Young and Beautiful

Earth Day slipped past me, unnoticed as we enjoyed the glorious rays of sunshine by the harbour. This is happiness, if only temporarily: the feeling of easy conversation, of trusting those you are with to be yourself.

Once at home the National Geographic's Instagram feed gave me this:

My happiness

I tend to add a 'but' to everything I do, always questioning whether whatever it was was good enough, perpetually in search of something just a teeny little bit better, closer to perfection.

Wednesday was just that: perfection. After class a friend and I went to the beach to tan, with the light rays warming up the sweet lingering smell of coconut in my suntan lotion. There was a slight breeze, just enough to keep us cool as we were sautéing ourselves in the sun, and the faint clinginess of salt water on our skin felt like being on vacation without it being holiday time. We were unhurried, unstressed, not worrying about echoes of anxiety that seem to catch me at unguarded moments.

Then four of us roadtripped to Hamburg, as we were attending different concerts there. Nele and I headed to The National playing in the Stadtpark Freilichtbühne, which is an open air stage in an enormous park. Since my last years at school The National have been a musical emotional support system. Whenever not so happy times arose, I'd play Fake Empire, and as they released new albums Runaway and Fireproof joined the top 25 songs that my iPod plays. Their music to me is representative of the melancholy, awkward darkness that we all fall prey to at times and wallow in slightly, but which we then overcome after a glass of wine with friends or a good nights sleep.

It is hard to say why this concert was so wonderful. They are not a band where you dance excessively and they don't have an impressive light show or background visuals. Nonetheless, Nele and I were smiling the whole way through. There is something in the songs that pulls you along, that makes you swing slowly from side to side, that talks to you more than bigger, louder, dancier tracks do. The best moment was the final one: throughout the day the heavens had darkened, with heavy rain clouds rolling in over the venue. Not until the last last song did it start to rain ever so softly though: the band had come to the absolute front of the stage and sung a heartfelt stripped-down rendering of Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks as the crown chanted along and the droplets hung as if momentarily frozen in the air.

Absolute perfection.

Fireproof

Today I quit the gym. One more month of Zen Pilates on Wednesdays and Zen Yoga on Fridays, and then my card won't work any more. I've been going there for 5 years, not religiously, not fanatically, always slightly dishevelled looking, but regularly, at least. I've hated on all jock-y personal trainers, been embarrassed by a room full of nakedness, gotten athlete's foot, fell flat on my face and avoided the V-box class like the plague. It's not like I'm quitting exercise in order to join The People of Walmart or anything, I am just moving to Germany for, well, at least 2 years.

This means a lot of admin. I hate admin. I wish there was no bureaucracy, no paperwork, only (if need be) easy online forms that are designed so that a 6-year-old could fill them out. I would like not to feel like a criminal every time I need to complete paperwork, or to have my mom vouch for me as soon as I need to apply for the silliest things.

At the moment I am sorting (read throwing away) through my CDs, putting books in boxes and seeing which stuff could go to the less fortunate. Strange how we are all hoarders somehow. Not as excessive as the TV show, but we hang on to things because we're afraid without objects of memory we won't be able to remember everything. Maybe that is a good thing though. Maybe not every incident of life need to be enshrined somewhere in our brains.

It is rather emotional, this throwing away of things. I look at the Celine Dion CDs I took along on our trip of Mayan pyramids in Mexico as a child. After two weeks of almost exclusively Celine (I also packed Disney's Greatest Hits Vol. I and II), no one liked her any more. I find clumsy artworks, old photographs, a stack of SL magazines. It is hard to decide what to keep and what to let go, because somewhere in me there is a nagging voice constantly saying: "But you might need that again, someday."

Hah. Someday.

This moving away is harder than I thought. I am like a manic depressive, changing from being elated to nostalgic, teary-eyed and battling against a wave of sadness. Here is where my people are, it is home.

