear the unknown, and therefore it stands to reason that as long as we are not in the unknown zone, than fear is simply not an option - in theory. As long as I can remember that room will always have a ceramic tooth perched on the radiator near the window, and that tooth will lear at me (said tooth is a whimsical tooth with a face and hands and feet - which is not disturbing at all...) and the same mangy (and probably never washed) purple plush dinosaur (not Barney thank god!) will wave at me from the chair across from The Chair (where you would usually have your parent's or your children sitting and watching you. Personally I would rather be stared at by the ceramic whimsical tooth and the exceedingly dirty T-Rex than be watched by someone who is trying desperately hard not to stare and appear uninterested, but really they are just curious to watch your flittering eye-movements when the large needle comes close to your face.) I prefer to just close my eyes, think happy thoughts and wait for the whole bloody experience to be over! Oh crap, did I just say 'bloody'?

Organised Chaos

2011-05-09T13:15:00.000+01:00

The human mind can be both an amazing thing and also a scary thing. I realise that this is rather a strange sentence to begin with, and I promise that I have a reason for this. Sometimes its difficult to take all those thoughts and put them into a pattern that is both comprehensive and cohesive. The mind works constantly and sometimes we scare ourselves with the thoughts and ideas that rush around in our heads. Often we wish we could close the doors for a while, and take a break. That's probably why so many of us love the idea and act of sleep, as we can close our eyes and stop thinking... Or so we think.

Even though the human body slows down and relaxes, the mind continues to work, though perhaps not at the same rate as it would if the body were awake. We dream, we fantasize, and then we wake up and attempt to decipher those dreams and fantasies. Perhaps they have meaning that links directly to the thoughts we were having before we fell asleep. Our subconscious breaks down into weird and wonderful images and scenarios that involve people and places that we know, and people and places that we don't know. We write down what we can remember of the dream, and we grab Freud by the scruff of the neck, and swear that we will not listen to him again.

Then again, is it so bizarre that we would find Freud so irritatingly one-dimensional? We read our horoscopes religiously, and somehow link these daily readings to our own personal situation, and somehow millions of people will not question this act. Personally I read mine as often as I can, and there REALLY ARE times when there is truth in them, depending I suppose on your source. HEAT magazine's love horoscope is hardly going to give even a semblance of anything considered credible and accurate, yet there are certain horoscopes and 'psychics' that are considered a lot more reputable. However not everyone believes in them, and that's perfectly fine too. We are entitled to our opinion, and to our beliefs. I just happen to be one of those people who will read mine, and ponder it, and choose consciously whether or not to take it seriously. I am just that way inclined.

I am also one of those people that reads tarot cards, and attempts to look far more deeply into my dreams. I have several books on dreams, and the symbolism behind snakes, ladders and the colour purple. However I must also say that even though I dabble in such things, does not make me a glorified expert, nor does it make me a person who lives her life based solely on such beliefs. As the human mind is multi-faceted, so is the human being and it's ability to believe in a variety of different ideologies and systems. We are not one-dimensional, and there are a number of beliefs that can, and do overlap one another. In fact I often find that no matter how great our intentions are, most of us are hypocrites and can just as easily contradict ourselves - often unintentionally. There is just so much to believe in and so much to take in that we fall into our own mental traps. I am not talking about something as simple as God versus the Big Bang (and this is not simple either), but a more convoluted argument.

Its very easy to fall into these mental traps without the slightest need to question them, because as a race human beings very rarely question anything. That's what faith is for, right? If we questioned everything we would end up crazed lunatics banging our heads against a wall and wishing for a quiet space where the world and its complications cannot reach us and infiltrate our simple existence. So rather than pick up a few books, let's rather just accept whatever the hell it is that we live our lives by. Rather than breaking into the unknown and becoming clinically depressed existentialists, we choose to stay blissfully ignorant, and subsequently happier for it.

I don't know about you, but I have chosen (much to my detriment) the difficult road that leaves you questioning everything, and because I have always done this, it's a bit difficult to do anything else. Because of this my mind often resembles an aged hippy that took acid 30 years ago, and hasn't quite come down from the trip. The space that I live in also manifests this notion, as organised as chaos can be. In my own reasonings the books I read, the films I watch, the music I listen to and the clothes I wear are an extension of that muddled thought pattern that is my brain. Yet all these things are not who we are - they are merely ways in which we CHOOSE to see the world and how we CHOOSE to express ourselves and portray ourselves to the rest of the world. Finding meaning in all that is crazy and scary is why we choose religions, and horoscopes and philosophies - so that on some level there IS meaning in the world, and there is a reason for existing.

At the end of the day though, as much as we rely on our gods, and our astrolgical signs, to get us through the day into the next one, we are always going to be alone with our thoughts - and no matter how great you are at conveying to the world how devout you are, and how much you resemble an atypical Gemini, you will and always will be alone in your thoughts - and that's a scary thought...

Happy Birthday!

2011-04-28T11:56:00.001+01:00

Its finally here! Today is the one year anniversary of Memoirs of Meg, and even though I was planning to spend this winter's day in bed watching anything and everything that has either Julia Roberts or Steve McQueen in it, I have decided that it is better spent writing... Writing about what, I am not too sure, but as usual I am pretty sure an idea will come to me - yes, I just contradicted myself.

I don't really want to reminisce too much about how this blog came to be, but it certainly arrived in my life at the perfect time. Lost and in limbo I was still in the happy throes of having come back from the annual Bathurst Book Fair, and had a pile of books to get through and take home. I was staying right on the river with a relative, and could hear the Egyptian geese outside making a hell of a racket outside. Having graduated with honours in English Literature a few days before that, I felt a bit pathetic, and sad, and well...pointless. I mean, aren't graduates supposed to jump into jobs straight away and start those amazing careers? Well, in my case there was certainly no jumping into anything - I simply sat and moped and worried about that fact that I was 25 years old, and was no closer to realising my dream then when I had just finished high school, and promptly took 2 years off to travel Europe, and erm...the Transkei. I worked in several backpacker hostels, hotels and bummed around a little bit more. I tried my hand at photography, and sadly forgot about updating my journals that I had been keeping since I was 7!

And so after 2 years of experiencing 'life', I went to university, and stayed for a fabulously respectable 4 years, and literally had the time of my life. After the first year and its novelties of beer on campus, and parties wore off, I became a bit of a recluse and spent hours in the library and the screening rooms reading piles of books and re-watching prescribed avant-garde films. I loved being a student! I even loved the horrible coffee they served at the campus coffee shop, and the weird and wonderful wild animals that roamed the campus - the university is situated in a nature reserve.

Of course, as all great things do, my life there came to an end, and I had to pack up 4 years of my life (and two relationships later) I was on my way home. Home in the Transkei is significantly different from the city, and I loved being home. Barefoot and at the beach, sitting around bonfires, drinking beer and listening to the waves and watching the stars (you know, just in case they ran away), and basically going back to my hippie roots. It seemed just enough at the time, and thats all I wanted. I wanted to forget deadlines and assignments and the bustle of the city. This however did not last long, and a couple of months later I was craving it all again, and mentally slapped myself for not applying for a Master's degree. I missed the conversations that involved words like: "ideology", "existentialism" and "autonomy". No, I am not pretentious or elitist, or any other (pretentious and elitist) word. I simply missed the interaction between people that also loved Allen Ginsber just as much as I did, and were not ashamed to admit it. Now what to do?

Well, the relative I was staying with at the time suggested that the first thing I need to do is get a purpose - something preferably creative, and the idea of a blog came up, and I was officially hooked. I started my first blog piece entitled The Word Limit, and it turns out it was very aptly named. I have been obsessed ever since, and will forever be grateful to this relative for putting me on the path to salvation and sanity. I may not have the fabulous career (yet), but I am doing something that makes me happy and keeps this old brain of mine from completely vegetating in the land of beaches, beer and starry nights.

And so: Thank you to all those who have been unwavering in their support of this blog, and of me. I hope that I can continue to find it in me to write about absolute nonsense for many more years to come....

Freedom Day

2011-04-27T13:42:00.000+01:00

Okay, so I couldn't think of anything to write about today, and usually when this occurs I prefer to close my laptop and walk away in the hope that either some good idea will pop up out of nowhere, or I will at least not be tempted to write something substandard that will inevitably irritate me once I've published it, and will subsequently have to be removed. (Gosh, that was a long sentence!) But then it struck me that today just so happens to be another public holiday in South Africa (one of many during the months of April/May), and this excited me because I am trying my best to keep up a consistency with my writing. Not only is today in fact a particularly important day, and certainly one worth mentioning, but it also has specific meaning to me as the word 'Freedom' has been my favourite word for as long as I can remember.

Now it may seem rather odd to have a favourite word at all, but that is not really important, I have one and thats that! I will not go into why I chose freedom, and I don't really think anyone could argue with me on my choice. The concept of the word has and always will be a loaded word, as it has entrenched itself into every part of every culture and nation and country's history. It is the reason for everything that we do, and the reason for getting up every morning. I mean, can you imagine doing anything (of your own 'free' will) in order for the end result to be the taking of your freedom?

Now South Africa chose today as their Freedom Day because it marks the date of the first democratic election way back in 1994, when Nelson Mandela was our president, and the whole world embarked on a 'Rainbow Nation' debacle. Gone was apartheid, and any over 18 year old could vote for the party they wished to rule their country. Awesome, right? Of course its awesome, but its almost impossible for me to not get slightly annoyed with the world, when I realise that we always have to go through so much injustice to get to a point that is only slightly kosher. I mean, did we really think that something as atrocious as apartheid was okay? Of course we didn't! Then why did it go on for so bloody long? I am no political expert, and I certainly am not in the habit of pretending to be one, but surely those old white dudes way back in the day had some brainpower and some compassion? I guess the whole segregation thing will never make sense to me, and I'm not even going to try and figure it out. The only comfort we can take from that day is that in theory people are all deemed equal - democracy and (dare I say it!) communism be damned! We are free from a disgraceful and frankly embarassing system that went on for far too long! That we can be grateful for, but there is a lot we still need to learn...

As free as people may feel, we are not really free. In the eyes of our government we are just silly little ticks on ballot papers that will help them gain yet another 4 years in office. Russia may be a declared communist state, but South Africa is as communist as you can get, and where is the freedom in that? As far as I am concerned those who make a big deal about the CONCEPT of freedom, will never know the true meaning of it as they are too busy making sure the whole world knows exactly how much this country suffered to get to this point. What point? Is this a positive point that we have reached? Are we all free to do as we please? Can we speak our minds? Is there censorship on any level when it somes to the media? Are we free to disagree with the majority? I don't know about you but I was under the impression that the majority are supposed to be uneducated and suffering in dire poverty. I know very little about politics and because of this have never actually voted or even registered to vote, and therfore I question the fact that the majority of voters for the ruling party come from impoversished areas, with illiteracy levels that could go through the roof.

I completely understand the need to excercise your rights to vote for a system that you believe in, but surely that would include having some sort of clue as to what it is you are in fact voting for. It's a competion right? The 'best' man or woman wins! The Egyptian writer Nawal El Saadawi said: "Prison taught me that freedom is very important but it taught me also that I'm ready to lose my freedom...for a different society. Because, I am not ready to live in a vey unjust, oppressive society, and just be free like that...I will continue to criticize...even if it keeps me in prison" (www.infed.org). This may have been written during the time of change, but we are still living in a very unjust society, and we should continue to feel 'free' to criticize, as this concept of freedom that we so readily embrace is still in a stage of infancy, and no amount of clever and subtle dictatorship is going to change that.

A day such as this one should absolutely be celebrated, but can we please just remember that with everything in life an element of closer inspection is both necessary and downright required. Or else what is the point of freedom if we can't even bother to pull off the blindfold that was snapped over our eyes long before that historic day way back in 1994.

Happy Freedom Day! May you discover your own freedom, and if you don't, then take it!

Down The Rabbit Hole: the Magic of the Imagination

2011-04-26T17:32:00.001+01:00

"Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversation in it, 'and what is the use of that book', thought Alice, 'without pictures or conversations?'
So she was considering, in her own mind (as well as she could, for the hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her.
There was nothing so very remarkable in that; nor did Alice think it so very much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself 'Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!' (when she thought it over afterwards, it occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this, but at the time it all seemed quite natural); but, when the Rabbit actually took a watch out of its waistcoat-pocket, and looked at it, and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a watch to take out of it, and burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after it, and was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge" (Carroll: 1-2).

And so begins Alice's adventures in a dream-like state called Wonderland. Wonderland may be the most extreme and possibly drug-induced version of the power of the imagination, but I thought it would be a great introduction to discussing another passion of mine: children's literature.

As far back as I can remember I have been reading, and in the beginning (after cardboard and pop-up books) I attempted to read every Enid Blyton and Roald Dahl book ever written. Thrown in between these were a bit of Beatrix Potter, The Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew, the Narnia series, Dr Seuss, Dr. Doolittle and (I'm afraid to say this) the Sweet Valley books.Along with the usual authors and series, there were also a couple of children's novels that I managed to read over and over again, and some only in my twenties (that I couldn't believe I had never read before). Anna Sewell's Black Beauty, Kenneth Graham's The Wind in the Willows, Edith Nesbit's The Railway Children, A.A Milne's Winnie The Pooh, Louise M. Alcott's Little Women and J.M Barrie's Peter Pan are some of my favourites, and a couple of them I only got to enjoy when I was in my twenties. You are never too old to read children's books in my opinion, but then again this is probably why this is one of my passions.

As a child and even into my early teenage years I believed in the characters of Moonface, The BFG, Prince Caspian, The Famous Five kids, and Victoria Plum (from the Victoria Plum books - which apparently weren't that commonly known). They were as real as real could be, and just like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, we believe because...why not? They represent wonderful things, and when a child becomes a true reader the imagination becomes limitless and nothing seems impossible. Yes, the imagination can be as horrifying as it is wonderful, as there were certainly monsters and boogey men in my childhood, but thats the beauty of it all - we can slay our demons just as fast as we can make imaginary friends.

Watching The Gummi Bears and My Little Pony certainly helped with the whole 'magic' thing, but a book can take on entirely different roles in a child's life. Even though a book may be illustrated beautifully, there is nothing like the imagination, and as we get older and the novels we read are severely devoid of pictures, we learn to enhance our abilities to create images and scenarios and characters in our minds - however once the movie is out we're screwed!

It was not just the characters that made us, as children, become giddy with excitement when we read the latest Enid Blyton or Roald Dahl - but it also had a lot to do with the magic places that these books took us to. Think about Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and just imagine that even without the annoying Augustus Gloop and the fantastic Willy Wonka, this Roald Dahl novel would still be fantastic just with its descriptions of that amazing factory and that awesome chocolate river. In The Magic Faraway Tree, the characters of Fanny and Dick (who later became Franny and Rick when the world went crazyily politically correct and children could no longer be exposed to such words/names), were not nearly as amazing as the tree that could spin you around and take you to all kinds of amazing lands beyond your wildest imagination.

As long as I have the ability to read and the ability to think, which I'm hoping will be for a very long time I will love the books that made me see another world beyond this one. I have been accused of living in a world of my own, and perhaps that is true, but it certainly won't change the fact that without our ability to open our minds nothing beautiful can ever exist, because even if it does exist in the physical plane, we will never see it...

To write, or not to write?

2011-04-26T14:42:00.000+01:00

The tricky part about writing on something as public as a blog on the internet is that no matter how badly you want to write that earth-shattering piece about your darkest hours, there will always be that annoying little dude (or dudette) on your shoulder who will most certainly dissaprove, and if that doesn't happen there's always the problem of having people you actually know reading what you have written. You could get away with the whole 'it's fiction; I was making it up' excuse, but when you entitle your blog with the very telling word 'Memoirs', it becomes impossible to lie, or even embellish just a little. Don't get me wrong, I still embellish a little and I guess thats normal with all writers, and trust me they ALL exagerate. Life is hardly ever THAT interesting, though sometimes it can be, and so much so that it's almost impossible to write about it without sounding completely OTT.

I don't think that I have held back, but I am certainly aware of that which belongs in a personal journal and that which can be shared. Sometimes sharing something as personal as angst and pain, and failures can be liberating and these emotions and conditions are universal, and I don't believe one should feel shame in sharing them. Just as much as expressing happiness, or confusion, as this is the way of the world, human nature and the entire population. Where would we be, and more importantly WHAT would we be if there wasn't an ability to communicate with one another?

I suppose that's what everything comes down to - the ability to communicate with not only our fellow man, but animals and birds, and the natural environment. Whatever we do and wherever we are we are constantly communicating, and that is not just in the usual sense of speaking face-to-face, or even the dreaded text messages, or phonecalls (which I hate by the way), but in our body language, our walk, our tone, our voice... Then there's the email thing, and the social networks, and the online forums, and the horrid notion that having instant messages every minute of every day. As helpful and as convenient as they may seem, they are also a terrible hindrance, and if you're anything like me you struggle to convey yourself properly in any of these non-old school ways of conversing. The only way you are going to get what I'm really trying to say is by speaking to me face to face (and that isn't exactly saying anything as I have a tendency to be solely responsible for any awkard moments that may take place) or by reading what I have written, which I have read over a million times, and edited, and stressed over for days...

