It's a Good Life

My mom reused the birth-announcement-card as a birthday card this year. Now I know I was born at 00.25 AM. Being born at twenty-five minutes into the day turned out to be a good sign for my 25th birthday. It was the first time in my life that there was no one in the house with me on the day. Normally someone puts out flowers and presents and a cake, even if they had to already leave for work/school.

This time my mom wrote down clues for me to find objects stashed in the house. It wasn't entirely successful because she thought writing down clues about what the present was, and not about its location, would help me find them. No wonder we suck when we're partners in 30 Seconds. Nothing a phone call couldn't fix though.

I am aware that as soon as you hit the double digits, birthdays become less cool. No more goodie bags at the end of a party, no more running around and frolicking in the pool, no more waiters at Spur bringing you something with candles on it and singing to you. Then all you care about is turning 16, turning 18 and getting your licence, and, the big one, turning 21, because then you are an adult and your parents pay for your last big fiesta.

I am still not an adult, but somehow, 25 feels like no one can treat me like a child any more. At a quarter of a century into life, it is a great balance between having experienced enough not to be a completely ignorant fool who thinks she knows everything (me at 19) and still being young enough to depart from what I know without the weight of mortgages, car payments and a long career at the same company.

This was the first birthday of being a semi-adult where I thought, well, you might just be able to do anything you want successfully. And the reason for this was all the great people I have in my life. My mom made a gigantic effort to bake a cake and organise a treasure hunt. She also involved my aunt and cousin to fly up a cape I wanted (yes, cape, like superman-ish, but better). My sister also helped with this cross-country endeavour and spent hours looking for a silk dress she thought I might like (I do).

My friend K planned a super surprise brunch date, with awesome self-made presents. Another friend called completely out of the blue from France and sent me the funniest YouTube video. I got  'Happy Birthday' sung to me via WhatsApp and sent in messages, in emails, in Facebook posts. Other friends, family and neighbours called. Often, sure, it was because someone had been told by FB that this was the day of my birth, but I appreciated all the little and great efforts equally.

William Somerset Maugham said that "we are not the same persons this year as last; nor are those we love. It is a happy chance if we, changing, continue to love a changed person". A birthday provides the opportunity to reflect on what one has done in the past year, how things have changed or not, and which friends you still wish to invite to your party. I remember how I realised a friendship was over: for the first time since 7th grade, I was not invited to her birthday party. 

Somehow, this birthday made me realise the truth of W. Somerset Maugham's quote: things change all the time, people drift apart, and we should value the ones that remain, steadily, in your life because they are the one's that will make an effort to celebrate you being born even if you aren't throwing a party this year. They are the ones that will be there throughout the curve balls that life throws at us, and in turn, so will you, because nobody can make it on their own. 

 

Never without cake. This one: Frozen Chocolate Mousse Cake. 

Le mal(e)

On the farm, I wanted to pour everyone a glass of wine for dinner when my gran looked at me sternly and said that I should let my cousin do it because he is, after all, the man in the room. I have no problem with gentlemanly behavior, hell, I find it rather encouraging if people have nice manners and if men treat women like ladies. But if I've got the bottle already in my hand, if I am a second away from pouring, it is silly to me not to do it because I was born with a vagina.

It angers me incredibly when people tell me I cannot do something for the simple reason that I am female. To this day, I have not met many men that were not in some form or another a disappointment. Everyone is flawed, everyone makes mistakes, and these stupid gender rules that my grandmother and many others live by irritate me endlessly - I have grown up thinking that I could do anything, that my rights and my role in society was equal to every other person's, irrespective of race and gender and age and whatever else you could list as a reason to separate human from human.

Times change, mindsets adapt, but the old cling to their doctrines as though they were drowning in the thinking of the new age. I will also be old and frustrated and feel a sense of loss because I am being replaced by younger generations who ignore that their achievements could not have been accomplished without the foundations that their lineage laid down.

