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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Glossolalia*

I think you are never able to express what you want to say as well as you do in your mothertongue. Sure, you can learn other languages and depending on how well this acquisition is you can learn to express yourself like a mother-tongue speaker, but it is never wholly natural.

Because my parents both spoke a different language with us, we grew up bi-lingually, but ( as you have probably noticed) my Afrikaans is fine when I have to speak it, but the grammar and the linguistic expressions are lacking because I did not learn that base structure at school and was not constantly practising it. Now I practice by watching 7de Laan. 

Also, I only learned English when I was 10, but I feel quite secure in my language use here. 

But today I helped a young South Korean man with his English ( basically we just talk and thereby he practices his English) and it reminded me of my time at Disney, because people assume you are not as smart when you cannot express yourself clearly in their mothertongue. When you have an accent and not quite the same expansive vocabulary as 1st language speakers, they think you are not as intelligent because you cannot always immediately find the right words to say exactly what you mean. I doubt most of them realise how hard it is to learn a new language and that it becomes quite frustrating not to have the words right there. It is annoying to have to think about what you are saying and if the expression is right. 

To some it might also be irritating when people correct you, but this depends on how it is done. Normally I don't mind being helped along because I see it as a learning curve and then one won't make the same mistake in the future, but I can understand how it is weird to be very eloquent in one's own language and not have that immediate access to words in another language. 

But then again, it bothers me when people speak a language badly when they have had ample time to learn it. Here I directly mean the politicians and the journalists at the SABC. I mean really, that jumbled mix of bad grammar and worse pronunciation is just not sufficient. If I can learn to speak other languages clearly, why can you not do the same? Especially when one must speak to the public and provide information for them. 

* it means "speaking in tongues"

Question

Besides Spitzi dying while I am not with him, the next biggest fear is being caught in a life I do not want to be living. So how long is now?

(Berlin 2008)

Marked (wo)man

Spring has hit South Africa like a sudden tsunami, the youth has pulled out shorts and shorter skirts and colour from their cupboards. Older ladies stop wearing stockings because the heat and the touching thighs to not go well together. Flip flops are welcomed back. We come together more for braais in afternoons, meat and salad is abundant between conversations about the December holidays and plans for next year.

We are jumping the gun and heading sea-side earlier than expected. And with the beach comes that dreaded undressing and presenting of the body in clothes that you would never wear elsewhere in public because they hide no imperfection. Women have to go through torturous extractions and manipulations of natural hairlines. They feel the need to do Special K's "drop a dress size in 2 weeks" diet and eat cabbage soup and  use de-cellulite creams and mould their bodies so that they will look ok in a bikini. 

But I have noticed that all of this is rather mindless: sure you want to look good, in any case, and all the time. I am pretty certain no one prefers to look shabby and messy to being attractive to others. However, I have been using my great voyeuristic talents and observing people's bodies on campus and I tell you now: even the thinnest of girls have cellulite and stretchmarks. It seem to just be the skin's way of saying "screw you and your need for even perfection". 

In the poetry anthology Difficult to explain, edited by Finuala Dowling, Heather Tibshraeny captures Stretchmarks:

pink wiggly lines

like earthworms lined up along my upper thighs

No, they are not from having children

No, they are not beautiful

they are from pushing something too far 

till it breaks

like curfew

like third base

They are from a time

when youth went galloping forward brazenly

but skin stood still

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Yesterday Today Tomorrow

The greatest joy of spring is smelling the yesterday, today, tomorrow bushes ( or trees?). There is one in front of my window and the scent fills my room slowly while I am at the university and then when I get back my room smells so great. I just want to wrap myself in this pillow of soft-blossomed-sweetness.

Spring must be everyone's favourite time of year. Summer is way too hot, winter way too cold, and autumn does not really do anything for us, except if you live somewhere where the leaves drop from the trees in amazing showers of colourful diversity. But here, well, autumn is nice with slightly milder weather, but you know winter is coming when the earth goes dry and all the previously lush front lawns suddenly become this light-yellowish place of drought and one can see the red-brown earth surfacing between dying blades of grass.