I think there's also the whole insecurity thing that comes with expressing yourself and your thoughts and your ideas to people, to those you know, and those you don't, and often I think it is far harder to express yourself utterly and entirely to those you don't know, then it is with people that you see all the time. Bumping into someone you havn't seen in a long time, who just happens to mention that she read your last blog on the perfect girl's night out is not awkward because of the topic, but because you wish somehow that you had checked the spelling on that piece atleast fifty more times, and you are just hoping they either didn't notice, or at least have the sensitivity not to mention it - then again I have never been very good with constructive criticism (or any criticism for that matter). Yes, rejection and criticism are a major part of all writer's and artist's lives, but it really doesn't get any less hurtful and dissapointing, though I have heard that it gets easier.

We can also communicate with others through music, and at this moment in time, great music and great lyrics have become a bit of an obsession. Sometimes we don't necessarily have to use our own words, and often this can be a lot easier especially when you cannot quite convey something to your satisfaction. I have found that Collective Soul, Pearl Jam, Tom Petty and Tracy Chapman have a particular knack of writing music that suits my occassional inabilities to write anything meaningful and profound quite well. I choose not to see this as a disability and cheating myself, but rather as sharing words that I both admire and that can sometimes fit the exact feeling or emotion that I am feeling at a particular moment.

However, at the end of the day I am a writer (an unpublished one at that), and in order to continue this little old love of mine I must write, and thats my final answer and comment.

Go on! Express yourself, but make sure to make it true to you...

Music Defines Us! Really?

2011-04-24T15:46:00.001+01:00

Okay, so ever since I danced (yes danced!) upon my parent's LP collection, and scratched the crap out of them, I have loved music. But who doesn't, right? I mean we all have certain albums and certain songs and artists/bands that we remember from our childhood, and that will always bring us back to a point in time. As much as I love music I also realise that I have blogged about music and my love for it many times, and that's not because I have simply run out of ideas (though that IS sometimes the case) but mainly because there is so much to say about music... Rolling Stone anyone? Its all about finding new and interesting ways of writing about something that affects all of us, and that can in someway make us feel the emotions that we crave.

For example: when I am sad, or in the mood to feel sad I will simply play alot of Tracy Chapman, Tom Petty, Eddie Vedder, America or Keith Urban (yes, I do like some country music). Though to be fair I can just as easily feel absolute elation and happiness when listening to either one of these artists. I suppose it all comes down to the exact moment you play a song and REALLY listen to it. When I'm happy I love to listen to dance music (Groove Armada and Fatboy Slim), Eddy Grant (Romancing The Stone is my VERY happy song), Collective Soul, Sheryl Crow, The Eagles, Creedance Clearwater Revival and even a little bit of UB40 (though in UB40's case, their version of 'I Got You Babe' is now strictly out of bounds as it harks back to a recently disastrous relationship). When I'm at the angry stage of a break-up (which is a good stage by the way, as anything beats the sad stage - in my opinion), or just in the mood to psyche myself up if I'm nervous about something I like to listen to a bit of heavy metal and rock in the form of Rob Zombie, Nirvana, Foo Fighters and some of Collective Soul's earlier stuff which was very grunge. This must be played very loudly and you must jump around and swing you hair to get that angry 'I'm not actually in a mosh-pit and probably never will be because I'm a pansy' effect down perfectly.

I have certain songs that are specially meant for certain times in my life and they are VIPs in that section of my heart - therefore playing them at the wrong time leads to immediate dismissal and the need for a bouncer. They must be removed before they cause unnecessary damage - because who wants to feel sad when they're happy and vice versa? For instance when I jog I love to play Groove Armada's "Superstylin'" through my headphones - that song will always induce my heart to literally burn with the effort of jogging on an empty stomach, and that's not something you want to feel when dancing at a club. You can also never go wrong with me if you play Men At Work's "Land Down Under" when I'm at my happiest. America's "Lonely People" is dedicated to me at my saddest and when I feel the most sorry for myself. However their song "Sister Golden Hair" is my official anthem - go figure! Eddy Grant's "Give Me Hope Jo'Anna" reminds me of my late grandfather and will always make me feel a mixture of happiness and melancholy for obvious reasons. Eddie Vedder's tune "Society" is truly amazing because I feel every emotion known to man/woman purely because it defines every waking moment of my life (see my blog "Society In the Wild"). Keith Urban's "Making Memories of Us" is simply a sad song, and it enwraps every sad moment I've ever had - no pressure hey Keith!

The title of this blog is not superflous, there is a reason I swear! As I cannot simply be defined by the TYPE of music I listen to. I am not your standard reggae child (though that has always been my favourite genre), or a rock chick, or a dance queen, or a retro seventies lover. Every piece of music comes with it's own baggage, and that is not necessarily a bad thing. Emotions are as natural as... well, emotions. However some of us were given more of the emotional gene than others...

Easter Eggs and Indifference

2011-04-24T12:34:00.004+01:00

Today is Easter Sunday and according to Christian belief this is the day that erm.... If I gave you a factual description here I would only be regurgitating Wikipedia, and I am not here to tell you about the righteousness of this day, as I am not about being hypocritical. I am aware that all religious holidays such as this one, are meant for reflection and to ponder what happened in the past to the very beings that we worship and whose teachings we live our lives by, but again, I am no hypocrite (or at least in this instance). There is nothing funny about attempting to be quirky at the expense of someone else's belief, and I am not going to be one of those people. However I am going to discuss this very day as it is a reminder of something quite serious (to me).

Waking up on Easter Sunday as a child was one of the most exciting days of the year, next to Christmas and my birthday. That sheer excitement you feel before you go to bed at night knowing that when you wake up the next morning it will not be just any ordinary day. These days I wake up and know that because I am in my mid-twenties and do not have a gaggle of little children around me I will NOT be exposed to remnants of the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus. I will gorge myself on marshmallow covered chocolate and squashed chocolate bunnies, and lie on the couch and watch re-runs of The Gilmore Girls and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I will read a book, write a blog or two and simply remind myself of the great memories that come from the imagination I had as a child. In this I will always be grateful for that childhood innocence I had once...

I am not necessarily indifferent to it all though. There is (and always will be) that sense of childlike enthusiasm that drives me, and I am hoping that one day I will feel that excitement again, even if it is for someone else's benefit. As much as these holidays and their appeal may seem to wane, I am also blessed to have a loving family that I can still spend them with. I guess that's the whole point really, because as much as we miss Easter Egg hunts and presents in our Christmas stockings, these 'special' days are often made more special by the mere fact that they should and can be spent with people that make the rest of our year special. Sadly, the same bloody principle goes for Valentine's Day - though to be honest I still have not quite made my peace with that particular day yet. But that's another blog....

Happy Easter everyone! May you find your childlike enthusiasm in these times of 2012 (Mayan version), Big Brother (the 1984 version) and Nietzsche's notion that "God is Dead".... It's all about faith you know (and if all else fails there's always chocolate).

The World According to Gatsby Vol. 2

2011-04-24T11:20:00.005+01:00

Yes indeed, another piece about my cat Gatsby... It's been a wild ride so far and since this is a blog about the memoirs of me, this would not be construed as swaying away from the topic at hand. This little cat has changed my life in many ways and it would be unfair to completely disregard his impact on my life.

Since I last wrote about him he has managed to grow to three times the size and yet is still small enough to get carried around relentlessly, but just big enough to be annoyed over being carried around relentlessly. Yes readers, Gatsby is growing up, and just like any proud mother I am pleased to announce that he now has other interests other then the fridge and the litter box. He is now branching out (I just HAD to say that) by climbing up trees... However his newly found passion does not yet include the act of climbing down said trees, and thanks to my wonderfully tall brother, has been rescued a grand total of three times in two days. Not so smooth Gatsby, but you'll get there, and if not there's always the chance that some sexy fireman can be called to rescue you. Not very likely - as I seriously doubt South African fireman care very much for the rescuing 'cat in tree' dilemma.

On the social front Gatsby now has a 'lady friend' in the form of a Pomeranian puppy called Kimama. They wrestle and pounce, and chase each other around, and attempt to steal each other's food - the start of most love affairs really. However one must constantly be aware that Gatsby can gouge out eyes, and Kimama has a habit of biting tails, and toes and faces. How refreshingly romantic! It would however be great if we could get these two to keep their sleeping and playing patterns in parallel as it's rather unnerving to watch them attempt to wake each other up by the above mentioned scratching and biting...

On the sport front Gatsby is now the greatest soccer player cat OF ALL TIME! I am not exaggerating (even though there is a mild case of subjectivity here as I am the mother)! He can dribble that ball of squashed newspaper like a pro, though we may have to work on his attention span a bit, as anything (and I mean anything) seems to distract the young fellow. His true calling has not quite taken over his life yet, and I really don't want to be one of those moms - you know, THOSE MOMS - the kind that enforce their own wishes and dreams on their children. Actually I know this is hard to believe but I never really had aspirations to be the greatest soccer player ever, or the greatest anything to do with sport, or any kind of physical exertion for that matter. Hmmmm.... Okay, now I'm starting to make this all about me again, and this is certainly not the time or the place, or is it?

On a literary front I read the other day that F.Scott Fitzgerald who penned The Great Gatsby (which just happens to be one of my favourite novels of all time), used to write screenplays and actually failed at it miserably. This is a travesty as my biggest dream is to become a screenwriter and I am a huge believer in signs... Then again, we create our own destiny, right? Phew! I can choose to see this as a good thing because I will remember the night I chose his name and there was no going back. It came out of nowhere, like Flash Gordon, on a starry night at a place close to the ocean, and nothing can be more poetic than that I believe. It's really what you make of things, and in that way having Gatsby around has taught me to think of something other than myself. Of course this will never be as intense as having children of your own, but right now I'm happy with a cat. A very cool cat (hehe!) called Gatsby...

Living Through The Lives of Those Who Don't Really Exist...

2011-04-22T14:11:00.000+01:00

Is it just me or is it completely normal to live vicariously through the lives of the characters on television and the silver screen? I mean there are always going to be created persona's whether on the screen or in the pages of novels that we will feel a certain kinship with, and yes, we will feel their emotions - whether sadness or bliss, and somehow we react to these character's experiences because on some level they might be mirroring our own lives. They may not mirror us completely, but on some small level there is something about these fictional people that make us ponder our own lives and the choices we have made in the past. They may not be real, but they certainly seem real to us, and that's the sheer brilliance of a well-written character. The trick is in the writing, and the more realistically they are portrayed, the more we feel attached to them.

When Drew Barrymore's character Jossie Gellar falls in love with her high-school English teacher Mr. Coleman, and finds herself humiliated in front of the whole high school, I cry every single time. Actually I weep, and stammer and there are quivering lips, and sobbing ensues. Perhaps its just that scene when he finally arrives on the baseball pitch at the end of the movie and that Beach Boys song plays and she gets her first real kiss, that just does it for me. I am a sucker for that kind of romance. Many have said to me (namely my brother) that I don't have a romantic bone in my body, and maybe on some level that's true. Therefore my reaction to that whole 'forbidden' romance is merely a fantasy, and that's certainly not uncommon - I am pretty much positive about this, but anyone is welcome to correct me on this.

In the television show Six Feet Under, the youngest daughter in the Fisher family Claire, is on so many levels a mirror of my own sense of misplacement, morbid sense of humour and the need to break away from normality. Plus, she's a red-head, and they are all so similar in so many ways, and you can never really understand this unless you are a member of the 7% of the population (that statistic might not be that correct, but it's close enough), you will never understand the bond, even if it is with a fictional person.

In Gilmore Girls I am more like Lorelai than Rory, and it's all down to that quick wit - though the difference between Lorelai and myself is that I actually laugh at her quips, and nobody laughs at my well-thought out jokes and attempts at sarcasm. I think my problem lies in the fact that I have terrible timing and also perhaps the whole 'well thought out thing'...

In the film "Into The Wild", Alexander Supertramp (Christoper Mccandless) is my hero! No doubt about it! He may not be a misunderstood girl (or woman), but his ideals, love of nature, and use of classic authors as philosophers to his own life, struck a chord in my heart. Chris was a real person, and I think that is why I often think of his soul and his spirit with only fondness and warmth almost daily.

Sometimes the characters we live our lives through may in fact not even have similarities to ourselves at all, but on some level we are drawn to who they are, and therefore aspire to be that way, to react that way to situations and to people. We admire them, and yes sometimes we envy them their confidence and ability to let go and not be affected by whatever the world throws at them and us. Donna (the redhead - suprise suprise) on That 70's Show is a clear example of this. Whilst she may not be entirely me, she is quick withe jokes, and never seems fazed. I am always fazed...

In the show and the movies Sex and the City's Carrie Bradshaw has always been my favourite - not only because she's a published writer and that is what I aspire to be, but because she has this attachment to her possesions (and old ones at that) and also because she is totally ill-equipped when it comes to any form of technology. A pack rat AND a writer - don't those attributes usually go hand-in-hand?

In fact most of the time I am usually drawn to those who are on the periphery of society and it's normalities - you know? The rebels, the miscreants and the nerds.... In the movie Can't Hardly Wait I felt so drawn to Denise (the redhead again - crap! there's a pattern developing here and.... I like it!) and I think it was because I was the very one in high school whom no one invited to parties and pretty much did not have a social life outside of school - yes I did have friends and great friends at that, however I was NOT the life of the party, then again I was NEVER at the party.

Oh to be Penny Lane in Almost Famous! In most ways she is nothing like me at all - and yet there is a beauty about her that exudes magic and mystery. I suppose most of these feelings of worship stem from my love for the 60's time period and yes I am fully aware that it wasn't all rock music and hippies, but it still has a major appeal for me - no matter what other people say.

Ah yes, here's a character I could very happily be: In the gorgeously delicious film 'Chocolat', Vianne, the owner of the most amazing chocolate shop that ever existed in the history of film (except maybe the Wonka factory), is drawn by the wind, and the spirit of the people in the towns she frequently moves to. Plus, she gets to kiss Johnny Depp! Come on!

I suppose this piece is very much like an imaginary list of people I'd love to stalk... It's only NOT creepy because the whole point is that they don't exist! Can you dig it?

Eating, Praying and Loving

2011-04-21T12:53:00.001+01:00

It is not often that I am able to completely connect with a book, especially one as universally read as Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat Pray Love, and yet I have connected with this book so much to the point that I felt as though I were living in tandem with Liz as she struggled through the three elements of her journey: pleasure, devotion and balance, and everything else that came in between. Unfortunately I did not travel to Italy, or India or Indonesia, but I feel as though I have been on a VERY long journey, and I am approaching the end of it.

It would be so cliched and horribly expected of me to say that I have (God forbid) come to a 'cross-roads' in my life, but that is exactly what has happened. No longer fraught with distracting factors such as a job and a boyfriend, I am now in a space of: me! I am living at home again, and even though I desperately want to find my own way again, I also am slowly accepting that in order for that to happen I need to collect myself and gather myself and actually see myself. Aaargh, this is sounding very repetitive isn't it. This is not a journal or a diary to myself. This is just an acknowledgement of where I am right now. Back to the book...

When Liz was in Italy she indulged in everything that made her feel pleasure. She simply existed in the moments and the people and the place. As Osho Zen says: "Now is the only moment, and here is the only space". Like Liz I recognised the last month or so as being a time of overindulgence in things that one cannot always indulge in, but sometimes these things are necessary in realising what exactly it is that is possible. As insecure and lonely as we may feel (even when surrounded by people that are positive and supportive), there are always going to be times when the universe does something completely crazy and erm... makes you happy. Gee, I feel guilty admitting I might actually have been happy for a few weeks of doing nothing but reading, swimming, writing, eating, drinking and spending glorious days talking to great people.Yes dammit I do feel guilty, but I do believe that when I'm rich and famous (as one does) that I will make up for my bumlike status by lavishing gratitude on all those who helped and supported me during said 'bumlike status'. Does that redeem me? Perhaps...