But I think it is stupid to say that you cannot change the old, that "because they are old" you cannot have a discussion with an elderly person. I love my grandmother, but I cannot stand to hear her speak of the k*****s, of the "anderskleuriges" ( people of a different colour) as though we were not all the same. And she should know better : she speaks fluent Sotho ( one of the 11 national languages), she built a school for the black children on the farm, she always treated the workers on the farm with dignity. Also, she says that the best time in her life was when she worked as a teacher before she got married, and her biggest regret is not doing it for longer. In a life filled to the brim with more fantastic experiences and a great family, I cannot understand why she fixated on those two years of independence,but tells me that I should submit more to a patriarchal way of thinking.

I like hearing old stories and asking questions that only my grandmother can answer since she has lived the longest. She should be wise and I should learn from her, I should be able to take her life and mould mine accordingly, but all I want to do is shake her and say that for 60 years, she has believed wrongly,that she is ignorant and foolish and keeps making these errors without accepting any blame, without taking any responsibility. I want to say, "Ouma, skrik wakker, wees in beheer van jou lewe, en hou op om die heeltyd so flippen die moer in die wees. Alles was jou keuses" ( Gran, wake up, be in control of your own life and stop being so damn angry. Everything was your own choice). Instead, I ask her if she wants more coffee, listen to every story and complaint 20 times because she forgets she has told them before, and forgive her for not being what I imagined a grandmother should be.

Koekeloer

* Jammer ek kry dit net nie reg om 'n dit (:) op die (e) te sit nie. Simpel Alt+ wil nie werk nie.

Party keer is ek moeg van sit en moeg om na my skootrekenaar se skerm te kyk en moeg om te maak as of ek gym toe gaan en moeg vir goed leer en moeg vir die mense om my en moeg vir die verantwoordelikhede van die aldag en net moeg vir die lewe. Party keer wil ek net my oe sluit en slaap tot ek volgende week van self wakker word en die wêreld heeltemal verander het.

Vandag het ek die tweede eksamen uit nege geskryf en ek is al klaar uitgeput. Dis nie dat ek dit nie geniet om te leer nie, dis net dat ek dit nie geniet om daaroor getoets te word nie. Ek sou verkies om net mondelinge te doen. Om julle te oortuig met my woorde, nie my skrif nie.

Nou ja. As ek moeg raak vir hierdie vier mure gaan stap ek party keer deur die buurt en koekeloer vir die mense wat hier om my bly. Noudiedag het ek die fantastiese heuwel ( haha) aan wie se voet ons bly  uitgestap (dis letterlik net 50m, ek laat dit nou na 'n berg klink). Toe ek aan die ander kant weer afstap kom 'n ouerige paartjie uit hul kompleks. Ek sou skat altwee was in hul sewentigs. Sy het 'n donker blou broek en blou toppie en 'n string pêrels gedra. Haar hare was mooi opgepof soos die dames in Mad Men. Die oom het 'n deftige helderbruin ( nie juis bruin nie, eer soos sandkleur) broek gedra met 'n ordentlike hemp, 'n bruin belt en netjiese bruin skoene. Dit was snaaks om mense te sien wat vir 'n sondagmiddagstappie so uitegevat lyk.

Die tweetjies het handjies gehou. Hulle skaduwee het een geword soos hulle die heuweltjie afgestap het. Hy het net een keer vinnig haar hand gelos om oor die straat te stap maar dadelik weer daarna gesoek toe hulle aan die ander kant was.

Ek powerwalk toe maar verby. Ek wil nie die derde wiel wees hier nie. En dit lyk bietjie snaaks as ek so vir hulle dophou. Dis snaaks wat mens so Sondagmiddag sien: kinder speel in tuine, mense braai, honde blaf. Dit lyk as of almal tog heel gelukkig is.

Later sien ek toe weer 'n ouer paartjie. Hierdie keer was hulle nie heeltemal so uitgevat nie: sy het 'n beige sak aangehad en sy wit hemp was die selfde kleur as sy hare.