And although I've been all like 'needtoleaveneedtoleaveneedtoleave', actually leaving my very comfortable nest makes me almost shit my pants. What if this is a bad idea. What if everyone is stupid. What if I am the stupid one. What if there the sun won't ever shine. What if someone dies, here. What if, what if.

Luckily, my friend Michael left me with great advice : No experience is wasted.

Better make the best of what I have here, still, and what awaits.

Nuvole Bianche

“It is an illusion that youth is happy, an illusion of those who have lost it; but the young know they are wretched for they are full of the truthless ideal which have been instilled into them, and each time they come in contact with the real, they are bruised and wounded. It looks as if they were victims of a conspiracy; for the books they read, ideal by the necessity of selection, and the conversation of their elders, who look back upon the past through a rosy haze of forgetfulness, prepare them for an unreal life. They must discover for themselves that all they have read and all they have been told are lies, lies, lies; and each discovery is another nail driven into the body on the cross of life.” 

― W. Somerset Maugham, Of Human Bondage

When all you got to keep is strong/Move along

One suitcase. I left with one suitcase, my laptop bag and a handbag. I didn't care about the things I had left, it was all about flying towards a future that had to be different from years lived in between.

My sister is moving out tomorrow and thus packing up her room. She has only one suitcase, true, but bags and bags and bags and bags and more bags full of things. Her room still looks full, even with half of her stuff gone already.

It is quizzical how we hang on to things. Tiny keepsakes, objects of remembrance, but also plastic bags and Tupperware that no longer has a fitting lid and carpets that are stained and CDs that are scratched and clothes that can no longer be worn in public. We hang on to bad sofas and creaky beds and tilted tables and uncomfortable chairs and squeaky wheelbarrows. We keep all of this broken stuff even though it neither gives something nor takes anything from our lives. All these objects do is remind us of the tiny little hoarding complex enshrined in capitalist society.

We are constantly encouraged to buy newer, better things to replace the old things that still work. So we are caught in this spiral where we don't want to throw away the old because we don't want to have wasted our money, but then we proceed to buy the new since spending money is fun, even if you have to pay with your Credit Card and the waves of debt are steadily inching up beyond where you can stand.

I, too, like my things. I like my books. I like my earrings. I very much like the new jeans that actually fit. I like the old photo albums. I like my mom's Rosenthal porcelain. I really like my red Adidas. I like my stuff.

But if it all goes away, if I can take nothing from the burning house but myself, well, I'll move along, because they are just things. Some can be replaced, some can be recovered from the Cloud, some might be lost forever.

It won't be all that tragic though. Losing everything does not equate to losing everyone.
I'll still have friendship.
I'll still have love.
I'll have hope.
And, somehow, happiness. Because being happy is not measured in how many objects we possess but in an appreciation for what remains when all else is lost.

Fitter Happier

On a window in Long Street:

Apparently 'Fuck knows who said this' translates to John Lennon.

I heard the party's here

And I'm back.
Joh.
I previously stated that roadtripping to Rocking the Daisies could be at either end of extremes: awful or awesome. Maybe it was a bit of both, a bit of loneliness and fun and happiness and depression and incomprehension strewn in between just to mix it up. Maybe it was better this way.

When going to Koppi, I remember groups of people, camping together; making a fire; chilling in front of the stages and enjoying the music; and, partying at night together. The camp site there is an important place, since it is where you spend half of the time. Also, it is not unusual to just pitch up at some stranger's camp site, be offered a drink and make new friends. Oppikoppi is gezellig.

By comparison, RtD is not. Since it purports to be some kind of hippie-hipster-eco-festival, camping and cars are kept separate, and no glass is allowed in. Also no fires are allowed. Therefore, there is no reason to have a camp site to chill at, and the tents are just pitched at random. At Koppi you try to get a few trees, here you don't give a f*ck since you'll probably just be sleeping there. What neighbours? What sharing a beer? Not these cool kids.