In India Liz travelled to an Ashram and learnt how to combine her modern concepts of yoga with the true and spiritual meaning behind meditation and the notion of communicating with God. For so many people it is simply easier to just not believe in anything higher than yourself at all. It is easier to just simply not acknowledge anything, and yet I realised long ago that just because I am not religious in the usual sense of the word, I have always been able to see God (or the sense of one) in just about everything. In the trees, the night sky, the birds, the wind and the rain. I can see a greater being in people that I meet, and places that I go. Nothing deserves worshipping more (in my humble opinion) than the waves that crash against the shore, and the moon that rises without fail every evening, and the sun that rises every morning. How can we not see something 'great' in that? Surely it doesn't just happen, and that's that? I simply refuse to believe that the world can be completely happy without embracing something that they have come to know and believe is greater than they are. Devotion is devoting yourself to something profoundly beautiful, without reason or an insistence on being thanked for it. The section on India reads like a spiritualism book, which if you grew up in my house, would seem as common as going to church on Sundays is for others. We never went to church, not really. We didn't read the Bible or any other holy book - though I did spend a couple of years attending Catechism on Friday's and even did my First Holy Communion, as Catholicism was in the family (sort of) - and yet there was always this nagging sense that whilst I was not worshipping God in the normal sense, I was worshipping my surroundings, my home.

And as Liz's journey brought her to Indonesia in order to attain a sense of balance, I too began to learn balance. I stopped overindulging and existing purely through the idea of the senses. I woke up one morning to a very defining idea that ENOUGH WAS ENOUGH! All the wrong that I chose to ignore and all the blissful imaginings that things will get better in their own time seemed suddenly quite ludicrous and I no longer felt the need to forget. Rather to deal with any feelings of anger and pain now, and then peace will surely follow. Well in theory it should, but this is not a dream, this is life. In learning a sense of balance, Liz opened her heart to love, and that is exactly what happened to me. It's strange but so true that the minute you start to see YOURSELF differently, people around you see you differently, and only for the good, if that is how you see yourself. I attracted the exact kind of people that I needed for those moments, and through all those lessons I learnt that I am very capable of changing my own destiny. Ambiguous yes, but not impossible. Destiny is something we consider outside of our own grasp and manipulation, but in my experience that is not entirely true. Yes, I do believe in somethings being 'meant to be' and yet we are totally in control of how we react to what happens to us. Confused? Yes well, life to me is like the English language - confusing, full of rules and yet poetry throws all of that right out of the window - it's the beauty that breaks all the rules, and that's life!

So, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I am grateful for the ability to acknowledge my own faults, my own insecurities, and my own happiness. Sometimes it may seem that people and experiences come out of nowhere and change our lives, but they don't. They came from the very place you call home. They came from the very need you were hoping to satisfy. They are there to change you, and dance with you, and even make you cry. But seriously: They came because you asked them to.

Staring Up at the Sky

2011-04-15T22:15:00.000+01:00

- WARNING: this post may contain personal references to specific people and will not be understood by those not involved, but you are so welcome to read on...

"Now I've found my way home" sing Collective Soul in the song "Staring Down". Well if only I felt the same way at this moment in time. For a girl (or young woman if you want to be all technical and annoying about it) who has had her heart broken in many ways, this is hard to swallow. I have left a little known place in the world that made me happy beyond anything I could have imagined. There was nothing for that short period of time (1 month) that could get me down. I had everything (except perhaps an unlimited bar account) that I could ask for. I was surrounded by rolling hills, the waves crashing almost right at my doorstep, a pool at which to lounge next to all day as I pleased, a deserted beach to run on every morning, a trampoline, tons of books, beer and cigarettes (though excessively pricey if I may say so myself) and the most amazing people I have met in a VERY long time. Truth be told these people were the glue that kept me in a place where I was isolated from my friends, my belongings and *cough cough* access to cheaper cigarettes....

Being there brought me right back to my childhood and I think that was the hardest part in leaving, and realising that as much as we would all love to remain in fantasy land, there is a distinctive man/woman on your shoulder that constantly taps you on the shoulder and whispers in it's evil little way: "You are NOT on holiday... you are fooling yourself yet again Meg, and this always happens and you know how it ends...". Shut up silly little creature on my shoulder! I am simply taking a break from life and there is nothing wrong with that. I won't be doing this forever you know?! Well, needless to say, silly little creature got the better of me and I had to leave, but not before having the TIME OF MY LIFE!!!!

I have never written so much and swam so much and exercised so much in my entire life... I found passion and love, and inspiration and compassion and a soul twin. I never thought the last one was possible but I did and to this person (you know who you are) I will cherish you forever. You are my spirit and my soul and my sunshine and everything that comes with being a single human being that you can relate to in every single way...

I have built sandcastles and jumped on trampolines and lain down on the grass and looked up at the stars. I sang Pearl Jam songs to the night sky and watched Absolutely Fabulous and smiled uncontrollably. I watched people dance and cry and pet baby donkeys at midnight. I looked at spiders and spent every evening for a week with two fabulous redheads who took my breathe away and who were my accomplices during evening visits to a certain friend. What fabulous nights those were...

Birthday cake, Afrikaans music, red wine, kitty litter boxes and Croccs (the dreaded things) were just a small part of this glorious week. Impossible to forget and yet all I have are fond memories of the people that made me see, like really "see"- (Avatar reference). It is because of this place and these people and everything that we said and experienced that I was given the courage to leave my old life behind. Changing your life, and breaking away from your comfort zone is always the most difficult thing to do, but there always has to be that defining moment that changes everything and helps you make a decision - no matter how hard it may seem. Any decision is better than no decision and that is a fact, as nothing is set in stone.

Having the opportunity to wake up every morning and watch the sun rise over the ocean is a view I can never erase from my memory. I would listen to Eddie Vedder's "Society" on my headphones and be totally lost in a world that made me so happy but could not (right now) help me pursue my dream of writing. Yes, of course I could write, no problem there, it's the age old problem of being paid for one's art (if I could call it that). It's a sad day when you realise you cannot be where you truly believe you are meant to be - but then again wanting and 'meant to' are entirely different things, aren't they?

"Yeah, I found my way home" - Collective Soul. It's where I am, It's where I plan to go, who I plan to be with and where I know my heart is....

Sad Thoughts

2011-04-15T21:21:00.000+01:00

Today I read my horoscope and it said I should take time out for me, and be creative... Well my type of creativity has always been writing and I was kind of hoping on a few days of simply pondering my next piece as I have a few ideas and such but would rather work on them a bit - but then again that IS being creative and I don't necessarily have to publish anything to be creative... What am I saying? I could just publish this little ramble and pass it off as a 'creative piece' couldn't I?

Today is a day of many changes and I won't go into detail but I am ending an era and doing something that literally makes my stomach turn. It's strange (and always very human) that when we are expecting or anticipating something we sit in shock and we wait. We conjure up all these images in our minds and all the worst possible scenarios come to the fore, though they never really manifest as something tangible. Our imaginations can actually be terribly damaging, especially when you struggle to control your own thoughts, and that is often the case when extreme emotions are involved. We attempt to rationalise our situations, and often the heart takes over the head, and then all hell breaks loose.

Your heart beats just a little bit too fast, and you feel that inevitable lump in your throat, and your hands shake, and your legs twitch. The world becomes small and you cannot (no matter how hard you try) see the forest for the trees. You can't appreciate the beauty of the world all around you and nothing can embrace that pain or fear and hide it away so that it can no longer get to you.
[If I sound a tad bit overwhelming feel free to stop reading as I won't hold it against you, and that is purely because I cannot see you - as today I am wearing sunglasses as I type. Strange but true.]
The only thing you can really do when feeling this way and anticipating something is to keep yourself as preoccupied as you can, and simply let it go until it happens. I am going about it in the wrong way, and am merging my preoccupying act with my occupying act. Make sense? Not to me... I'm supposed to be avoiding the issue for a while but instead have chosen to write about it - for everyone to read. Sounds like a great idea! *she says sarcastically* Tell everyone how you're feeling and share your deepest emotions with even a couple of perfect strangers - actually I think I'm getting way ahead of myself here, but there is a certain amount of wishful thinking in that comment.

Well, I'm done ranting and trying to avoid, but not really. What will be, will be. We are never in control of others, and are very in control of ourselves. We just need to realise this more, and then perhaps a lot of pain and suffering could be avoided. Though we can be certain that life will always throw more curve balls at us, and that is a given. We can only tackle one at a time and hope that after the passion and the aftermath we can pick ourselves up and say: "You are not better than me!"

* I am publishing this today, but it was actually written 3 days ago... All systems go!

Just A Quick Note

2011-04-11T14:22:00.000+01:00

I am in the midst of moving from my present abode, and therefore will be changing my life. The last two weeks have been eye-opening and this is especially due to people that I have met, and people that I have had the pleasure of knowing and not knowing. If that makes any sense you are one step ahead of me. I have many stories to tell and adventures to share, however going through a change in era is somewhat disorientating and tends to leave the mind a bit befuddled.

What I can say is that I will always remember this space that I have spent the last month or so in. It has truly changed me, and that I say with complete conviction. I am saddened whenever an era ends, but there is always that sense of the new and the exciting, however I don't know what that is yet... Dum dum dum...

Adventures and tales of my journey here will follow soon, and that's the whole point: Its a journey....

Until next time, here's some advice from a twenty-something year-old me: Look up at the sky more often - It's never the same and neither are we.

Society in the Wild

2011-04-04T15:58:00.000+01:00

Sometimes all we need is a little bit of inspiration or a little bit of a wake-up call. I am one of those people that has to be reminded every now and then that life really is amazing. This sounds rather personal and a bit depressing, and for that i apologise if it offends your sensitive disposition. However I am being as honest as being public will allow. There is only so much I am willing to express on something as public as a blog, and that is not a bad thing. Sometimes we have to close our eyes, and stop ourselves from saying too much, as it is just as important to hold things dear to ourselves, as it is to share. Where am I going with this? Good question. You see, I started off this piece with a song called "Society" ringing in my ear. It was written and performed by the lead singer of Pearl Jam, Eddie Vedder, and was written exclusively for the movie Into The Wild. Now this film is my favourite in ways that are not linked to the usual reasons for loving a movie. Its not the content, or the plot, or the setting, or the characters (or the actors for that matter), or even the cinematic genius of Sean Penn (who directed the film) - these are all great and amazing aspects and certainly deserve their place in the sun, but my main reason is simple : I love the script!

Sean Penn wrote the script, and he based his screenplay on the original story about Christopher Mccandless, the young university graduate who basically gave up on society and left what he knew behind in order to live off the land and to eventually reach Alaska and live 'in the wild'. Surrounded by nature and his own thoughts, Chris, or Alexander Supertramp as he begins to call himself, begins to dissect his own past, childhood and family, and only by breaking away from the 'norms' was he able to really 'see' his own life. Devoid of society's conventions and cultural baggage.

I suppose that perhaps, if I'm really honest with myself, I am drawn to this film mainly because I yearn for that sense of release myself. When you stop being caught up in all the things that appear to make society tick, then you actually start to free yourself. Gosh, this sounds terribly new age, and motivational speaker-like doesn't it? Is there a way to say this without sounding preachy?

Think of it like this: the minute you start to no longer place value onto things that will never be considered helpful towards improving your soul, only then will you begin to truly LET GO! Its amazing! Its not easy though, and I have to remind myself that my small worries are nothing compared to the GRAND SCHEME of things. Japan has just experienced several major catastrophes, and here I am worried about the fact that my laundry hasn't been done in a while. Wow! That's incredibly sobering, and if and when I go for a walk and look around me and see the sky, and the hills, and the ocean, and the trees, I forget everything. I look at my kitten that I adopted and I smile. I think of my healthy family, and my dear friends, and that's all that matters. Nothing else does.

Alexander Supertramp preferred to stray from human interaction though, and that is not always so possible in a world overrun by bloody humans. He burnt all his money and destroyed all considered part of life's dossier. Even though he wanted to relieve himself of society he most certainly could not get away from humans, but of those he met he took great lessons, and that's what its all about. It's about the sharing of ideas and emotions and sharing of happiness. He was able to see further than the average eye and the average, and that speaks to me on so many levels.

I spend a large portion of my days alone and have not always needed company, as my own company has always been the most important. As Tracy Chapman sings in her song: "This time": 'I'm going to be my own best friend'. And isn't that what we should always be - first and foremost? I will spend my time just contemplating life with my notebook and a good book, and thinking back to that Eddie Vedder song, and just thinking: He's so right. We never have enough and we always want more. It never gives us any real pleasure.

It has all made me think about my own priorities and my own wishes and wants. This morning I wrote this exact quote (from myself) : "You are not the centre of the Universe, but you are the centre of your own", and that is as true as it can be. Society in my opinion is a bad word with constricted associations and sadly even though we'd all like to think that we are free - we never will be until we can stand on our own.

Society - Eddie Vedder

Oh, it's a mystery to me
We have a greed with which we have agreed
And you think you have to want more than you need
Until you have it all you won't be free

Society, you're a crazy breed
Hope you're not lonely without me...

When you want more than you have
You think you need...
And when you think more than you want
Your thoughts begin to bleed
I think I need to find a bigger place
Because when you have more than you think
You need more space

Society, you're a crazy breed
Hope you're not lonely without me...
Society, crazy indeed
Hope you're not lonely without me...

But if less is more, how you keeping score?
Means for every point you make, your level drops
Kinda like you're starting from the top
You can't do that...

Society, you're a crazy breed
Hope you're not lonely without me...
Society, crazy indeed
Hope you're not lonely without me...

Society, have mercy on me
Hope you're not angry if I disagree...
Society, crazy indeed
Hope you're not lonely without me...

Transkei Gold

2011-03-30T13:09:00.000+01:00

When one lives in the 'bush' as they call it, there are an enormous number of things that are considered 'luxuries'. In fact even what so-called 'normal society' considers a staple, we consider quite a rarity and a treat. Cheese, for instance is a mission to get in the Transkei or 'Kei' (well, at least the coastal parts of it) and the idea of having different kinds of cheeses is just a notion not worth considering. There is no point is torturing yourself with dreams of Camembert, Brie and crackers. These are best left for days when you occasionally leave the Kei to seek better pastures, and indulge in rare shopping trips, car washes and the ability to purchase shampoo amidst a variety of choices.

Some of the things that I consider luxuries would seem laughable to many, but then that just means that those laughing are not from the Kei, nor have they ever stayed in the Kei for an extended period of time. Here is a list of things that have me drooling and twitching like a crazy person:

- Magazines: I am a lover of books and have an extensive collection which thankfully never runs out due to my theory of bulk-buying when in second-hand book stores, but magazines are a different story altogether. They are that link to materialism and the outside world's frivolities that all women crave. Yes, ALL women! I want to know what colour is in this season, even though there is very little chance that I will actually take said magazine's advice. However for that hour or so that I pour over the latest Cosmo or Elle magazine I am drawn into a world of handbags, accessories and book reviews, and can even pretend that I care.

- Prettifying stuff: this is not just your average bottle of Colgate shampoo and Bic razors, but something more... I'm talking about Nivea facewash and Venus razor blades, and Smoothie shower gel and Hoity Toity body spray, Herbal Extracts shampoo and joy of joys, tampons! These are the real jewels!! Pure loveliness! Sad, ain't it?

- Yummy stuff: Philadelphia Cream Cheese, Pop-Tarts, Cheerios, Ice-cream, Toblerone chocolate, savoury scones, KFC, Steers chips and chocolate cake are just some of the things I am slowly learning to TRY and forget and NOT fantasize about. However, let's face it: these are not easy things to forget, and not crave every now and then. I cannot stop thinking about red wine and fancy cheeses!

- Clothes: I have an obsession with clothing stores such as Mr. Price and Jay Jay's, and maybe this makes me shallow and all that, but I truly don't know a single woman who has absolutely no interest in looking good, or feeling good. I like to ocassionally imagine that splurging R500 to a R1000 in a store is no biggie, but it is... However that's okay because I won't be doing it for atleast another year. I have however the Grahamstown Festival once a year to look forward where I can actually buy clothes that I like. It is also a thrill (and this is really what I was trying to get at) to buy and then wear clothes that don't smell like fire or mold, or salt!

- Bookstores: I miss that smell and that overall feeling of bliss when I walk into a second-hand bookstore or even a more conventional place like Exclsive Books. Old or new, I love the smell of books, and the minute I can get away from the Kei I'm there like the wind. Smiling and giggling like an idiot. I usually leave the shop with piles of books as I just can't seem to help myself.

- Movies: In the Kei on rainy days there is no tv (as in no DSTV, no ETV, no SABC) and therefore DVDs are our saving grace. We devour them, and spend hours at our laptops watching TV series that we will probably never see during an actual broadcast. We will always be seasons behind, and the only time we see a latest release is on a pirated version (shaky camera work and all). We swop and exchange DVDS as though they were black-market currency, and they almost never get returned no matter who you lent them to.

- A functioning car: Those who do have cars in the Kei have those that are barely working and that is a fact! Those who do not have cars complain about the crappy cars that are owned by the other small portion that own cars, and therfore neither are better off than the other.

- Wireless internet: not a common happening in the Kei. If you are lucky you have a phone that gives you internet access, and then of course there's always the drama of having to buy airtime to purchase internet time. If not you can always use internet at one of the backpacking hostels which is okay for tourists, but seriously overpriced for locals, and therfore your average Facebook status will occur once a month!