Toe hulle sien ek stap aan die selfe kant van die straat as hulle het hulle vinnig gewissel. Ek wonder hoekom. Oor my? Ek hoop nie so nie. Ek hoor hy sê vir sy vrou dat die son nie so sterk sal wees aan die ander kant nie. Ek weet darem nie, dis 'n Sondagmiddag en die son is oorals.

Dis vir my lekker om vir die bure te kyk. Mens weet nooit wie woon agter al die hoe heinings nie en niemand gesels meer met mekaar nie. Vroeer het ons partytjies gehou en almal om ons genooi, maar daai dae is verby. Met party bure praat mens en het 'n goeie verhouding, maar met die meestes nie. Agter in die een hoek van die tuin is daar 'n hekkie wat na die bure se tuin gaan. Ek ondthou ons het hom toe ek klein was dalk een of twee keer oopgesluit. Nie meer nie. Ek wonder of die mense wat na ons in die huis gaan bly dalk weer die hekkie sal oopmaak of of ons gemeente maar almal agter hul mure sal skuil.

B est F riends F orever

During my last year at school, I thought I had found my friends for life. The ones who would be my bridesmaids. The ones who would be there when my children got married. The ones who would drink too much gin & tonic at the old age home with me. 

But then I left for a year, and even though I expected them to write me, or at least to write back, nothing happened. We kept in touch via facebook. They came to visit. And it was almost like always. The friendship was back on track. Perhaps I never gave anyone else a chance to be my friend because I already had excellent ones. 

So back in the land, I started at university. What an arrogant, ignorant person I must have been in that first year. None of my friends were studying with me, or even in the country. But I met an old one again, we had drifted apart previously, and she has become an integral part of my life. I always felt like I did not fit in with the other students because I was two years older ( a lifetime, I know, hahaha) and because I had seen some of the world, I knew what it was to do menial work and to have to earn ones own money. I still know what a privilege it is to learn. For a year I yearned to learn. I missed learning more than Mrs H.S. Balls Chutney. I missed finding something out and marvelling at how I had never considered that before. How I had never thought about it. 

But the ones studying with me seemed not to care. They were not aware. They liked things I had moved past. Again, quite arrogant. And again, I did not really give them a chance. 

Slowly however my old friends changed. Or I changed. Or everyone changed. My idea of having found my bffs was unravelling and everyone left. Near and far. 

So this year I opened myself to new people, fascinating people, people with completely different worldviews and people who have enriched my understanding through their optimism and their perspectives. New people who made me appreciate the value of seeing the world as faceted. 

Now know, I appreciate every one of you : old friends, new friends, close friends, far-away friends, friends who have driven me home when I couldn't, friends who come for tea on Sundays, friends who make photo collages, friends who sms to know if I got home ok or just ask how my day went, friends who need me like I need them. 

I know it is a cliché to say that one cannot choose one's family, but somehow I agree that one chooses one's friends. One chooses to work on a friendship, to keep in touch, to spend time together, to be in the life of the other. So it is a sad when one notices that one has lost one another, than there is nothing really to say when one is in the same room, that the friendship has changed to an acquaintance. But one must probably also accept that every friendship has a lifespan. Sometimes it is better to appreciate a person for their presence, no matter how long it was, than to dislike them for their absence.  

So I will write it again. Thank you for being in my life. You are the extended family of my choice. And I hope I am part of yours, too. 

Lessons Learned

Here is the full quote:

"Die meisten Menschen legen ihre Kindheit ab wie einen alten Hut. 

Sie vergessen sie wie eine Telefonnummer, die nicht mehr gilt.

Früher waren sie Kinder,

dann wurden sie Erwachsene,

aber was sind sie nun?

Nur wer erwachsen wird und ein Kind bleibt, ist ein Mensch."

Erich Kästner

24. May 2011

Oh I forgot to translate it : 

"Most people discard their childhood like an old hat. 

They forget it like a telephone number which is no longer valid. 

In the past, they were children,

then they became adults,

but what are they now?