The one bad aspect of spring, for me, is shaving. During winter there is no need to shave one's legs, because they are always covered, and even if you wear stockings your hair growth will be covered. But oh no, come spring, everyone suddenly wears non-existent shorts and skirts that barely cover the behind when one is standing. Not that I conform to unnecessary showings of flesh, but a skirt of decent length sadly also requires that one shave. Ugh and I hate it. I almost cut half my leg of once and since then I am really not into the idea of scarring myself permanently again. Shaving is a risk. But on the other hand, the stubble that has formed over the winter hibernation does look slightly unsightly and it doesn't feel to great either if touched by someone who is not a guitar player and thus does not have really calloused fingertips.

My sister and I once jointly bought an epilator. I think that is what the torture machine is officially called. Heidi Klum advertises for it ( well, she really advertises for everything). The monster individually pulls out the hair and the sound it makes is just torturous. It makes this really fast squealing sound and I just think that that is enough to put me off. I tried the monster on my knee once, but I am against inflicting pain on myself if it is not necessary.

In any case, I had to bring out the shaver again, but I do not trust the little blade, and I am kind of inclined to forget about shaving only to realize in class that my legs look quite unevenly tanned and rather furry. But luckily my original hair colour shows itself on my legs and the little hairs are too light to see if one is not quite close. I understand women with darker hair cannot make the same mistake and have it not be noticeable.

I think we should all just let everything grow. Go back to our primal, hair-full selves. But then again, we all conform to photo-shopped smoothness of media depictions of what "normal" people look like and perhaps subconsciously we want to be only selectively hairy. Maybe the hair-loss is also a sign of evolution, a distinguishing mark of having moved beyond the ape. Its quite ironic that women go to extreme lengths to remove unsightly hairs and men go to extreme lengths to grow hair.

I don't really know. I was just thinking about how I will wear pants tomorrow because I am too lazy to shave.

This is Noah and the Whale with " I have nothing". 

Strandmonsters

A few years ago BMW had an ad running on TV that featured Dutch artist Theo Jansen. He is a kinetic sculptor, and he creates these "beests" ( Dutch for "monster") that just require a little wind to be able to move on their own.  He hopes that one day, his creations will be able to live independently of him in little herds.

This is the BMW advert. 

I like how the strandbeests are a bit like Frankenstein, they are somehow created by a master who has control and yet does not . However, this one combines his engineering skills with aesthetics. So perhaps a prettier monster? I like the way they move, the way it looks like skeletons that have come alive to take an evening stroll. I like how they seem alive but one knows they are not.  

If you are interested in Mr Jansen and his creations, you can go look at his website or watch the TED video.

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1001

Tralala, 1001 times my blog has been read. Must be the new design that has people streaming in to read about all of my witty adventures and spelling mistakes.

In any case, thank you for reading. This blog might be my Moleskin. So much less pretentious, don't you think?!

Yesterday I took the Gautrain for the first time to attend my fabulous friend's birthday, and I must admit it was an awesome ( not the HIMYM sense, the real, Miltonic being-in-awe sense). I have been on various trains since childhood. We once went from Geneva to Germany and one of the compartments was a McDonald's and I remember missioning on my own to go get us some burgers for lunch. Or taking the TGV from Strasbourg after having spent a great weekend with old friends in Freiburg. The train had free internet... And while living overseas ( geez what a brat I am, haha) the metro, RER, S- and U-Bahn were the daily mode of transportation. I must admit, I miss not having to drive myself everywhere. Naturally it is a privilege to be able to drive, but it is irritating to have to jump in the car every time you want to go somewhere. Driving is a far greater responsibility than merely sitting or standing. I doubt sitting could kill someone. Well, perhaps if you were morbidly obese and would sit on a baby.

So here we do have the luxury of driving and open stretches of road, but we also have added responsibility, waiting in traffic jams, taxis who don't know traffic rules and people in big BMWs that sit on your ass and drive like their cars make up for their lack of personality.

But now that technology is here, I never want to drive again. It was so nice to just sit and watch the countryside ( or rather the urban sprawl that is Centurion and Midrand) and observe the other people. It might be slightly costly, and it is stupid to take the Gautrain if your destination is not anywhere near the station, but if you are going some place near the train- or bus-route it is quite cool.