- Cash: No body has any! Perhaps because where I live there is no ATM for about 25 Kms!

- Water and electricity: Wow! Really? Yes, and usually they both do disappearing acts at the same time, followed closely by cell-phone and land-line reception...

- Cheap coffee: this is indeede true! There is no where to get cheap coffee, as people seem to think this common drink is liquid gold and therefore should be charged accordingly.

- Sunscreen: isn't it strange that one would struggle so much to get sunscreen in a place that prides itself (noteably the Wild Coast) on it's beautiful beaches and ummm... sunny skies?

- Surf shop: we have to go to Jeffrey's Bay and East London or Port Elizabeth to buy anything from surfboards, to bikinis, to boardshorts...

- cheap cigarettes: Oh, you can get plenty of 'cheap' cigarettes, but when a packet costs R45.00, you have a bit of a problem! Solution: buy cartons when you get to a town or a bulk trading store.

- new music: unless you continuously surf the internet and have access to MTV, you will simply have to make do with music thats been around for at least the last 6 months - we have no decent radio stations, and no way of buying CDS or downloading on the cheap!

- News of the world: Japan? What happened in Japan? Seriously! No newspapers or news channels and no radio stations and therefore no news of the world. We look like idiots when questioned on the world's issues, and the only thing we Google closely resembling news is the surf break...

- Handbags: I don't consider myself very 'girly' but I will admit a bit of a fondness for handbags. Okay, 'fondness' is too weak a word. More like: weakness! There are far too few handbags in the Kei. All I seem to see are an abundance of hippyfied tobacco pouches and leather bags with tassles. Where are the oversized handbags I tell you? We have just as much stuff to put in our bags as the city lasses - sans make-up and ummm...pepper spray!

- Curtains: I am sadly included in this. There is a distinct lack of curtains in the Kei, and therfore an abundance of sarongs, sheets, towels, kikois and grass matting that gets thrown at windows and passed off as an aceptable way of covering windows and protecting your privacy.

Lastly, the Transkei is not only lacking in atypical Transkei stuff, but is also lacking in typical 'Transkei' as a concept, as a culture, as a notion - slowly the culture is being lost to a sort of dark sub-culture and soon there will be a veritable wasteland of a cultureless people, and what will we have then? A mining of the metaphorical 'transkei gold', thats what!

Just some ramblings...

2011-03-30T09:23:00.000+01:00

This morning I woke up at about 5am because Gatsby (my newly acquired kitten) decided that enough was enough, and making as much noise as possible jumping around the room was a fitting way to wake me up. Fine. I simply decided that an early-morning walk was in order and set off for the beach. The sun was rising over the ocean, and a beam of light through the clouds had turned the ocean silver. The only people on the beach was a lone fisherman and myself, and I felt comforted by this. Why? Because it reminded me of the reasons I have chosen to make this piece of earth home, for a little while at least.

I have been sort of in limbo for the past eighteen months and it has been a matter of great concern that I would have enough to keep me inspired and motivated, in a place that cannot even boast a library. This may sound rather elitist, but this is a major problem for me. I miss the smell of bookshops, and libraries, and the excited feeling of walking into a dark cinema to watch the latest film. I even miss shopping for clothes, and sitting in random coffee shops. Such is the life of a city person, and I always believed that I could never be one. That is not entirely true anymore, and I miss all the positive attributes of living in a city quite regularly, and yet... For now I hope that not having to wear shoes, and being a few steps from the beach and hearing the crashing of the waves at night is enough to keep me dreaming at night of inspiring things to write about the following day. What really keeps me going is that I have enough determination NEVER to believe that anything is set in stone. I very much intend to travel more, and live in cities, and small towns, and villages, and every kind of place imaginable. It is only life, after all.

I digress. The real reason for this piece is not to wax lyrical about my future plans, but rather to explain myself in terms of my move back to my childhood village. There is something so magical about being in a place where everyone knows your name, and everyone is the entire village. Where the beach is always an option, and the chance of you getting lost are remote at best. Where the green hills and the huts make your heart skip a beat, and the drums are the background music to your soul. Beach sand is always in your shoes, and your hairbrush has been lost forever. Good books are considered gold, and magazines and newspapers, well they're just the stuff of myths and legends...

However not everything is kosher in paradise... When I say everyone knows you, they also know your troubles. Nothing can be a secret for very long, and everyone is interested because nothing much happens. Even if you think you are doing absolutely nothing to warrant becoming a topic, you become one anyway because that is the way of the 'small-minded man'. This is in no way a criticism as one becomes small-minded when your world becomes smaller - it is simply the way of the world. I too am guilty of such talk in the past, and now choose to remain as neutral as possible, though that is not always easy, especially when you have said things to upset people in the past. Redemption is a very long road, especially when you don't wear shoes...

Just as living in a city takes time to get used to, so does the act of living 'actively' within a small community. In fact it can be far more difficult, because there is nowhere to hide or run to when you make a mistake or cause harm. The world becomes a mirror casting reflections upon every single action, and you can physically see the world watching every move you make, and conjuring up some kind of story behind every action, every word... You become a performer upon a stage, and sadly you cannot recreate a new character every time because your audience is always the same, and you have been sadly typecast. The only way you can garner an applause is by allowing your character to 'grow' in front of the audience, and hopefully generate some positive feedback.

And so, after three cups of coffee, and another one on the way, I end this early morning ramble in order to pursue something greater, in my opinion.

The Perfect Girl's Night In (or Out)!

2011-03-25T18:26:00.002+01:00

Now when women say they are having a Ladies Night, there are an infinite number of options that they can decide to go for, and there really isn't a standard blueprint for these events, as it all depends on the women involved and the reason for having said Ladies Night. It doesn't have to be out, and can just as easily take place in someones kitchen. However there are some important elements that should never NOT be an integral part of spending time with your fellow women.

These include:

Alcohol, and if you are not of the alcohol-swilling type (and this is very rare) there will be countless cups of tea and kettle boiling before the night (or day in this case) is up. In MY experiences there is always A LOT of wine and vodka, simply because those are the staples of my present women friends. Wine can be a wonderful relaxant and this will inevitably bring out the crazy/mad dancing and/or tears of rage, sadness or the overall happiness of being surrounded by women "that understand you". If you leave the confines of someones home (which isn't always the best idea) then a lot of cocktails and shooters are on the cards, with ridiculously obscure and crude names. Always remember that you CAN actually make these at home, and your round of drinks will not cripple your bank account quite so much, and you will probably remember it too, though this is not guaranteed!

Music is really something personal I guess, and I suppose I would be terribly cliched in mentioning some Girl Power music such as Aretha Franklin, Ella Fitzgerald, Nina Simone, Madonna, Cher, Alanis Morrisette (maybe not...), The Spice Girls.... No? Okay, I tried. But music is still awesome and dancing around like a crazy person can be liberating and fun!

The outfit: Now this depends on many things. Either you are going out and want to look fabulous, and will therefore dress it up, with make-up and heels, or you are staying at home, and can either dress-up, wear the most comfortable anything or you can do the cliched pajama-thing, but I think that's more directed at 11 year-old girls.
Whatever you wear though, make sure you feel good in it!

The food should be amazing (if it features at all). You can go out and cook an amazing meal and then have fun with wine and dancing, or you can make sure that all the staple comfort foods are there such as: chips and dip, pizza, popcorn, cheese and crackers, and more chocolate then is necessary! This is food that one should have without feeling guilty as you are surrounded by people that SHOULD NOT be judging you!

Extras that I believe should be a common entity in ladies nights (in or out):

- Johnny Depp: sadly it's very unlikely that you will manage the real thing, therefore a good Johnny Depp movie will have to do. Here are a few that I think are extra special: Benny and Joon, Chocolat (chocolate and Johnny Depp! Come on!), Alice and Wonderland, Edward Scissorhands, Finding Neverland, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Sleepy Hollow, Pirates of the Carribean (preferably the first one) or any movie with the man for that matter.

- whilst we are on the movie front there are a few films that are considered primary if you are going to have a night in with popcorn: The Notebook (no reason required as this is THE ultimate 'chick flick"), Thelma and Louise (girl power and revenge at its best), Breakfast at Tiffany's (just because Audrey Hepburn is so awesome), How Stella Got her Groove Back, Beaches, The Bridges of Madison County, Gone With the Wind (if you're feeling brave and have the WHOLE night ahead of you), Pretty Woman, Casablanca, Juno (just for fun), The Banger Sisters, Waiting to Exhale, The Sweetest Thing (for alot of fun) and The Bodyguard. There are plenty of romantic movies out there, but depending on the state of everyone's life there might be a friend who isn't in the mood for romance, and therefore you should stick to something more neutral and funny, rather then boy-meets-girl and happily-ever-after. Or you could just get the box sets and have marathons of Sex and the City or Absolutely Fabulous.

- Topics of converstion DO NOT have to revolve around the opposite sex, though that is always fun, but there are a lot more things one can discuss. What am I saying? Most of the time our conversation will inevitably revolve around the male species, and specific members of the female race that were clearly not invited to the event for various reasons, which we women will discuss in extreme detail.

- Board games: I am not a nerd! Games can be fun, and my favourites are Monopoly, 30 Seconds, Twister and Pictionary - okay yes, I am a nerd. Or you can just make them drinking games...

- More chocolate, and ice-cream is always welcome!

Finally the most important element of a ladies night in (or out) is NO MEN! Absolutely no point then. That includes shirtless male dancers - thats just tacky!

Okay so, have fun! Thats the whole point!

- This is dedicated to all my dearest girlfriends... VIVA!

Top Ten Loves Right Now!

2011-03-25T12:43:00.000+01:00

It is true that life is one long continuous cycle, and as the circle goes around things change, and we are never really the same ever again. Our favourite songs always change, and we are constantly reasserting our priorities and trying to find a single constant in our lives - or am I just talking about myself? Oh well, if people aren't going to be honest that's fine with me - that's why I'm here...

Let me just get to the point and tell you about my ten favourite things at this precise moment, because let's face it, they may change tomorrow: NOTE: they are NOT in order of importance!!

My blog - this really goes without saying, but that would be pointless not to mention the one thing that makes me feel truly alive. Writing has, and always will make me feel as though I am fulfilling my purpose on this planet. I can write about anything at any time, in any place, and I know that all is right with the world and with me.

My newly acquired cat, Gatsby - this tiny little creature has taught me so much in the very small time that we have had together, and I can only imagine what the universe was thinking when Gatsby landed literally in my lap and my life. His sense of curiosity, innocence and playfulness have made me realise what it means to be truly responsible for something. I realise that a pet is nothing like a child in any shape, way or form, but at this point in my life, Gatsby is my 'child' and I didn't even need to learn to love him. It just is.

My family - I have been spending a lot of time with my mother lately, and had almost forgotten what it was like to feel that bond. We never truly lose that sense of companionship, and it is so important to go back to that space every now and again. I would love to see my brother and father more often, and soon will I hope, but for now I am basking in the relationship my mother and I have, and always have had - that of love, pride and respect!

My friends - I have two very special friends in my life, and we have known each other for years, but have never truly bonded in quite the way we have in the last few months. I have grown to love them as I would sisters, and that's exactly what they are: my soul sisters! (not to sound all Aretha Franklin!)

My books - reading has always been tops in my life, and my books are as precious to me as gold. Without being surrounded by books I feel displaced and lost and without purpose.

My home - this is not in the form of a physical manifestation like a house, but rather the space I feel happy and safe in. Wherever my family is, that is my 'home', and yet I don't live with my family and therefore home to me will always also be Transkei - Coffee Bay in particular. It inspires me, and makes me the happiest and the most passionate.

My camera looks nothing like this!

My camera - shame, my poor little digital goes everywhere with me, and I think it would love to take a break and just chill in a box somewhere, but there's no chance of that happening anytime soon. Images are my life, and that is how it's been since I was 14 years old and received my first camera: a little point-and-shoot.

The beach - not something that I would usually mention, but is indeed my idea of 'nature'. I would much prefer to hear the sound of the waves then the sounds of trees - though I'm not knocking forests and mountains, as I love those too, but the beach is my temple.

Red wine - yes well, there's no denying that is there? It has become a part of many traditions in my life: time spent with my mom, 'wine-o'clocks' with friends, writing in the evenings and lazy Sunday afternoons. What else is there to say?

Relationships - whether with other people, or with myself, relationships are the driving force for everything in our lives, and I would be lost without them.

The World According to Gatsby

2011-03-25T10:17:00.000+01:00

About 2 weeks ago I became the proud human pet to a tiny black kitten, which I have (after long deliberation) named Gatsby, after Fitzgerald's novel, "The Great Gatsby", whose main character was both a mystery and a charmer to all those who came into his company. I decided that this cat needed a strong name, that would surely surpass "Kitty" and "Baby Cat", which is so tempting seeing as he is the size of a tea cup!

Needless to say, despite being so small Gatsby has the confidence of a lion, and the appetite of erm... a lion? In just a week he has managed to master soccer, boxing, mountain climbing, wrestling and long distance running, all within the confines of my bedroom. Therefore it's not surprising that he manages to eat about 6 meals a day - small ones mind you, but then again when you're that small everything is either enormous, or relative.

It has not eluded me that I am a redhead and Gatsby is indeed black, and that comes with a whole dance of fabulous references to being a witch, and not necessarily the good kind. However that suits me just fine. I have been threatening to become one of those crazy cat people since forever, and I suppose it just suits the illusive writer/hermit weirdo vibe down to a tee. Gatsby (or Catsby?) almost never allows me to write alone, and as I sit typing this now he keeps climbing over the keyboard attempting all kinds of additions to my writing, and unfortunately I would have to acknowledge his contribution, as I simply could not take credit for someone/something else's work. Call me noble, but Gatsby clearly sees the world differently to me and I would never get away with claiming his work as my own.

Now how, you may ask, does Gatsby in fact 'see' the world? Well, at this point all I can say is that firstly the sound of the big humming white machine opening means food is on its way, and if it isn't he will make it so. Every surface in the house has the potential to be climbed and/or jumped on. Anything hanging or string-like must be attacked with a vengeance, and the only reason for curtains is to climb to almost the very top and survey your land below. Toes, fingers, the pages of books, shoes and wires are meant to be chewed and bitten, and dogs are simply strange beings to be handled with care and mistrust, and if all else fails give them a huge slap for no apparent reason.

Perhaps this should inspire us to be a little less in control, and a lot less inclined to, not necessarily attack and bite people (that would just be crazy), but to be more open-minded and curious about the world around us. I mean, let's face it: we have become routinal and boring in our approach to everything, and once one becomes boring then it's pointless even continuing because if YOU are no longer having fun, then the world becomes a very small place, and that is a sad day. Even in Gatsby's 'supposedly small world love and fun are the greatest necessaties, next to food and sleep of course. I guess that's what keeps us going, and growing - love and the enthusiasm for each day on this funny 'little' place called Earth.

Yummy Peanut Butter and Chocolate Cups!

2011-03-24T19:52:00.000+01:00

I have become obsessed with recipes lately, and am prone to scrounging through magazines and recipe books for yummy recipes, and then writing them down in the hope that one day I will have my own lovely kitchen filled with ingredients and well, you know, stuff, to make these delectable goodies. The recipes I 'collect' are only of the sweet variety, or the baked/pastry effort and I promised myself that I would only share some of my recipes if they were tried, tested and LOVED! However, I do not have a super-awesome kitchen at my disposal at the current moment and therefore will just have to share with you regardless of having attempted the recipe.

Now, you HAVE to try this recipe and then you have to share your experiences of yumminess with me. If you don't there will be no part 2 to this little experiment. I'm telling you: I have an eye for sweet 'sweet' recipes and have notebooks upon notebooks of chocolaty goodness at my disposal and would love to share them with you. However that will require a bit of effort on your part, dear readers.

Here goes: Chocolate Peanut Butter Cups

250 g milk chocolate
250 g peanut butter (smooth) or perhaps more I reckon
2 tsp vegetable oil
2 tsp icing sugar, sifted
1 tsp vanilla extract
small cupcake cups

Melt chocolate and oil together in a heatproof bowl over a pan of barely simmering water. Brush melted chocolate in cups and put into the fridge to set.
Put peanut butter into a bowl and add icing sugar and vanilla. Beat together until you get a stiff mixture to form little balls. Add more sugar if peanut butter too runny.
When chocolate cups have set, take little balls of peanut butter mixture and pop into cups and squish them a little.
Take teaspoons of remaining chocolate and drizzle over the tops of the peanut butter cups to seal.
Put in the fridge to harden.

Okay, so.... that to me sounds like pure awesomeness!!!