Only those that grow up and still stay children are human." 

I like this quote because I think it is so easy to forget that simple things can be fun. When you were little, a new toy or licking the bowl your mother had mixed cookies in was the greatest joy. When you went to a party, it was the lucky packet and the cake and the candles and the games that were important. It was running around in the garden and playing with your siblings. 

Nowadays children are separated from these simple pleasures : they want Xboxes and ipods and a virtual reality. They want to sit in front of the damn television and watch Justin Bieber on MTV.

I find it all slightly disturbing. We are imposing a technological world on someone who has no real choice. Hell, children in Germany thought cows were purple because the Milka (chocolate) cow is purple. Kids in grade 1 with iPhones. Kids wanting things things things things things things. 

I still like watching the sky and playing boardgames and blowing soap bubbles. I still like licking out the bowl. I still like the naiveté with which children see the world.  




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Changes

At the gym they changed the changing rooms. The women are in the men's quarters and the men get to enjoy separate showers for a day. I don't know why they do this, but it happens about twice a year. Perhaps it is to shake things up a little. Too see how many people will walk into the wrong change-room out of habit.

So after pretending to work out and sculpt my muscles, I head back to the changing rooms. In the ladies' one, the main room is separated into segments by placing the lockers in an E shape. So if you want to, no one can see you go from sweaty to sexy. Also, there are individual showers with swing doors, so even there you are only visible as a shadow through the opaque plastic-glass. 

The men's changing rooms are vastly different : the man room is the same size as the women's room, but the lockers are all pressed to the walls, and the benches are in the middle of the room, so there is nowhere to hide. Further, the showers are basically one room with ten shower heads. It is like prison. Or my idea of showers in prison. 

So sneaked in and saw a handful of elderly ladies lounging around on the benches, showing off sagging flesh and humanity at its barest. Because I was clothes and wore a bra, I felt very superior. I discarded my clothes quietly in the farthest corner whilst draping my enormous towel around me and managed to constantly hide the middle square of my body from their view. I did this to not make them jealous, you know, I did not want them to feel bad for not looking as smoking hot as me. No, in truth, I just don't like being naked. Especially not in front of people. 

The African ladies seem to have no problem with this: they will parade around their shape, spending ages lathering on different creams and wrapping their bodies in cellophane. Then they will again spend hours sweating naked in the sauna or the steam room, sitting on the tiniest towels. 

I admire this pride : to be comfortable in one's body, to be able to walk around in the nude, unaffraid of judgement. Maybe that is the irony: in youth skin and flesh is still usually firm, but one is unsure of its attraction and thus tries to hide it. In old age one has lived enough not to care about the bodies changes, even when everything droops and gravity is proven true. 

So there I am, cloaked like Gandalf in my grey towel, shuffling stealthily to the showers, where to my surpise I only see the one room. Thank the higher powers I was the only one there, so I quickly got clean and enrobed myself in the towel again. 

When I returned to the main room, I witnessed a most positive moment : 

an older white lady, presumably in her seventies, hunched over, with short dark grey hair and a face like a boxer approached a couple of black ladies, getting dressed to go back to work. She was walking towards them in her humongous white bloomers, with sagging flesh oozing out of them . 

She then asked one of the two ladies to put cream on her back. A simple thing. The lady obliged kindly and smeared the cream all over, even massaging it in. I, with my judgement, would have been disgusted by this task, this idea of rubbing old skin and muscles to weak to hold the old lady up straight. I would have done it out of courtesy, but would have resented her for asking me to do such a task. And I would have slapped the stuff on in seconds, trying to minimise the amount of contact my hands would have with her back.    

Then I realized my arrogance and admired both women greatly : the one for embracing her body and the other for not caring what that body looked like, for being willing to perform a small task in order to provide some happiness to a stranger. They both taught me that humanity has different forms and that a mindset corrupted by Cosmopolitan and Sports Illustrated ideals of what one should look like needs to change quickly. 

So I dropped my towel.  



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