Shock number two came after queuing for two hours to shower for a full five minutes. To me, showering at festivals is nice, but it is optional. You are there for the music, not to make sure you look your best. Again I was very wrong. These girls have ghd-straighteners and hair dryers. They also don't leave the shower-tent without putting on their made-up face. And I'm not talking just some mascara here. Hells no.

The outfits are also worth mentioning. I am used to taking semi-old clothes so that if something happens I don't mind throwing them away. Ahhhhhhhhh non. All these girls appear to be in dire need of nourishment, and they all wear their mother's high waisted jeans, but cut off just short enough to show the rounding of the gluteus maximus. The crop top, angle boots and large hats were also a staple. The gentlemen all looked like they weren't trying to look cool but that they were secretly spending quite some time on getting their hair looking just messy enough. The boys I went with spent more time in the bathroom getting ready than I did.

I mean, this is not necessarily a negative thing, but I felt as though at RtD the festival is a constant fashion show, and that music is just something happening in the background. Except for when Bloc Party played. They are INTERNATIONAL, after all. Rocking the Daisies was somewhat of a disappointment. No one seemed to respect the local bands, like the Dirty Bounce Collaboration (with Mr Cat and the Jackal contributing members), Machineri or even hip-star of the moment, Jeremy Loops. This festival felt as though it was more important to be seen, to tell others afterwards "Ja, bru, sorry I missed you at Daisies, hey, Ja, it was awesome", to have been there without really caring about any band past Bloc Party.

A festival is definitely not the place to be lonely. At Koppi, even when I went only with my friend Sliv, there were always others around to go party with, there were always random people that were willing to meet new people and just have a good time. Here, the cliques were already established, and no one new was cool enough to break into the established order of coolness. The Capetonians were constantly remoulding themselves to be more avant garde, more advanced, more hipstamatic than even the app. Me? I was stuck, rigid, a piece of unwanted, a Nokia 3310 in a sea of iPhone 5s.

Perhaps it is my own fault. I was pretty pissed (not the drunk pissed, the pissed off one) because my homeboys had their own agendas for the festival, which is fine. But it wasn't my fault that things had changed, that the original party was not going, and after three days of being supportive and understanding and adapting to other ways of doing things I just felt a bit die moer in.  If I could try to be understanding, so should they. On Saturday we had a tent-round-table, and sorted it out, which was great, since after that the last night of RtD was quite fun despite the rain and the cold. Nothing a bit of Havana Rum and freshly squeezed orange juice can't fix, hey.

The roadtrip, the Daisies, it was all an experience, neither best nor worst. Like gezellig, I am trying to find that one word to describe the festival, the one that will capture its essence. Beautiful? Eco? Different? I'll settle on oppervlakkig.

Little Numbers

This made my day.





Thanks Coca Cola ( if you like this click through to a previous post on Coke and uplifting ads).

The happy sinner

I don't have a bucket list.
I don't want to parachute, or climb the Great Wall of China, or go shark-cage diving. All this YOLO* stuff is just the current generation remaking Carpe Diem into something more hash-tag-able to add after Twitter statuses.

Certainly, there are things I, too, want to see and do, but if it doesn't work out, it's not the end of the world. I'd really like to go on a train trip through India, à la Darjeeling Limited, including Louis Vuitton luggage and Adrien Brody and some soul-searching. Or go to the Arctic Circle to bond with some polar bears. Or to spend 6 months travelling across the US and Canada, East-to-West.

But the only thing I really want is this:
Happiness.
Not a lifetime pursuit, not a conquest, not going in search of happiness, and of what one usually associates with it. People ( jaja, generalising, as always) tend to believe that when they have found the perfect job, or the perfect partner, or the perfect apartment, or the perfect car, they will be happy. I think that perhaps these things are to big to provide happiness, and gives them too much importance. Sure, it adds to how content you can be if you have a great place and person to return home to after an enjoyable day at work, but you need to find happiness in the small things.

In the perfect pain au chocolat. Or seeing the university's Camera Obscura. Or the radio playing Walk like an Egyptian on your way home. Or seeing your mom after weeks.