"Thank yoo, thank yoo!" Miss Kwa Kwa

2011-03-24T16:52:00.003+01:00

It's quite astounding how deliciously rude and politically incorrect South Africans can be when they really try. In fact I find it refreshing when we can make fun of one another, and mock the very core that keeps the foundation of South African culture and politics alive and...stable...sort of.

It is without further ramblings that I introduce you to the overwhelming magic that is: Miss Kwa Kwa. TAAAAAA-DAAAAA!!!! "Thank yoo, thank yoo!" she announces upon winning the coveted title of 'Miss Kwa Kwa', in the town of well... Kwa Kwa. Born Palesa Moshesh, this 'previously - disadvantaged rural gal' (her own words) is seeking fame and fortune, and she doesn't care how she has to do it. It may include begging on street corners, shejacking (the female equivalent of hijacking, as 'hi-jilling' sounded too dull) and even murder. One thing we do know for sure is that Miss Kwa Kwa is fabulous, and so is the book.

The character of a little know beauty pageant winner who goes to the BIG CITY of Jo'bug to find fame and fortune, becomes quite blatantly indicative of our time. By this I mean that she encompasses all of our insecurities and the extremes we go to in order to fit in to an ever-changing environment, such as South Africa. Post 1994 and Apartheid there are identity crises flying around all over the place, and it is extremely difficult to NOT end up in some kind of dilemma as to 'belonging'. Thankfully Miss Kwa Kwa is here to make it all better (well at least for 211 pages!), and that's okay seeing as one can only really handle her for this long, and in that time it's perfect.

The business of show never appeared more repulsive then when Kwa Kwa relays her Super Stardom Lessons such as: Superstardom Lesson No. 5: "Accept your limitations. Because once you have revealed them, explored them, understood them, can you really figure out how best to hide them". (Simm: 101). Simm delights with many more tasty treats such as: he was "grinning like a lunatic on Lego Day at the Asylum" (Simm: 19) - Love it! And don't forget Kwa Kwa's theory that Afrikaans men have "a penchant for 'the darker side of the braai' " (Simm: 20). Like I said, it''s both repulsive and awesome, just as John van de Ruit (author of Spud) said it would be.

Read it! It's certifiably fantastic!

Real Magic and A Trip to the Light Fantastic

2011-03-24T13:05:00.002+01:00

No, my blog titles are not on acid, and neither have I become more creative... I have decided that seeing as I am dissapointing myself by the irregularity of my posts due to the lack of writing material I have at the moment, I will simply use the untapped potential of my first love, reading, (my second is writing) and try to stretch my abilities as far as 'regular' book reviews will go. Perhaps they will bore you to death, and maybe, just maybe, you will be inspired to go and read a book because of my rather plot-revealing bunch of words...

Instead of going into specifics I'm simply just going to go into it - the book review that is.

Said book is called "A Trip to the Light Fantastic: Travels with a Mexican Circus" written by an blonde-haired, blue-eyed English woman by the name of Katie Hickman, whom alongside her photographer husband Tom, travelled with a Mexican circus for a year. Living a dream that only I could say for sure is something considerably desireable. Off went Katie and Tom in an American Pop-Up, alongside the caravens and trailers of the circus. Travelling through Mexico Katie describes the frustration with the members of the circus and their lack of planning ahead and structure, and yet there is no real malice in her thoughts but simply an acceptance of their cultural differences. By embedding herself into the circus lifestyle, (or circus 'life' as the performers refer to it) Katie becomes entangled in the lives of the people, and the dramas and joys that for them are just another part of the circus life. She introduces us to an array of colourful characters and incidences that seem almost too fantastic to be true, and yet that is all part of the paradox of her original reason to go to Mexico. She came to Mexico to find magic and instead found a reality that stretched beyond the literary conventions of magic realism.

Without revealing too much the book, which is not a novel at all, but rather the true story of a traveller's experiences, takes on the veil of a story. A magical story filled with crazy characters and awesome settings, and yet one must constantly remind onself that the 'story' of Pancho Villa, the Mexican Robin Hood is real, and that the yearly Witche's Convention, which expounds such advice as to wear your underwear inside out, and the Demon Army, which consists of a massive group of young men dressed in loinclothes and painted in psychedelic colours and take over a village for a week each year, are all very much real and a part of Mexico's very framework and history. These are just a few of the truly awesome experiences and titbits that Katie gathers during her time there.

Ilish, the ex-fighter, Mundo the clown, Gordo the trapeze artist and Mara the contortionist are just some of the characters that open up to Katie during her year-long time with Circo Bell's (named after the whiskey, hence the apostophe). Each character is given equal time centre stage and allowed to tell their 'story' and yet, once again I have to force myself to stop referring to them as 'characters'. They are VERY real and not always likeable, and yet this does not make them any less desireable to read about.

Undoubtedly I fell in love with the circus, or perhaps I fell for the notion of it. The thought of it. The hidden magic in it. Perhaps even the 'realness' of it. There was just something so tempting about the life of a travelling performer, and being on a stage and getting dressed up in sequins and feathers... It all sounds simply fabulous!

The book is not only about the circus but also elements of Mexico's own history, and of course Katie's own sense of what 'love' 'family', 'magic' and 'belief' are truly all about. So I suppose it is this way with all travel books - there is always a sense of discovering a higher consciousness, and yet Hickman is humble and not presumptious or arrogant in her discoveries of Mexico and the life of circus people. Rather she allows for one to make their own assumptions, whilst subtly revealing her own love.

- "A society is defined as much by how it comes to terms with its past as by its attitude to its future" Octavio Paz (Hickman: 114)

- "A myth is a profound revelation of a culture's collective unconcious" (115)

Rian Malan and the Paradox of Africa

2011-03-16T17:26:00.002+01:00

I have been wanting...waiting...wishing, for the chance to write a pseudo-intellectual piece on the politics of politics within Africa and African literature as a whole. However I tend to write myself into a complete standstill every time I even consider the topic of politics. Its a scary thought that even the simple act of writing about something can send shivers up your spine, and your tongue becomes tied, and your brain ceases working. Perhaps its not so much the content but rather the enormity of what one is undertaking. I wish I could find my voice and write exactly the way I do in my dreams. And yet every act of writing is just another step to finding that 'voice' I guess. Sadly I was not blessed with patience and have found writing almost superfluous at times, unless every word is perfect.

I digress. I am actually quite excited to share these few thoughts with you, and I will do so with probably a lot more digression. Such is life.

I was given a book as a birthday gift last year by a rather radical relative of mine, who insisted that I read it as she wanted to "get me into politics", and when I eventually got around to reading it about four months later I was shocked at how little I thought I knew, and just how addictive politics can be. The book was a collection of journalism by one Rian Malan, a self-confessed "Boer" and occasional writer for US Rolling Stone magazine, which to me is just amazing! It's fair to say that the man is quite the liberal. The book, entitled Resident Alien was really a showcasing of just how 'strange' and indeed 'alien' South Africa can appear sometimes, if one looks close enough, or looks at all I suppose.To feel foreign in your own country is not exactly that hard to comprehend as you are not expected to understand or condone the paradox of a country that embraces westernism with a vigour that surpasses all natural thought. At the same time we are what our 'culture' dictates, or so it seems.

Malan is not shy to speak all truths, not only about his own culture's violent and bloody past, but of all cultures, colours, races, creeds, religions. He speaks to the lawyer, the doctor, the sangoma and the beggar and manages to deduce only that which a true anthropologist could do, but with soul. Other times it is frightening how callous and sensitised he becomes when describing the atrocities of the nation that is South Africa. We are a complex nation, and it isn't always about black and white.

In his first book which he wrote after returning to South Africa after his exile to America for eight years, My Traitor's Heart, is not quite what it's made out to be. He begins with a brief foray into the history of the Malan clan, and then spurs onwards with crime stories that boggle the mind and tear open the heart. As readers we become spectators to something that seems on the periphery, but if you live or have lived in South Africa (or anywhere in Africa for that matter) you have more then likely experienced some form of fear, or anger or as he so succinctly puts it: paradox. The utter confusion that hits us all. Are we a part of this place, or are we just visitors waiting for our VISAs to run out? Will we ever be truly accepted? Will we ever trust each other and really love each other for who we are, and NOT for what we are are?

In all my life as a reader and writer I have never felt as much passion as when I am reading something, anything remotely 'African' in nature. I feel so connected to the words and descriptions of both horror and beauty. Crime and punishment, love and compassion, truth and lies - they are all part of it. They are in our blood. They are patches in the quilt of history, and we need to unpick that quilt in order to get at the core of our connection, and figure out why we just 'fit'.

Love can come from anywhere, and yet there is true love when you can brush against the horror and feel afraid in your own home, and yet still feel so much love for a place. So much compassion. Malan's sense of paradox is linked with our rather strange sense of patriotism towards a country that seems to be building up to something big and not necessarily great. It is as though we are going through the Africa of Joseph Conrad's 'The Heart of Darkness', and that is a paradox in itself. The dark almost never yields light, and yet there is always that sense of hope, and faith, and that's what keeps us here. When I say 'us', would one assume that I am referring to the white man? Perhaps and perhaps not. 'Us' becomes a collective for all that lock their doors at night...Everyone become a victim to their own crime, and that is what I am saying. We are all everything. We are the reason and the treason, the victim and the bully, and no one is forcing us to do anything.

It's always easier to submit to the impassioned fact that we are indeed prisoners of our own past, whether or not we were ever in fact 'present'.

I am connected here whether I condone what is happening or not. I am useless at deriving the inner sanctum of politics, but I do know this: I am African and white.

I Believe!

2011-03-04T18:05:00.000+01:00

There is certainly something to be said for faith. It keeps us moving. It gives one hope. It keeps us believing that the world is not just an evil little place filled with unhappiness and the injustice of it all. One must learn to believe in something, no matter what it may be. There has to be a reason for all the pain and the hurt, and the smiles and the laughter. Perhaps that is also why I am so intent on the power of the imagination. Nothing can beat the feeling of believing without a shred of doubt that something amazing exists. I am not particularly religious, but I do believe in the greater good and that is surely not a bad thing.

I believe in love and magic and Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy. I really do. I believe in the need for them, and the pure magic they have brought to the world, and especially the magic and love they have brought to the minds of children and nothing can beat that.

Yes, there will always be facts and figures and science, and without any of that we would not exist or function, yet.... there is indeed a space that craves being filled. That empty space that needs a Prince Charming and a heaven, and true love and soulmtes and angels that guard our every move. Why not?

Is there really anything wrong with imagining the world is more than just the way we SEE it? I think it is perfectly okay to live in your own world, and to be lost in something magical and unexplained. Maybe just for a single moment we can fall into those imaginings and not think about the world and the harshness that is often thrown at us. I mean, don't we often base our lives on what 'could be'?

Unicorns and fairies and god, even Jesus have become taboo and that to me seems just a little ridiculous. Why mock something that deems only to bring good? I mean, there seems to be enough truth in this world. More truth would be great too, but there surely is nothing better than a bit of escapism and the almost unbelievable.

All you have to do is BELIEVE! That's all I'm saying...

Girl Power

2011-03-04T17:04:00.000+01:00

I have never been one to have 'girlfriends', have 'ladies' nights' and ring up my friends whenever anything shitty happened in my life - the female ones that is... I grew up surrounded by boys and therefore I am assuming that this is perhaps the reason why I have so few female friends and find it hard to socialize with them. I mean, they always seemed so foreign to me.

Women were (and still are in a very small way) quite 'alien' to me. When in a social situation with a group of women or girls I usually ended up having large patches of silence, and/or irritation. I never understood their need to hug and kiss each other every single time they saw each other, or the inevitable discussion of the male species. I almost never accompanied other women to the bathroom and certainly did not feel the need to compare bra sizes. I drink beer! I don't wear heels and I wear make-up once a year on New Year's Eve.

I know what you're thinking: I am merely placing the female race into a tight little box of superficiality, and yes, perhaps on some level I am. Then again I can just as rightly place men in their own box. The box entitled EMOTIONS ARE CRAP, or DRINK UNTIL I PUKE, or WOMEN ARE EVIL, or how about the WOMEN ARE THE COMPLICATED ONES box? Well on some level this is all true, and some of this is not true for everyone. The fact is: we are just as complicated. Men and women will never quite understand each other completely, and as long as we keep an open mind this should (in theory) never really be a problem. So what? We ARE different. That's the point!

I am digressing. Recently I have become really close friends with a small bunch of women and for the first time in my life they are all that is standing between me and complete insanity. They are all different in their own amazing ways, and that is why I love them. They are all strong women, and have problems and troubles, and bad days. Yet they have become my little family, and I would do anything to protect them, as I know they would for me.

We have become a force to be reckoned with and I think that can be quite intimidating to those who are not within our little circle. It may not sound astounding, but to me it is more than that - it's phenomenal, and a clear sign that all things are indeed possible. That a group of women in their 20's and 30's can find each other, and become each other's pillars of strength in an environment where none of us have the backing of family and the security of well...anything.

And yes we may have our own Ladies Nights that include lots of food, music and wine. Some are single, some are married, others have children, and others have their share of relationship woes, but when we are together we are just women. Women living in an environment that appears on the outside to be run by men, but to those in the know: Women are the driving force and that's a fact.

So, what I'm trying to say is that you are never too old, young , black, white, shy or vivacious to find that level of companionship. It has been a life-changing experience for me, and I am so grateful to these women for their unwavering support of me during an extremely hard time in my life. I only hope that I too can be there for these same women in whatever way they may need me, or want me. Because no matter how different and difficult our lives may be, no one understands a women quite like another women.

To the women in my life: I salute you...

Fake Hippies

2011-03-04T09:51:00.000+01:00

Oh the joy of writing about something that could possibly be misconstrued as controversial: in fact, I know it will be... But, you know what? I don't really give a hoot!

I have seen too many people over time coming into my life and wanting 'something more' - whatever that means, and I am struck by a feeling of both amusement and irritation. They float into my life in tie-dye and marijuana, leather and philosophical meanderings of a new world and a new way of seeing. They spout philosophies of living and completely disregard anything that is is truly meaningful. Some have money and some don't, and yet it is those with money that make me ponder... It is those dressed in slinky tie-dyed dresses and boutique-bought bohemian-chic garments that wave their credit cards and buy their new attire for their festival days that I question. I quesion who they are, who they REALLY are and I question what they want.

Perhaps their parents regailed them with stories of the 'good old days' - the days of free love, marijuana, loose-fitting clothing from India and Tibet and hallucinagenic drugs - and they supposed that perhaps this was their way to finally fit in... or be different, or be controversial or whatever felt 'righteous' at the time. This is clearly NOT 1969 and I was not alive during that time, and clearly neither were the 20 something Cape Townians that frequent so-called 'hippie towns' such as the one I call home.

I am astounded at the huge number of young people that run around in funky coloured gumboots and headbands and pretend as though they ALWAYS live in a tent and always share a communal kitchen, whereas in fact they did in fact bring their hair-straightener and can't believe that there aren't Espressos in the Transkei....

"We are in the sticks", I tell them and yet that does nothing to suspend their unreasonable requests of ATMS, cell receptions and 'oh my god, are you serious!' laundromats!!!! (Yes, I did get asked about that...).

Sometimes they tell me that the clothing they buy here, they would NEVER be seen in public with back home, and sometimes I want to say: I would NEVER do what you do EVER, ANYWHERE... But I guess thats just me...

They complain about the weather, and the price of drugs. I LOVE the rain and I don't do drugs.

They desire for something, or a place, once a year, where they get to be someone different. Someone without a past, and someone without responsibilities, and that my dear readers is exactly why I have no patience with the influx of pseudo-hippies and wannabe-gypsies that make the locals lives a living hell. Yes theydo come with their money and their idiocy with said money, and that is never anything to be shunned, however the day they float out of town and back to their world is not a day too soon.

Once again the beaches and bars are left only to the locals, and the 'real' tourists, and the world seems right once more. The university kids and trust-fund babies and new-money internet freaks have gone back to pencil skirts, 'laundry-day' tracksuits and skinny jeans. I wonder about that feathered headband and that crazy purple wrap skirt... what happens to them? Are they destined to be shunned to the back of the closet until next year? Or will there be another hippie fashion trend every year that they can adorn themselves with, and show the world just how 'carefree' and 'cool' they really are?

Agh! Perhaps I am just a disgruntled ex-hippie who wishes I had the bank account to 'float' once a year - but wait... I do that permanently!

On Death and Dying

2011-02-22T22:06:00.000+01:00

I have never felt so much anger and so much heartache, as the day we buried my grandfather. I remember falling and feeling as though I would never be able to get up again. My heart ached and my soul felt as though it had been wrenched from my body. Tomorrow will be two years since I heard his voice. Tomorrow is his birthday and all I can think is that pain like that should never be felt twice....