I was a bit sad that most people avoid eye contact and focus on reading or listening to music or looking at their BlackBerrys. Also, the security was rather rude and somewhat over-present. I know we must protect the new asset, but perhaps send half of the security men to hunt the cable thieves instead of harassing people for chewing gum ( it is a cardinal sin, the fine is R 700). Just leave a main security man with some nice security ladies and the others can go be aggressive to actual criminals.

In any case, again, thanks for reading, and feel free to comment. I know commenting is often quite stupid but it does make me feel like this is not merely an ego-project to see my words published, even if it is on a free-self-created-google-based-blog.




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Fortunata

Here is some advice I found in class: 

Strangely, it came true. I am now presented with various options for 2012 and I want to do all of them at the same time.

For Machiavelli, Fortuna is equal to the unpredictability of life. Ok, he does equate Fortuna with a female destructive force that needs to be conquered if the prince is to survive in his position of power, which offends my inner feminist. But at the moment, Fortuna is more what Lennon sees as "Life is what happens to you while you were busy making other plans" ( from "Beautiful Boy ( Darling Boy)"). I don't know if life really is unpredictable. 

I mean, we all make plans. It might just be about lunch for tomorrow, or about where you'll be going for your next vacation. But it might also be more significant changes that you plan for your life. 

Now, the choice is between staying and going. First some information needs to be sourced about both options. Today is just the culmination of possible futures knocking on my door and saying, listen lady, here is what you can do. Screw any plans you had until now.

Anyways, nothing to be done at the moment. Thank you random fortune cookie advice.

PS: today everything seems to be highlighted and I can't get it not to be so. 

PPS: ok, on the 24.October 2011 I managed to un-highlight it. weird.

Love Poem

See some of Brautigan's other work on this site. 

I like this one as well: 

"We Meet. We Try. Nothing Happens, But"

We meet. We try. Nothing happens, but

afterwards we are always embarrassed

when we see each other. We look away.

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Grapefruit

At Fruit & Veg the grapefruits are going for R 3.99 per kilo, so if you like them, that's the place to go.
I actually don't like their taste. I once had a pomelo, and that is quite tasty, but graefruits tip over to the too-bitter edge of things. But I bought some nonetheless. Here is what you can do with them :
Option A:
Buy some Smirnoff Spin/Storm (preferably a quart or two, it's cheaper that way), add a sprig of mint and half a squeezed grapefruit. Then add some ice and pop in a straw. Proceed outside and chill by the pool with your easy summer cocktail.

Option B:
Sort of the same combination. Get loads of fresh mint, squeeze the juice from a grapefruit and perhaps and old orange if it is lying around an no one wants to eat it. Put everything in a pitcher and add one green tea teabag. Top the pitcher up with boiling water, and let the "tea" stand for about 5 minutes. Then add honey if you like it a bit sweeter. Almost like Moroccan Mint tea..

Oh and I changed the blog's layout. If you hadn't noticed.

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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Kook en Geniet

Dankie tjommas vir 'n heerlike saterdag sessie :)

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The study of the non-existent

We are doing Middlemarch in English, which must be the thickest book I haven't read. During the class, the lecturer kept asking questions about the book and the various characters' behaviour and reactions to certain events, and eventually some people actually responded.

In most of my classes, people do not say anything. I think it is out of fear of saying something silly and being judged for it. Or being afraid of  mispronouncing a word in a foreign language. Or of getting the answer wrong. The other day I had to give a tutor class and the most irritating part is when you have about 80 people staring at you when you have asked them a question. And nothing serious like " What is art?", no, no, I went for "Can you hear me?"

The response? Silence. Not a whisper. And then as soon as I continued explaining, they kept murmuring. The sheep.

So I know how my lecturer must feel when she asks a question and everyone just stares blankly back, and I know that that minute of uncomfortable shuffling on the chairs and people looking at their notes is actually stupid because you WANT people to say something, anything.

But my point is that what I am studying actually does not exist. All of it is words in books on shelves in libraries or bedrooms. I am studying the non-existent, the created and the pixellated. Everything I am supposed to analyse is a collection of interpretations, of personal associations, of imagined ideas that I read into collections of words and images.

It is quite fascinating: I am studying how to imagine a world, differently.