There is a lot of happiness in the everyday, we just miss it.

On a similar note, though, (and the original reason for my post) is the recent launching of a friend's blog about her happy place. Check it out on the Square Bucket.

Also, here's the link to the post title, Miss Li's The Happy Sinner**. Listen to it after a weekend of excess when you've told yourself you'll never drink/smoke/go out ever again.



*You only live once.

**Sliv, für dich.

kapow!

"Newtown" by Collette Wasielewski 

Today's postcard a day from Gauteng reminds me to be grateful for all the wonderful times I have shared with the people around me. Not every day is a good day, not every moment is marvellous and there is no getting around the fact that often, life is hard. But whatever, we make the best of what we have, so thank you for the happy times mes amis. 

Greetings from the seaside

This is how my dogs roll. 

I hope everyone is having a getting into the holiday spirit and feeling festive. It is a bit ridiculous celebrating Christmas with a turkey and a Christmas tree when it is 35`C outside and you are wearing a summery dress, but after all one needs to reflect on what one is celebrating and for which reasons. I am not very religious and see Christmas more as a celebration of family, unity and peace, as a time to come together and share a meal, as a time to show appreciation for those around us and as a time of charity towards those less fortunate.

Well, this is just a short hello from the seaside, it seems my scheduled posts have worked.

A last goodbye from Spitzi himself:

See, hier kom ons*

Wilderness

Môre pak ons weer die lang pad aan: my suster, die twee honde, die blou Polo en ek. My koffer is half gepak, die padkos amper ook, die honde se goed staan reg om gelaai te word. So trippie maak my altyd baie opgewonde. Net om bietjie weg te kom, om vir 'n rukkie nie hier te wees nie, nie alles te sien wat mens ken nie, om bietjie mens se oe op ander vlaktes te rus is so lekker.

En Wilderness is altyd lekker.Elkeen doen sy eie ding, elkeen lees sy boek, kyk TV, ons eet in die middae saam buite en drink rustig 'n glasie wyn.. Mens kan net ontspan na 'n jaar van harde werk. In my een boek was daar 'n kort onderhoud met 'n vrou wat in Frankryk in die voedselbedryf werk. Sy het gesê dat dit vir haar belangrik is dat die lewe uitegbalanseer word: na tye van spanning en stress moet mens 'n tydjie hê waar mens net met 'n groot glas rooiwyn op die bank lê en kan ontspan.

So dit is die plan vir die volgende paar weke. Omdat ek daar nie Internet sal hê nie, het ek al 'n paar posts voorgeskryf, dalk werk die ding en hulle post hulself.

Lekker vakansie mense :)


* Sea, here we come

Tomorrow we are driving the long way down to the coast - my sister, our two dogs, the blue Polo and I. My bag is half packed, the snacks for the road as well, die dogs' luggage is ready to be loaded in the car. A trip like this always excites me. Just to get away for a bit, to not be here for a while, to not see everything one knows, to rest one's eyes on different landscapes is so wonderful.

And Wilderness is always great. Everyone does their own thing, reading books or watching TV. For lunchtime we sit outside and drink a glass of wine. One can relax after a busy year. In one of my French books, a lady that works for some pastry-specialist said that it is important for her that her life follows certain rhythms: if it is stressful and hectic at times, one needs a moment to relax on the couch with a big glass of red wine.

So that is the plan for the next few weeks. Because I won't have Internet there, I pre-wrote some posts, lets see if the whole scheduling of it works out.

Enjoy your holidays :)

We don't need no education.

found on 9gag

Although 9gag is definitely not the most reputable source for news, this image is from the student protests in Bogotá, Colombia. For months they have been demanding free education and against proposed reforms to privatise tertiary education. For more information you can refer to the BBC's article.