Life is never as constant as we would like it to be, and suddenly I find myself in an entirely new situation and I don't quite know how to handle the fact that I am not as in control as I would like to be. I have a friend/relative who is dying and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. I watch her anger and her pain and her fear and her sadness, and it mirrors my own feelings of inadequacy. I want to scream and shout and bang my head and fists against the wall. I want to cry and crawl into a ball and wish the world a merry goodbye. I want the pain to go away and take me instead. I want people to know that she is afraid and yet so strong. I want her to be remembered for everything she has done and will still do. I want, I want, I want...

In Elizabeth Kubler-Ross' book "Death and Dying", the author speaks of five stages of death and dying for the patient and for the family and people involved in caring for the dying person. The first stage is Denial and Isolation. The second is Anger. The third is Bargaining. The fourth is Depression and the fifth is Acceptance. I am all of these stages, I am all of these emotions and feelings and have yet to really know myself.

To you: I have watched you drift off into oblivion, and cry yourself to fitful sleep. I have seen your scars and your tears and your fears. I have heard your cry for help and watched you frustratingly try and remember your last spoken word. I have seen your angry face, and your moments of oblivious elation. Everything you do makes the pain in my heart bigger, because they may just be some of your last.

I am in no way a 'prophet of doom', but there is surely a sense of realism that permeates the air and I HAVE to 'accept' that. I want to cry with you and tell you about my broken heart, which has nothing to do with you, but I can't... There isn't enough time, and it is not nearly as important as the question of mortality.

I have loved you forever, and will forever love you, but.....

But what? Hope is there. It will always be there. But you are tired, and so am I...

I will always smile when I see a pink rose and think of Mdesaleni, and when the sunflowers bloom, your face will smile upon me.

The Reason...

2011-01-03T14:18:00.000+01:00

It is now the year 2011, and where I am it is raining, it is pouring, and the world appears quiet. That is how I want it to be. I can only imagine how beautiful my grandfather's roses must look, with the raindrops falling, cascading down their velvety petals, and how the rain slowly washes away those that are no longer wanted here, needed here... There has and always will be a reason why I call myself Transkei Meg. Its the Transkei. I have loved it my whole life, all 25 years of it, and I will always love it, but sadly this place has attracted very few people that wish and desire to see it truly flourish. I can hear the rain on my tin roof and all I feel is sadness... Why? There's a simple reason and I suppose I may garner myself many enemies over time for the bitterness that entrenches my very being when during "the season to be jolly" this beautiful 'homeland' becomes anything other than a home.

I am bitter and angry for many reasons and most of them have to do with the fact that I am tired: tired of people merely looking for a good time, a cheap thrill, and an easy ride. This place was once a sanctuary for the people that really do live here all year round. Our home is invaded by cheap thrill seekers and people with far too much money and far too little common sense and a sense of compassion for not only the people but for the environment that is inevitably destroyed so that they can pretend that they have found their 'paradise'.

What is a 'paradise'? Perhaps it is a place where people can feel accepted, or at least can feel as though they can release their inhibitions and responsibilities and behave in such a way that they lose any sense of abject normality, is literally thrown out the window and the world becomes simply a blur...

I question that. I question those that forget the need to respect. I question those that forget the importance of protecting that which needs to be protected. I question those that have no idea what its like to be without running water and electricity. This is my life. This is the Transkei life, and those that truly LIVE here know this to be true. We are here because we want to be here. Through the quiet times, through the lonely times, through the hard times, and through the blissful times.

I am not insensitive because I love the rain, and wish for it to wash away all that is no longer needed here. I merely am grateful for the blessings it brings us, and for the hope it gives to us all.

Happy New Year everyone....

May you all find your 'home' and your family and your true love....

My home, and my family and my love is the Transkei and all and everything that encompasses it....

Mdesaleni's Roses

2010-11-24T11:30:00.000+01:00

Its raining here again, and from the balcony of the cafe I work in I can see the most beautiful pink roses in the world blooming and swaying in the slight breeze. The rain falls and lands on the petals and rolls delicately off the flowers. The raindrops are like the tiniest little diamonds, and I relish in taking photographs of them in all stages of their life from the brightest pink buds to the light pink roses they become. I watch them slowly droop, and the petals begin to fall, and cover the ground below in a carpet of pink and white blooms. Then another bud appears and the magic process happens all over again. Its never sad when the roses turn white, then brown and drop of the bushes, as there will always be another one to take its place. There will always be more roses, and the rain will bring them back to life. The sun will shine on them, and sometimes, if you're lucky, a rainbow will appear over the horizon and encircle the roses in colours that only a rainbow can possibly know.

These are the most special roses in MY world. Everyday that they bloom and that people walk past them and smile I am reminded of my grandfather and how much HE loved them. He planted them and watched over them and when ever they were in full bloom he would bring one to my mother's door and place it in a glass of water. I never thought much about the roses then, and somehow I wish I had. I wish I had given those roses the thought they deserved. Now as I look at them I feel a lump rising in my throat and I know that I may never see my grandfather again, but I will watch him everyday in the most amazing pink roses.

I took him one of the roses the other day, just as he used to bring my mother the first roses of the season. I placed it at his grave and hoped that he could see all the others, dotted with pearly raindrops, and graced by butterflies and moonbeams. Though I suppose he sees them all the time, even when we cannot. I suppose every time the wind blows, and the thunder rumbles he is merely making himself known. Perhaps when the rain falls on the pink petals, his soft hands are touching the velvety petals. There is even the tiniest possibility that whenever the sun shines and peeps through the clouds, it is him smiling down (as corny as that may sound) and allowing me to smile too. Sometimes I feel guilty smiling...

Sometimes the lump in my throat threatens to overwhelm me, and there are just tears and a pain in my heart so terrible that I wish I could just give in to the pain of missing someone so much that it literally HURTS.

But that's another day and another thought. I miss my grandfather everyday, as he was such a huge part of my life, and yet there are so many beautiful things that he left behind that remind me that he is still here, watching over his home, and his family, and his people.

Viva Mdesaleni, thank you for leaving behind your beautiful roses....

Muffin Meg

2010-11-22T09:43:00.000+01:00

I have been opposed to any kind of domesticity my whole life, and that pretty much included anything to do with cooking, cleaning and well... you get the point. However it often comes to my attention that one is never completely in control, and therefore we are free to learn new things about ourselves and others almost daily. In my case, I learnt a very harsh lesson: never judge something completely until you have tried it, many, many times over.

I recently took on a job in a fabulous little cafe that doubles as a gift and clothing store in my hometown. We won't go into any specifics, but lets just say that I was thrown into the deep end of the sink on my first day, and there I was, washing dishes and chopping vegetables. I literally dropped three cups and broke a coffee plunger before I was ordered to cut up mango for a smoothie. I couldn't do it! I had never cut a mango (sounds like a surfing term...) in my life, and there I was in a busy restaurant kitchen freaking out because I simply could not do a simple thing.

That however is all history, and I no longer have sleepless nights about coffee plungers, burnt pizzas and cakes flopping. I get into that kitchen and rock it! I scour recipe books at an alarming pace, and am prone to muttering over my own notebook, that is filled with my own favourite recipes, in public places. The restaurant is wonderfully supported by the local community here, and every other day I impress upon them my newly discovered ways of baking muffins. They are my favourite thing at the moment, and I have become obsessed with finding new ways of making the yummiest muffins I possibly can.

Peanut butter, chocolate chips, dark melting chocolate that sticks to my fingers.... Cheddar cheese, bacon, spring onions, peppadews, mustard, thyme, rosemary, Parmesan cheese, olives, apples, Brazil nuts, blueberries, bananas, oranges and lemons are just some of the delightful ingredients I add to my muffins. I grew tired of adding exciting elements to prepackaged muffin mixes, and now make all my muffins, cupcakes and cakes from scratch. I love it! I can't describe the delight I get in pulling a new batch out of the oven and placing them on display trays and then watching as they get sold before I've sometimes even had a chance to take them off the cooling rack. I marvel at the melting chocolate, and the smell of peanut butter that wafts throughout the whole cafe.

Sometime I envision the movie Chocolat, in which the gorgeous Johnny Depp sits at a hand carved bar stool and sips a cup of hot chocolate and chili pepper. I envision clouds of flour bursting in the air, and stirring a huge pot of melting chocolate on the stove. I imagine french infringed music wafting from ancient speakers, as people come especially to try my latest recipe, and leave feeling delightfully decadent... I suppose I have always been a dreamer, one who had her head stuck in a book for most of her life, and therefore my little imaginings may seem the result of a sheltered life in a closely packed bubble, but that's okay with me. I am slowly managing to break free of my: 'I hate all things domestic' bubble, and find no feminist shame in being in the kitchen, though I must admit, I abhor wearing an apron, and only don one when it is absolutely necessary.

When you discover something new about yourself it as though a huge light has started peeking through the trees and the world seems a brighter place. When the rain has stopped and everything appears shinier and clearer, that's when you run out into the unknown and embrace the sparklier world, before the thunder rolls, and you get lost in your comfort zone of anonymity.

By the way: my new nickname in my little seaside town is Muffin Meg.

The Rain Pours

2010-10-27T10:39:00.000+01:00

Ever since I was knee-high I have loved the rain, and to this day I find myself exhilarated and excited and tremendously happy when it rains. Even the simple knowledge that it MAY rain is enough for me to feel that wonderful feeling that everything is going to be okay. The rain has always been a comfort to me, and time and time again I have argued with people about the wonderfully enchanting feeling that comes over me when I hear the sound of the rain on windows and roofs.

The rain inspires me to write, and right now I am looking at the rain landing on the trees, and everything appears to be glistening, and waking up, as though from a long sleep. In my room I can hear the rain on my iron roof, and it sounds as though a mighty storm is taking place. Of course when I step outside the raindrops are merely spattering. I don't mind. As long as I can hear the sound, and see the drops hitting the window panes, and sliding effortlessly down the glass. As long as I can watch the rain from my bed, with a really good book in my hand, and a cup of hot chocolate next to me. As long as the dams and rivers are filled, and the plants and animals and people can once again find life amongst the dead.

You see, we are in the middle of a drought at the moment, and it breaks my heart to see the cows and the sheep and the goats walk lazily past our gate, and look longingly into the garden that appears to be the only one in this specific area that looks remotely appetising... Its heartbreaking to watch women and children attempt to wash their clothes, and gather water for drinking, washing and cooking, in a puddle of a damn that is nothing more than algae and hope.

After the rains the world will begin to shine once again, and the flowers will bloom, and the animals and children will dance under the raindrops. The tourists will huddle in their respected hotels and lodges, and curse the day they booked their tickets to Africa, yet the Africans are smiling. I am smiling, and hoping that the rains continue to wash away all that needs to be washed, and the thunder will rumble and grumble, and keep us in our place. I hope that the lightening will light up the darkness, and bring faith back to the faithless...

I hope it pours and pours and pours...

Ink Me Up!

2010-09-02T11:08:00.000+01:00

For centuries the human race has been experimenting with changing the way they look, and in so doing, altering our bodies to make them not only more appealing to ourselves, but to the rest of the world. We do the usual things such as wearing make-up, jewellery and clothing, but there are far more extreme methods out there that people are increasingly being drawn to.

I'm talking about tattoos, and how even I have succumbed to this rather strange ritual. And that is what it is really... A ritual that people feel the need to go through for many reasons. Mine was because I wanted to remind myself of certain people and animals that have come and gone in my life: In essence I have the names of my pets on my body, and plan to have my grandfather's name tattooed soon. This is a personal choice, and even though I don't plan to have huge tattoos all over my body, I certainly don't judge those who do. They can be a beautiful way of showcasing creativity and expressing oneself, however there are always THOSE stories.... You know the ones! Scary stories that people tell about tattoos gone wrong, and yes I suppose that just means that you have to find the right person to do the work. Always remembering that unless you don't mind scars and have a lot of money to pay for the lazer removal, tattoos are forever. They are a scar on the body, and that's a fact.

I was exposed to the subculture of tattoo lovers when living in Port Elizabeth, and believe me there are a lot of us out there. People with just a few small, hidden ones (such as myself), with one big one, and then there are those who choose to adorn themselves completely. We all have different reasons for the act of being tattooed, and for the tattoos we choose. Sometimes its just being young and wanting to look 'cool', and other times its something we have mulled over for a while, and then finally plucked up the courage to go out and get it done. Whatever the reason, its done!

What I really love about it is the RUSH of being in the tattoo studio. The nerves and the excitement. This was my feeling the second time around, but the first time was so traumatic. I was as nervous and hell, and could not stop shaking. and thinking: "Why?" At what point is this a good idea? I was 23, and therefore was old enough to have thought about it, and know the consequences of being permanently 'marked'. However that didn't stop me from praying to the almighty gods, and gorging on an unusually large amount of Jelly Tots (sugar is apparently good for the blood when being tattooed - I think it helps with shock!).

I loved the experience though, and that puts me in a certain category. Those who will always come back for more. There are other categories of people: the ones who got one and swore they would NEVER get another, those who got one when they were under the influence of something and woke up with "I Love Mom" tattooed on their arms, those who thought it was a good idea when in -love to get their significant other's name on their wrist (and then consequently broke up a month later), those who were young and believed that a Chinese symbol on their bum was like the coolest thing, those who will spend their lives never being okay with just a few, and consequently have very little naked skin left to tattoo... There are many categories of people.

What I do believe though is that they should be personal (on some level), and should never be done because you feel the need to fit in or improve the way you look. The human body is a fickle and beautiful thing and getting tattooed does not necessarily improve it, but it surely does make life more FUN!!!

Being the only member in my immediate family with a tattoo does come with a few misunderstandings. By this I mean that I was terrified to eventually tell my family why I had them done. They were supportive, and fine with it, as far as I know. However not everyone is as accepting of 'the inked ones'. There is still alot of discrimination that occurs, and this I believe is purely because tattoos are still considered another aspect of the old case of 'being different' and being 'the other'. Not exactly a social taboo, but still something that gets the more conservative amongst us frothing at the bit. Perhaps we still link the old associations of sailor tattoos and prison tattoos with this, and that is understandable. But for how long? At what point will a person with dreadlocks not be associated with marijuana, and a blonde being associated with mental ineptness? Who knows...

An Ode To Spring

2010-09-02T09:04:00.000+01:00

Spring day was celebrated yesterday in South Africa, and it has always been one of my favourite days of the year and I will tell you why.

When I was growing up we had a tree in our garden that used to produce the most beautiful little white and pink flowers at Spring time. I am not too sure what kind of tree it was, perhaps a cherry blossom or a plum tree? Either way the flowers used to send out the most amazing smell that filled the whole garden, and the petals would fall off the tree and cover the pool in a cloak of pink and white. This was never fun for who ever had to clean the pool that week, which was usually my brother or I. Though my parents may dispute this and say that they were in fact the people who had to clean it the most. That's the funny thing about memories - they change and swirl around us with no exact link, and can be altered to fit the person who conjures them up. For me the trees in that garden were my favourite part about spring, and now that I am living else where I find myself searching for that smell, for that memory of childhood. Lo and behold: the garden I now have the pleasure and the honour of being surrounded by has the same tree! I walked amongst the flowers yesterday and everywhere I looked I discovered flowers of all colours and sizes and smells.

I suppose I am lucky to be living in a place that allows me to be surrounded by trees and flowers, and for that I will always be grateful. That and the fact that I am able to acknowledge such beautiful aspects of nature, and that unfortunately is not something that everyone has been exposed to or taught. I was lucky (for lack of a better word) to have parents that taught me to appreciate nature and everything that it gave to us without the need for anything in return other than to respect it and protect it.

When I think of living in the cities, and how a lone tree blooming flowers can be such a eye-catcher, I can't help but think why people choose to eliminate the beauty such as trees and flowers from the world. Then again I suppose not everyone has truly been taught to SEE. To really SEE the world and respect as it dully deserves to be. Sometimes I think that perhaps these things cannot be taught, and yet maybe they can. I was taught to never litter, and to never harm another animal, plant or person, and I still carry these lessons with me...

Perhaps as we grow older we should try to maintain an element of our childish enthusiasm and remember the simple things that brought so much joy to us. Hugging a tree, or dancing in a field of flowers are not just the actions of a hippy who has lost touch with reality. Society and time have altered us, and sometimes we need to just be. Even if being is simply smelling a flower when you pass it, and thanking the universe and/ or whatever higher being you aspire to, for the beauty that truly is all around is - if you are willing to just look!

What I Would Give To Be Thirteen Again!

2010-08-31T15:53:00.002+01:00

I suppose I don't REALLY want to be THIRTEEN again, but perhaps younger than I am now. Though to be honest there are some moments of clarity that being 25 can bring to a person. I worried about turning 25, and yet kept the idea that: I was lucky and should feel honoured to have lived for this many years, in my head. I had to! However there are some significant things that I do miss, and these are mostly fondly remembered by those who lived in South Africa during the 70's, 80's and 90's I guess.

I miss Froot Loops, Boudoir Biscuits, Creme Soda flavoured Nesquik, Pine Nut Fanta, Fresca, Rascals, Hula Hoops chips, the old Ouma rusks, Zoo Biscuits that had animals that didn't look like squidges and looked like actual animals, Seven and Caravan chocolates. All gone now....

I miss the original Coco Pops, and am not in favour of all these silly name changes such as: Coco Crispies, Coco Crunchies, Caramel Cruchies and Choco Crispies! What the hell? I mean really? The original name worked just fine for like 20 years!

I miss TV shows that made sense and that weren't riddled with sexual innuendos such as Sponge Bob Square Pants and Dragon Ball Z. I miss MNET on Sunday nights when you got to watch Tailspin and Dark Wing Duck. I miss Scooby Doo, and My Little Pony and The Smurfs.

I miss the days of Nintendo TV games, and oooh wow! the days where kids actually played outside and exercised as opposed to Nintendo Wii, and SIMS.

I would much rather play Blind Man's Bluff and Hide and Seek, then watch Survivor and South Park! The world seems to have turned into a reality TV/rude little animated men universe! Perhaps I am really naive, but I am shocked when kids tell me they love The Sugababes track "Push The Button" and 50 Cent's "The CandyShop"! At what point did parents stop reading Dr. Seuss to their kids?

I guess I can complain all I like, but until I have my own kids only then will I realise what it's like to actually raise a child in today's world where 9 year old girls worry about their weight and appearance. In a world where Facebook and the Internet rule, what chance do I have of trying to save a dying culture and a time of so-called innocence? When the Muppets were just Muppets, and having an HIV positive Muppet in South Africa was not a reality. Now we have to teach 10 year olds about safe sex! That is very scary! I am pretty sure I am not the only one who believes this! Surely not!

But, its a reality that we embrace change and accept that the days of playing in the street are over (though to be frank I was never allowed to anyway) and that watching TV is no longer about simply being entertained and educated, but also about being moulded and indoctrinated. Pessimistic? Yes, and no. I suppose my nostalgia has got the best of me...

Oh viva the old KTV and Power Rangers!!! and the days of playing 'make-believe'.

Living and Loving In South Africa

2010-08-31T11:47:00.000+01:00

Okay so I'm checking my notes and having a look at the list of things I wanted to write about:

- media censorship a possibility?
- dirt roads and potholes
- the smell of fires and smoke
- shebeens/taverns
- illegal to sell alcohol on Sundays in the cities and towns
- Christian methodology taught in schools
- Fear of crime
- Taxis
- load shedding

These are the exact words I used in my notes, and for many people this may seem extremely pessimistic of me, but honestly its not! I have loved this country ALWAYS and even though I am often frustrated at its ineptness I still firmly believe that we are a nation of lovers, not fighters. And that it takes a truly special kind of person to live in South Africa (or in Africa at large). For the most part we are very hard-working people, and we are patriotic to a point where the opportunities to leave are there, but we don't. We always come back!

I recently read Douglas Rogers memoir of Zimbabwe entitled "The Last Resort" and through its warmth and brilliance I felt kinship. He wrote about his parent's love for the land and the people, and even though South Africa is nowhere near the fate that has befallen Zim, I understand that love. That sense of being home. It's not about the crime and the lack of service delivery, but the love that enwraps us when in Africa.

We may be famous (or infamous) for strikes and apartheid and xenophobia, but for the majority I believe we are a nation that has truly SURVIVED! We survive everyday and we still have some of the best sunsets in the world. Some of the things I listed are actually great things about this country. I feel at home when I smell fires in the valley, and hear the Xhosa language spoken. I am a true Transkei child, and am perfectly at home at the beach, barefeet and all.

I am proudly South African for many reasons, but mostly I am proud to live in a country that has such a great capacity for love (and humour)! And that is worth a thousand words of mine...

I Hate Crocs!!

2010-08-31T10:24:00.000+01:00

GROSS! GROSS! GROSS!

My first and final judgement of the shoes that swept the nation, and in my opinion should be swept right OUT! Don't get me wrong, I am all for shoes that are comfortable, and it's probably why I opt for bare feet most of the time, and am quite a fan of slippers. However this is a far more serious matter, and I don't mean to offend anyone who has found love in these shoes, or owns a pair (and won't admit it). I do not mean to offend, but seriously!

They are truly the ugliest footwear I have ever seen in my life, and top all efforts at orthopaedic footwear in existence! Crocs are not orthopaedic, and even if they were I would NEVER wear them! But that's just my opinion, and who really cares about that? Its not really how I feel about these abominations, but rather what the majority feels. And trust me there are plenty of beautiful, kind and powerful people who wear these shoes and claim to wear them because they are: "really comfortable" and "great for gardening/fishing/strolling around the house". Yes! This is true, they may be comfortable, and yes, I suppose they do come in funky colours and have fur, and have little attachment things to PIMP out your 'comfy' shoes. Yes, they come in heels, and boots, and ballet pumps. Yes you can match them to any outfit. This may all be true, but why?????

I have my own theories of the world, and mostly I find that most people will have a pair of Crocs (or even 'fakies' which are just as good, if good is how you see them) in their cupboards. They come out at inopportune moments and laugh at all the other shoes. "Ha!" They say, "we are ugly, but we beat all you heels, boots and sandals!" "We will soon rule the world, and there's nothing you can do about it!"

Well I say: Down with Crocs! They frighten me! Just as clowns, the dark and crocodiles (who'd have thought?) scare the jeepers out of me! With their evil little holes (for ventilation?) that stare at you, and mock you and judge you for not succumbing to their allure...

AAArgh! Some of the most beautiful women, and the sexiest men will proudly trot around in the various colours. The worst? Entire families wearing the complete set, and insisting on walking around in public with them. "We are on holiday, and therefore it is perfectly acceptable to wear non-biodegradable rubber on our feet!" Yes you!!!! Why, why, why??

Please, cease wearing these scary little shoes, and if you must go fishing or gardening, rather (and I am already regretting this) wear those little cut-off gumboot thingies that fishermen love to don... They are less offensive, though not quite what I'm looking for.

That is all.

The Dust Diaries

2010-08-31T09:28:00.001+01:00

I recently went on a trip to my favourite place in the world, Coffee Bay, and let me just say that even though I love living life simply and getting all 'one with nature' and all that, I do have a couple of complaints...

It was a beautiful Saturday morning, not unlike any other day really and we decided to leave early. What is early? 5am? 7am? We eventually got on the road at about 11.30, and that's when the Dust Diaries begins....
We are driving a Chevrolet Nomad (a sort of jeep thingy) and at the moment all we had was a roof, and no windows. Fine right? I mean its quite lovely to feel the wind on your face and in your hair. Yes, this can be a freeing experience, and yet having no windows is not always the choice you are glad you made. Okay, I am getting ahead of myself here. Let me begin at the beginning:

Driving anywhere in the Transkei has become frequently easier as there are more and more roads being tarred (not that it makes the roads any less difficult to drive upon due to the infamous POTHOLE), and therefore more and more people can travel around the rural areas without even four-wheel drive on their vehicles. However, this is not the case for us. We CHOSE to drive along the back roads, and these are not tarred. They are not bad roads per say, as they have been graded over the years and therefore yield very few bumps and rocky patches. But, this is no ordinary car you see. As I mentioned before, we had no windows, and because we were intent on feeling the wind in our hair, we were not really bargaining on the wind's ability to erm...blow. When I say blow, I don't really mean that it was sweeping roofs and cows past our window, but it was blowing, and we were driving on roads that are made up of more sand than anything else. That's when it began...

11:45 Swirling, battering, blasting, gushing, freaking SAND! I stared intently at the dashboard, and through the light filtering through the 'windowless' window, I saw flecks of dust. I looked down at my WHITE (oh sweet nibblets, why?) shirt and noticed a little dust. I smacked myself, and the dust rose up. Its fine, I say to myself. This road won't last, and soon we will be on a road that is not made entirely out of sand.

11: 50 I put my headphones in my ears and prepared to spend the next couple of hours listening to Fleetwood Mac and Paul Simon.

12: 15 I was wearing black tights (it was cold when we left) and I lifted them up with my fingers and then flicked them back onto my lap. The dust swirled. I dusted off my shirt again. More dust. "Must stay clean". "Need to get to Coffee Bay clean". "Haven't been there in a while, and don't want to arrive looking like I've been living in a cave for 6 months"

12: 30 Its hot, and I really want to take off my boots and tights, but what about the dust? Surely, we are nearing a road that does not produce sand? Nope, I'll just keep them on for now.

1:00 Reach for the apples I packed. They are covered in dust. Have a sip of water. Hack! AAArgh! Spit! How the bloody hell did dust get into the water bottle? I feel like Johnny Depp's character in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas when he goes on assignment in the desert, and insists on holding his beer whilst on the back of a Dune Buggy. His beer turns into muddy sludge...

1:30 My MP3 player dies. Should have charged it last night... I shake my head, and dust swirls around me. I hack and cough and splutter. Dammit! I washed my hair and straightened it this morning! Why? I almost never do that - straighten it I mean! I tie it up and start smacking my head! SMACK, SMACK! The dust swirls...

1.45 I plug my headphones into my phone, and begin listening to Goldfish and Collective Soul. My eyes are closed. I can't see though my sunglasses anymore. I have given up cleaning them on my now GREY shirt. What's the point? I mean, really!

2:30 Road still dusty, car covered in a layer of sand. Car had to be restarted several times. My luggage (which was also white - can you freaking believe it?) is no longer visible in the back. Have smacked head several times. Have flicked tights, and stamped boots. The dust is taking over. It cares not for the innocents. I am overwhelmed, and therefore bow down to its rule.

3:00 Can't drink anymore sludge. Throat has closed up. I don't care if my phone's battery dies. I need the music to drown out the whooshing sound. I can't turn up the volume anymore. My ears are clogged with sand. My nose is clogged. The driver and I now look like giant bandaids/plasters driving into battle.

3:15 Apparently I look like I had a bad session at a tanning salon. I am now a strange orange colour. We are not there yet!

3:30 Stop at river in the middle of nowhere to wash away the dust. Use dust-covered clothes in now-grey bag to dry off.

3:40 Arrive at turnoff to Mapuzi (close to Coffee Bay) and give lift to locals. They laugh at the car and don't want to get in because its too dirty. Too tired to laugh. They offer us beer. I hold up sludge bottle: "I'm sorted, thanks!"

3:44 Arrive in Coffee Bay. Have a cold beer.

Begged friend for a shower before seeing the rest of the world. Plan to wear black plastic bags when we drive back home on Monday...

In My Next Life I'm Coming Back As a... Muppet!

2010-08-19T16:30:00.001+01:00

“Fozzie, where did you learn to drive?"
"Oh, I took a correspondence course." - Kermit and Fozzie

I have loved the Muppets ALWAYS, and believe them to be real. They are real. Don't argue with me on this one. I believe myself to be a certain Muppet 'connossieur' of sorts and have loved them since I saw "The Muppet Movie".There is nothing in the Muppet dialogue that cannot answer any life question. They are the Messiah of today's lost generation of twenty and thirty-somethings attempting to grapple their way through life. In fact there is a Muppet for everyone and I'll prove it.

Take Miss Piggy, she's a woman and she knows exactly what she wants. She doesn't believe that too much affection for one frog is too much. She's an up and coming actress and loves Kermit with all her heart and soul. A strong female role model is Miss Piggy.

Kermit, the frog is the under-appreciated narrator and protagonist. He's got all his frog-legs in order, and is not adverse to a little bit of macho competition. He may not be as funny as the comedian Fozzy the Bear, and as musically inclined as Rowlf the Dog, or even as existentialist as Gonzo the Whatever (kinda like a Turkey but not quite), but Kermit sure can attract 'em. He is personally responsible for bringing the Muppets together and getting them their first movie deal.

Then of course there is Fozzy, the bear with a comedic twist. He believes that :“A bear in his natural habitat. A Studebaker." That said it is still okay to assume that even though Fozzy's career is a little on the dodgy side (hence his performances at the El Sleezo Cafe) he is still famous for his witty one-liners. Come on! You all know that guy? The guy who has a joke for every occasion. They may not be funny, but they are performed with passion and dedication.

The existentialist in the group is undoubtedly Gonzo. He tries, but he can never quite define himself in the same way as the rest of the Muppet clan. Perhaps in 2010 he might be considered 'emo'* in his rantings about being alone and being the only one of his kind, but Gonzo is the ultimate 'outsider'.

*emo: kids that listen to depressing music and wear black and muse constantly about their existence in society. They usually wear their hair parted to to one side.

Aaaah! Bless them hippies. In the Muppet band, Electric Mayhem, Janice is the resident hippie. She works lead guitar and vocals, and is just super cool. Why? Because she's ditsy and "totally righteous" (said in a very surfer, beach bum kind of way). The only female in an all male band, Janice is oblivious of her surroundings.

Electric Mayhem, has a drummer called Animal. Animal doesn't always know when to: "Beat drums, beat drums!", but he surely is the epitome of all drummers throughout history. He knows women, food and drums!
“Oh yeah, that's Animal. Show 'em what you do, Animal!"
“I what do! Eat drums! Rarrrrgh!"
"No! No! Not eat drums! Beat drums! Beat drums!" - Dr. Teeth and Animal.

There is a certain sarcastic tone to any of the Muppets movies or their TV show, and that's why we love them. We love them because they make light of life. They are (shall we say?) caricatures of life's characters. They mock society in the subtlest of ways, and amuse us no end with their perceptions of popular culture, politics and religion.

Why do I want to be a Muppet in my next life? Simple. As a writer I can never have too many witty lines, and the Muppets are testament to that very premise. They are aware of the world's suffering and yet have the belief that life should indeed be laughed at... Not with insensitivity but with rather acceptance of life's oddness and troubles. I owe the Muppets alot!

Here are some classic Muppet quotes to get you on the way to being completely indoctrinated (so to speak):

“Stay away from women, that's my motto."
"But I can't."
“Neither can I: that's my trouble." - Rowlf and Kermit

“Can you help me? I have lost my sense of direction."
"Have you tried Hare Krishna?" - Agent and Kermit

“I like this film so far!"
"It hasn't started yet."
“That's what I like about it!" - Statler and Waldorf

“I'm going to Bombay, India, to become a movie star!"
“You don't go to Bombay to become a movie star. You go where we're going: Hollywood."
“Sure, if you want to do it the easy way!" - Gonzo and Fozzie

NOTE: NO Muppets we harmed in the writing of this blog post.

My Book Wishlist Vol. 2

2010-08-19T14:30:00.000+01:00

It seems like such a long time that I wrote one of these... I have since read much, and learnt of so many books that I would love to get my paws on. Now you see I cannot simply read these books, I must own them and have them for my very own. Books are like precious jewels to me, and it saddens me when my books are never returned to me when I lend them out. Sadly I still can't say no, and therefore must make peace with my own actions.

Firstly I would love to get the Greenpeace memoir called "Making Waves: The Origins and Future of Greenpeace." The book was written by the founder of Greenpeace, Jim Bohlen, who passed away about a month ago. Greenpeace has fought for the rights of the environment since the seventies and they are recently involved in exposing BP for the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico.

"My Traitor's Heart" was written by South African journalist and writer Rian Malan. It is extraordinary how much knowledge this man holds, and he has the uncanny ability to make anything into a story. Considered South Africa's Hunter S. Thompson, Malan is not afraid to tell it like it is. I have read (and own) his collection of writings called Resident Alien, and would love this book to add to my collection.

I have read almost everything Irish chick lit master Marian Keyes has ever written, and simply need two books to make my book list complete: "The Brightest Star in the Sky" and "Further Under the Duvet". I love a little bit of chick lit and there ain't nothing wrong with that!

I have always loved the Beat Generations work. For info on the Beats refer to my piece this month entitled "The Bohemian Hedonists". One of the founders of this style of writing is Jack Kerouac, and I am ashamed to say that I have not read "On The Road". Like Allen Ginsberg and Tom Wolfe, Kerouac is supposedly quite adept at describing a lost generation.

I have a huge coffee table book called "501 Must-See Movies" and I have discovered that having something like this in your possession is both a blessing and a curse. My reasoning behind this is simple: I have realised how many classics are out there, and therefore have made it my mission to see as many as I can. Being a film buff this is great, but also frustrating as it is not always easy to attain these movies the legal (bought) way. In the series there is "501 Must-Read Books". Good golly! How will I cope? I am up for the challenge though...

During my time at varsity I discovered my love for scriptwriting and scoured the shelves at the library for any books on the subject. However I do not own one book! Here is a list of some of the books I have come across and have heard are great for aspiring screenwriters:

- Screenplay - Syd Field
- Characters and Conflict - Mark Axelrod
- How To Write a Movie in 21 Days - Viki King
- Psychology For Screenwriters - William Indick
- Global Screenwriting - Ken Dancyger

I have also loved photography for many years, and own a few lovely second books I picked up at a lovely night market in Durban a few years ago. However I really admire the celebrity photographer Annie Leibovitz, and the landscape photographer Ansel Adams. Any books on these artists work and life would be muchly appreciated.