This morning I was speaking to my sister about finishing my last exams next Wednesday and about thereby finishing my first degree. Since it is a BA ( Bachelor of Arts), many people dismiss it as being a degree for young ladies to find a husband and also as being useless in the market place. I know learning about post-humanism and Cartesian duality might not rake in big bucks for me in the future, and that I'll probably always be underpaid and overworked, and that finding a job will be harder than if I had studied engineering. But I am good at thinking. Not so good at math and calculations and numbers. So is it not more important to be good ( and associated with that, happy) than to be bad at your job and hating it?!

In any case, I am privileged to have studied at all, and to be able to further my education. This is a protest I would have liked to join, not students protesting about a fiesta being cancelled.

Books

*A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us. 

I like to think I am a literate girl.

Read why You should date an illiterate girl by Charles Warnke (there are 2 pages, so remember to click 'next' at the bottom).

Postcarding

Back of an old postcard I found at a fleamarket in Perpignan, France, 2010. 

I like writing postcards.
I like telling the recipient of the card that they are wonderful, that they are special, that they make life better by being in it. And then I leave the postcard unsigned. Since my handwriting is rather discernible and because not many people write postcards, I guess whomever receives the card knows it is from me, but I sort of want it to be a sign from the universe.

I want you to get the card in the mail, hidden in between bills and ads for Pick 'n Pay specials. I want you to stumble onto the piece of cardboard and start smiling. I want a piece of paper to make your day. In the end, I want you to feel happy, even if it is just for a minute, and then I want you to go and place the card on your fridge to remind you that someone cares.

If you own any apple device, a (devilish) blackberry or are running Android, you can now get the "A postcard a day from Gauteng"-app, mahala ( this means for free), on your device. It is an application that sends you a pretty image from around the province daily. You can also submit your own image to the site.

Although I prefer the handwritten cards, this is a nice initiative by the province. There is so much beauty all around us and often we do not realize how fortunate we are to live here, now.


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Bites of Happiness

Paris, August 2010. Indian Ganesh festival. *

I wonder if the purpose of life is not very simple: happiness. But perhaps we get lost in pursuit of constant pleasures, we get lost in hedonism, and miss the daily bites of happiness that we could experience. It seems that we are only happy retrospectively, we are only happy when we are reminiscing about past events and parties.

So now, I am trying to find the momentary happiness when faced with a situation to remember. Like today, my friend I. accompanied me to the Pretoria Stadstap Fotoklap, where people get together and walk around a specific part of the city taking photographs. The walk concluded on the top floor of the Hotel 224, which has a 360° view of the city. Everyone else was taking in the sunset through their lenses, and admittedly, I also captured some frames. But the best moment was when we distanced ourselves from the tripods and shutter noises and just looked at the city.

It is a sense of calm serenity. It is a sense of enormity and luck and preciousness of the moment that surrounds you. It is simply standing and seeing and appreciating the view and the company. Simply put, it is a bite of happiness.

The same embracing sentiment was experienced when we were in Wilderness. The others were doing Yoga, so I headed to the stairs that lead to the beach. Because of recent storms, these stairs were dangerous and one could only walk down to a certain bench in the middle of the dune, and not completely down to the beach.

I did not take my camera along, but it was the most marvellous sunset. Dolphin's peak and Victoria Bay disappeared into a mist. The sky was awash with berries, from the ripest gooseberries over to strawberries, raspberries, blueberries and Youngberries, it seemed as though a basket had spilled and Van Gogh had spread out the fruits' lifeblood to form a perfect sunset.

Gerard Manley Hopkins would have killed for such splendour, for "God's Grandeur" in this daily rotation of the world. The canvas of sea and mountain and mist and colour and waves and breezes was merging into one, was forming into a unity of all elements. It was a moment evoking transcendence. I wondered then if this was what Romantics like C.D. Friedrich were trying to paint in their works. If here was where God is to be found. If this is why people believe in more than earthly pleasures.

Perhaps it is not necessarily God. Perhaps there exists a deeper spirituality in nature which we, through years of city living and the stresses of a fast paced life, have lost track of. I do not feel part of these beautiful land/cityscapes, and maybe this adds to the disconnection from happiness. If one cannot sense a symbiosis with the moment of pure joy, there is no way one can appreciate it.