I read the most wonderful book a few years ago, and I don't yet own a copy of it. Its called "The Death and Life of Charlie St. Cloud" by Ben Sherwood. What a magnificent book, but sadly the only person to own a copy that I know of is my father. Thanks dad!

This will sound strange but I have loved the author Jacqueline Susann since I picked up a battered copy of "The Valley of the Dolls" in a second-hand bookstore in Port Elizabeth. I have since then collected all her books, except for "Once Is Not Enough". Its all pure escapism really and... who am I kidding? I refuse to explain. I love her books. That is all.

A book that nearly ever person and their granny has read I have not. Nelson Mandela's autobiography "Long Walk To Freedom" is a book that has always floated there in the periphery of my mind, but which I have never grasped. I must, I must!

I became a fan of Lester Bangs when I saw him portrayed by the oh so brilliant Phillip Seymour Hoffman in the film "Almost Famous". He wrote for Cream magazine and Rolling Stone. His book "Psychotic Readings and Carburetor Dung" is a must-have for a pop culture lover such as moi!!!

That's it for now folks. I hope I have not bored you all with my wishes and wants, but books are my life!

Memoirs of Me

2010-08-19T12:19:00.001+01:00

When I began this blog I didn't really have a pre-ordained idea as to where I wanted to go and wanted to do with it. I simply wanted to write. With freedom and passion and love. Its the writing part that I enjoy. Sometime I may rant and rave about things that only I could possibly be concerned about, and other times I try to think of topics that people want to read about. I sit at my desk and sip bucket loads of coffee. The weather outside changes as the days pass me by. I look out the window and there's raindrops on the trees and flowers outside. I breathe in the fresh air and consider how lucky I am to be living (for the time being) in such a beautiful place. Across the road a wide river flows along quietly, and further up the road there are beaches that stretch on for miles. During the day I can hear birds chattering and jolling up a storm in the trees. I can hear the monkeys further up the mountain arguing over citrus fruit, and the dogs barking at sticks and cars.There is a peacefulness in this noise, and it allows me to consider so many amazing stories and ideas that are simply waiting for me to introduce them to the world.

Its not that simple though.... The cursor blinks more and more, and the ideas rush away and I am left with a cold cup of coffee and a full ashtray... I turn on some music and dance around my room, and begin the daily tidy-up. I shake out the mats, and do the laundry. I make the bed, and stare up at my bursting bookshelves. I flip through photographs of my life, and smile fondly at pictures of my friends and family. I briefly consider writing a charming story about my childhood, and then dispel it as silly. Who wants to read about the times I spent crossing a river laden with books, because there was no bridge (at the time) in a little coastal village we frequented as children. I refused to bring less than 10 books as I was convinced that if the shit hit the fan I would be fully prepared with reading matter. Or the many times I watched my brother and cousins jumping from the roof of an abandoned hotel into the pool below (which was filled with thatching straw). Or the late night spear-fishing trips where I would set off with my brother, uncle (who is younger than me) and grandfather, in my pajamas and holding a huge torch.

Perhaps no one really wants to know about the target practices we did as children with shotguns, and hiding under the bed towards the end of apartheid when mobs marched past our homes. Or the time I ran away from home at the age of nine and hid at the bottom of our garden for about an hour. Or making ramps for our bicycles with my brother. These are things that I remember and I remember a lot! In fact I have many, many journals that chronicle my life from the age of 8 until now at the age of 25. I could go back and tell you many stories, and yet will you read? Will you listen? I suppose that doesn't really matter. We read biographies and autobiographies of famous (and not so famous) people all the time, and it was never really WHAT people did, but HOW they did it, and HOW they wrote it. How they connected with their readers, and how they allocated themselves a rightful place in society. How they interpreted their worlds and the world around them.

We all have such a short time on this planet that there is really no point in worrying what or how people will respond to our actions and words. Be kind, be strong and be yourself. Simple words...

We all have stories to tell, and not all these stories we feel we can share, and that's fine too. I often have to tell myself that its perfectly okay to express yourself, and to allow yourself to be made vulnerable by your chosen words. They (whoever 'they' are) say that you should choose your words carefully, and I do try, but sometimes the act of writing the truth becomes a heavy burden and I am only human. I do not wish to offend anyone, but I say what I believe in my soul. My soul is all I have. My memories may not be everyone else's and my opinions and thoughts are certainly not every one's either, but I can only be myself, and sometimes that is just the prefect thing to be.

Life Made Easier In South Africa

2010-08-19T10:58:00.002+01:00

The world is filled with new gadgets to play with, and new and improved ways of living. The simple act of making macaroni and cheese is now made simpler by popping a container into a microwave oven and pressing a series of buttons. We can make smoothies and cocktails in our own kitchens. We can take photographs with cameras that allow us to view the pictures straight away, and then we can erase them if we choose to do so. Then we can put them on our computers and manipulate them any way we like. On the World Wide Web we can send messages to people millions of miles away, and with social networking sites we can catch a glimpse of our friend's lives, whereas before we had to go through the tedious task of actually dialling their numbers and speaking to them on the phone. We have machines that wash our dishes, and devices that give us directions (and we use these devices even if we've travelled the same road a hundred time). Our cars are voice-activated, and through Skype we can talk to people miles away and see their faces while we do it. We can do all these things and more...

In South Africa we have a huge problem. We can't do anything. Sure we have all the latest in technology (mostly) and we consider ourselves a developed rather than developing nation, and yet... Its still a mission to do just about anything. We strike, and we burn down buildings, and we spend entire days simply waiting in bank queues. As members of the African continent we have mastered the art of waiting and standing. We are sent from one desk to the next, and each time we move we have to explain ourselves. We spend hours on the phone listening to crappy Rhythm and Blues whilst on call-waiting. In frustration we hang up the phone and vow to never use that bank again. The act of going to Home Affairs is equal to going to the depths of hell, and we can't believe why we keep putting ourselves through the torture of renewing our driver's licenses, and using a bicycle seems like a far less stressful option. Let the oil companies be damned!

Don't even attempt to return something to a store, or open a bank account. Seriously! You need to prove you have a place to live, and they won't even accept that! I was standing in line to get a proof of residence for the bank and the dude in front of me didn't have his ID book with him so he simply told the lady behind the counter what his ID number his and where he lived and off he walked with his stamped proof! How on earth is that proof of anything? And yet for some reason we need this proof to prove that we are who we say we are. Why don't they just hook us all up to lie detectors and get on with it?

This process of identification makes sense in theory, but we are really only going through all this torture in order to make everyone else's lives easier. When I took my proof to the bank they wouldn't accept it because they didn't have that particular councillor's signature on record and directed me to another branch... Holy crap! I'm opening another account with an entirely different bank! I say this now, but will this make MY life easier? Not on your Nelly!

If you're a foreigner in this country they have a lovely system called the Baz Bus which will literally take you from hostel to hostel, and you never actually have to leave any of the hostels for anything other than drawing money at the ATMs that very rarely work, or go to the police station to report a theft. Lovely!

Don't get me wrong though, I love South Africa, and couldn't live anywhere else for a long time. I am an African through and through, and even though I begrudge the system I am a stickler for punishment and find this country full of richness and warmth and humour. We are a nation that can truly laugh at ourselves and our idiosyncrasies. We know who we are, and even though we are culturally-confused we have so much potential. The potential to become something truly GREAT! We just need to realise that the word "easier" should not be used as a marketing ploy!

I am NOT a hippie!

2010-08-17T15:29:00.000+01:00

Ever since I can remember I have loved anything tie-dyed, and all things shiny and sparkly. I have opted for bare feet rather than heels, and most of my clothes are second-hand. I really don't mind getting dirty, and running around in nature. I have hugged trees, and have a huge crush on the fate of the environment. I have watched the Woodstock DVD over 10 times, and prefer to sit on the ground rather than on chairs or couches. I love Fleetwood Mac and Ben Harper, and am a huge Bob Marley fan. I have been to a few trance parties, and am no stranger to drumming circles, and am more comfortable with an alternative form of healing rather than antibiotics and doctors. My mother lives in a little thatched cottage, and my father in a log cabin. I eat organic vegetables and have joined Greenpeace.I almost never brush my hair, and until recently did not own a hair dryer or straightener. I cannot remember the last time I wore make-up, and hate shopping malls. I am NO hippie though.

Through high school and later through university I was always considered the 'free spirit' and the hippie girl. You know the one who never has the same outfit as everyone else, and when I attended a few heavy metal gigs I was always the one you could spot in a crowd of black t-shirts and piercings. I love colour you see, and my outfits are never coordinated. I abhor loud music, and would usually find myself preferring to be outside sipping my beer, and watching everyone else in the moshpits.*

I was always the outsider both at school and at uni, but when I came home for holidays I was surrounded by people who also shared my love for bare feet and sixties songwriters. At the time I was quite happy to be labelled, as everyone else seemed to have their own identity, and I was happy to dance along and flip peace signs in group photos. I was happy to belong, as all my friends were entirely different. I had a really great group of friends that included a punk rocker^, a heavy metal enthusiast, a stoner, a preppy dude and a mixture of all of these. Looking back now I can't believe we were actually labelling ourselves by embracing subcultures, instead of simply acknowledging the fact that even though we were all different (as all people are), we also had some great things in common. Perhaps one of the greatest things we had in common was that we were drawn to each other. A collection of the infringement of society, if you will. You see, we were certainly quite different to the rest of the people studying for the same degree. Or at least it seemed that way. It was us against the rest of the world. Or at least it seemed that way. Perhaps if we had been in an American teen movie we might have shown up as the drama kids or the staff of the student newspaper. But we weren't. We were in a typical South African university studying on the periphery: A BA! We studied literature, and philosophy and politics. We immediately had an edge, and we could question everything from movies to politics. We thought we were on top of the world. And that was just first year. Throughout my four years of varsity I met people who would forever be collectively known as: the Goth, the Lesbian, the Jock, the Comedian, the Stoner, and the Poppie*. I loved all these people, and even though these labels cannot ever possibly encompass their entire reportoire, these are how we distiguished them from amongst the masses.

I am digressing. However this has lead me towards what I would REALLY like to say. Being surrounded by people that actually wanted to be DIFFERENT, as opposed to the average twenty-something who wishes to exist within a system that loves us to all be the same. Where everything from fashion to language is a considered an indication of your acceptance. We wanted to be on the edge, on the periphery. There is a certain kick to being 'interesting' and strange. On the other hand I was just another free-spirit back home. The only thing that set me apart from the people back home was that I didn't take drugs or enjoy trance music. Again I realise I am doing a great disfavour to my homies, and I don't mean to. I was brought up in a backpacking environment where you met people from all of the world on a daily basis, and therefore I am not under the delusions of grandeur that foreign is necessarily better. Being different does not make you better, but at varsity I WAS different. I was not better than those who chose to study medicine or business, but anyone who has ever studied film and literature and philosophy knows that they are learning skills that teach you to be ever-critical and never simply accept the status quo.

Why do I hate labels so much now? Because they are very constricting, and I grew tired of telling people that I showered everyday and shaved my legs, and did not smoke marijuana. I loved Bob Marley, and hated high-heels, but I was not going to be roped into a stigma that was unfair and unfounded. The 'hippies' (those who are happy to claim that they are indeed of the hippy persuasion) that I have been in contact with have seriously defamed the name. I have grown tired of their commune-type mentalities. The hippies that I know have no consideration towards boundaries, and their ideas of peace are infused with drug-hazes and painting rainbows and peace signs on trees and rocks. Their 'flower power' children run naked at Trance festivals and never go to school. Even though I consider myself quite liberal I certainly do think that a certain amount of discipline and structure is in order. Once you have the order then only can you choose to break away from it and forge your own destiny.

Perhaps in my own way I have been guilty of labelling and judging, but that makes me human. I try not to judge, and yet stereotypes and archetypes have to come from some from of truth. I also hope to not sound presumptuous and superior by claiming that I cannot be labelled and categorised. Of course I can. However balancing all these labels and creating a hybrid of sorts is more my cup of tea. This is precisely why certain concepts such as 'truth' cannot be totally defined, and rely on a mixture of beliefs and ideas and opinions. Perhaps labels ARE silly, and perhaps we need them in order to portray some from of control over our surroundings. Perhaps labelling me as a hippie is simply easier than trying to really get to know me. AND most importantly, perhaps I should stop labelling the rest of the world, as people separate from me. Because even though I appose labels I have spent this entire piece pinning labels on everyone else. I am not an island.

*Moshing refers to the act in which audience members at live music performances push and/or slam into each other for the purpose of fun activity and in a non-hateful way most of the time. It is most commonly associated with concerts featuring more aggressive musical genres, such as hardcore punk and heavy metal.

- are typically done in an area in front of the stage which is referred to as the mosh pit or simply pit.

^For the most part, punk took root in local scenes that tended to reject association with the mainstream. An associated punk subculture emerged, expressing youthful rebellion and characterized by distinctive styles of clothing and adornment and a variety of anti-authoritarian ideologies.

* A female who usually wears make-up, high heels and short skirts - South African term.

Consume Much?

2010-08-16T14:28:00.001+01:00

The world baffles me. Everyday is another day that I am allowed into the world's of others, and each day surprises me. Perhaps on some level that is why I love to write. I am a voyeur of sorts, and love to just watch the people around me. Not in a creepy way, or anything, but in such in a way that I am fascinated by human interactions and beliefs. We are all so different. We are all so the same. We love new clothes, and having money to spend. We love gadgets and new cars, and big houses, and being able to go holiday. I am of course just generalising here. I myself would prefer a small house, and have no interest in cars. However the world wants all these things. In South Africa we are so confused that we want a Beemer AND have a very close link with our ancestors. We will have both a white wedding and a traditional ceremony. We still have our cellphones and our designer jeans. We are Christian and we are culturally Xhosa or Zulu or Venda. Again, I am merely generalising. I am not marketing Christianity, or any religion for that matter. I am just speaking of what I see, and hear, and experience.

I have personally witnessed a lot of my close friends buy Blackberry's, and new BMW's and talk about their bourgeoisie lifestyles of shopping, clubbing and gyming. It all becomes a question of lifestyle. But on the other side of the coin that is FAR AWAY from the Jo'burg and Cape Town lifestyle, there are those who swear by the belief that we need nothing other than a roof over our heads, and food to eat. I met a man the other day who is happy to just exist selling his tie-dyed clothes and smoking the occasional joint. He lives in a single-roomed house and is quite happy. Perhaps this can be considered an extreme, but is it?

As I have gotten older I have moved further and further away from the consumable lifestyle, and in fact I only really experienced the allure of it for the four years I spent living in a city. Shopping and new gadgets were never really my thing. I would rather have spent my money (and still would) on books. Though I would prefer to be not considered a hypocrite, and therefore will admit that the odd handbag and DVD are not things I will say no to. Yet I must question this world, and its obsession with ownership. Its not an old concept, as we have been 'claiming' things as our own for centuries. The barter system was replaced with currency, and we have claimed countries as our own. We even enjoy claiming that which is not our own. Is ownership REALLY 9 tenths of the law? What on earth does that say about our laws?

In the Transkei we are still ruled by tribal laws and therefore even if we have lived on a piece of land our whole lives, the land is never really ours to claim. This knowledge has always humbled me, as it is quite outstanding that the tribal system can still outweigh the government. This does not stop people from defying these laws and I frequently have to remind people that NO! you cannot buy a piece of land in paradise with Brandy!

Maybe the mere act of writing this means that I have very little regard for consumerism. We are a culture and a generation of consumerists. We want, want, want, WANT! Did it ever occur to the average human being that consuming and ownership will not lead us closer to whatever higher power we believe in? That it will not bring us closer to nature, or to our family, or to our TRUE friends? We are NOT leaving this earth with our cellphone, and I doubt that anyone cares whether you will be buried in Gucci.

It is never what we have, but what we do, and how we connect with the world around us. How we love our fellow man, and the earth, and the creatures of this planet. How we stand up for what we believe in, and the faith that we hold in such high regard. Surely these are greater aspirations to have?

I am now a preacher... Something I never wished to be. I am not faultless, and I certainly do not have the right to claim that I am consumer free. I have many, many things. My room alone is filled with books, and Cd's and an unusually large amount of handbags. But I have NEVER lost touch with those things that truly do matter. There is far too much beauty in the world to allow only a small handful of people to fight for it. There is so much more beyond what I can fill my pockets with. Don't get me wrong though, I am fully aware that money is important, and because I have never been poor I can never truly understand what it is like to have very little or nothing.... But...as we break the bonds that have constrained us for so long we can once and for all see what is important, and what matters.