But this moment, this sitting on the stairs and admiring of berry-stained skies was what the being-in-awe of awesome describes, and it was perfect happiness.





* if you are wondering about the image, it is another moment of perfect happiness, when I randomly went to the Ganesh festival in the Indian "quartier" of Paris. Ganesh is known as the remover of obstacles and the Lord of new beginnings and also associated with wisdom. At the festival, devotees break great amounts of coconuts and then people just pick up the pieces off of the street and eat them. 

See toe

Elke desember verlaat die hele Gauteng die beknopte stede en trek af strand toe. Omdat my ouma in Jeffreys Baai bly, het ons altyd by haar gaan afsak vir 'n paar weke oor kersfees en nuwe jaar. Ek onthou hoe my suster en ek altyd gespeel het wie eerste die see kan sien. En Dirkies gesuig het. En agter op die bank oor mekaar geslaap het. En baklei het oor die musiek (ons doen dit steeds).

Ek weet nie hoe my ma die hele pad altyd alleen gery het nie. My been raak na 'n uur al moeg vir die vinnig-stadig aspek van tussen lorries gevange wees en kanse vat om hulle verby te steek. Maar ek moet sê ek hou van die lang pad , ek hou van hoe mens net deur die land ry en ry en ry. Ek hou van die lig in die Vrystaat en  die mense langs die N1 wat bordijies ophou met plekke waar hulle wil gaan. Ek hou van hoe oneindig die hele reis is, hoe die straat deur die land slinger. Ek hou van hoe almal by Engen en Caltex bymekaar kom en dan 'n Wimpy koffietjie gaan haal en 'n vinige piepie vang voor mens weer terug in die kar klim. Ek hou van die avontuur van op die pad wees. Dalk hou ek die meeste van die feit dat mens altyd sê die lewe is soos 'n pad en  mens moet die reis geniet en nie aan 'n destinasie dink nie. Maar as mens afry see toe is dit presies wat mens doen: jy is op die spoor in 'n spesefieke rigting in. Jy weet waarheen jy gaan. Jy kies of jy links wil draai oor Graaf Reinet of eer reguitaan oor Beaufort Wes wil ry. Jy kies waar jy wil stop of of jy maar nog 'n uur sal deurdruk.

So môre pak ons die ding aan.
Dit gaan heerlik wees, sê ek vir julle.
Lekker vakansie tjommas.



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Be kind

I am not sure whether one should be kind by looking away quickly, or whether these are separate tags.. 

Both are sound advice..

Found outside Pure café near Duncan road..

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Vriend/skaap

Ek verstaan dit nie. As jy my vriend/in is, wil ek net hê jy moet gelukkig wees. Ek wil net hê almal moet 'n glasie wyn om 'n tafel saam drink, en gesels, en gelukkig voel dat hulle ongelooflike mense met idees en opinies ken en waardeer voel.

So ek verstaan nie mense se simpel probleempies nie. As jy dink daar is iets vout, as daar iets op jou hart is, asseblief, praat. Genade mense, julle het monde om met ander te praat, nie agter hul rûe ( ja, ek het in die woordeboek gaan kyk, dit is reg geskry) oor hulle te skinner nie. Natuurlik, ek is ook nie perfek nie, ek is ook gemeen en ek sal ook nie altyd sê wat ek dink nie, altans gebeur dit selde dat ek my mond kan toehou voor die woorde in die lug hang soos swawel en dan is die hêle atmosfeer geruineer.

Julle sien, ek verstaan al te wel dat woorde meer seer kan maak as 'n gebreekte been of 'n sweer of 'n operasie. Dit is alles nie lekker nie, maar na 'n paar ure,'n paar dae, 'n paar weke is dit verby. ek onthou toe hulle my mangels uitgehaal het. Ek het in 'n bed wakker geword vir sekondes, en dan dadelik weer in 'n swart gat geval. Die het 'n paar keer gebeur. Uiteindelilk kon ek darem wakker bly, maar toe sê die verpleegster ek moet die pakkie asyn chips eet en die Coke drink. Ek hou in elk geval niks van simpel asyn en sout chips nie, so dit sou net nooit gebeur het nie. Ek het die Coke getakel en alles vinnig gedrink, ek wou net by my eie bed uitkom en niks meer onthou nie.

Ons was net besig om uit die kamer te stap toe die vloeistof soos swart teer weer sy pad op na my mond gemaak het en ek alles in die wasbak opgegooi het en weer uit-ge-passsss het in die bed. Toe ek uiteindelik wakker word en daar wou uitstap, sê hulle ek moet in 'n rolstoel die plek verlaat. Jirre, ek is moes nog jonk, ek kan moes stap. Maar nee, ek was witter as 'n laken en iemand het my kar toe gerol. Op pad huistoe het die laaste bietjie Coke kom hello sê en ek het dit mooi aan die kant van die wit kar uitgespoeg. Dit het mooi strepe gemaak.

Ek sê nou vir julle, die mangels was die ergste seer wat ek nog ooit gehad het: mens sou dink dat dit elke dag beter word, maar nee, vir 'n week kon ek net vla ein roomys eet, en selfs as ek nie van brood hou nie, is 'n week van sagte soetgoed ook nie meer pret nie. Na 'n week het dit toe uiteindelik beter geword, maar ek onthou hoe ek elke oggend wakker geword het en gedink het, hel, kan die goed nie nou genees nie?!

So let op, ek weet woorde is kragtiger as daai. Woorde bly met jou. Jy kan vergeet hoe jy geboorte skenk of geskiet word, maar jy kan nie vergeet wat iemand vir jou sê nie. Ons vergeet maklik komplimente, maar die lelik is dit wat lewenslank met jou bly. My ma en suster het by my matriekbal vir my gesê ek stap soos 'n olifant. Nie juis die regte dag om dit te noem nie, ne, dames?!

Ek weet nie reg hoe ons nou juis hier geland het nie, maar ek wou eintlik net sê ek dink mense moet meer oop kaarte speel as daar 'n regte issue is. Nou nie as ek dink jou skoene is lelik nie, of dat jy dalk nie daai grimeering weer behoort te gebruik nie, maar lewensveranderende dinge, daaroor behoort mens rationeel te kan praat. En vir die wat gekonfronteer word met 'n opinie wat dalk nie heeltemal joune is nie, ek dink jy sal eers moet luister en dan oordeel. Ek weet dit is moeilik, baie keer wonder ek hoe ander hulle situasies kan aanvaar. Maar dan dink ek ook, dit is maklik om hulle te kritiseer, en nie na my eie tekorte te kyk nie. Dit is maklik om te sê wie verkeerd is en wie reg is, as mens nie in die kring is nie en van buite die ding beskou.

Ek dink ons moet leer mekaar meer te waardeer vir wie ons is en nie vir wat ons verkeerd doen nie. Nie almal is die slefde manier grootgemaak nie, nie almal kan die selfe lewe kies nie. So, ek sal die eerste wees wat sê dis 'n moerse frustrasie om soos 'n voelkyker in die bos te lê en ander te beskou sonder om n gelui oor hulle besluite te maak nie. In sulke gevalle is die keuse seker : maak 'n geluid en kyk hoe die voels wegvlieg, of sê niks nie en kyk net van vêr na 'n pragtige objek.

My opinies is vol gate: ek sê praat en tog bly stil. Hmm. Dalk sê ek eer kies om oor die belangrike goed te praat en leer om die niksseggende daaglikse bakleierye te vergeet.


Oh, hier is 'n uitstekende TED-Talk oor 5 maniere om beter te luister:

Julian Treasure ( uitstekende naam, ne?!) - 5 ways to listen beter



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Lessons Learned

I can't remember where I got this from.