Choice Kingdom

"In late modernity, what it might mean to conceive of oneself as belonging to a nation is an interesting question. Are notions of national belonging based on geographical location, ancestry, race, ethnicity, culture? Are they a construct, the result of social and political structures? Might one hold multiple nationalities or none? Is nationality somehow fixed, set, or, in a modern, cosmopolitan context, is it possible to conceive of nationality as a choice?"

On the occasion of a conference on JM Coetzee in the World in Australia, in her article Is JM Coetzee an 'Australian writer'? The answer could be yes Claire Heaney questions whether Coetzee can still be seen as a South African writer, or whether he has become an Australian, both through his moving there in 2002 and his claim of Australian citizenship in 2006. More than the debate surrounding his work and choice of continent the paragraph quoted above spoke to me (also because it just consists of questions I constantly ask myself).

What does it mean to belong and what is it based on? When I am in Germany, I never feel at home; I can't breathe fully and at times an unknown darkness creeps in, like an octopus whose tentacles insist on wrapping themselves ever tighter around my body and my life. And yet, South Africa is ever so slowly losing what was 'home' about it. My mom lives in a different city now. Turns out my sister is not capable of showing that she cares over long distance.

This moment in time is entirely frustrating. On the one hand I want to build a life somewhere, settle in for a bit, meet up with people where I don't think that the friendship has an expiration date whilst knowing very well that if both don't put in an effort all friendships eventually drift apart. Is there just a small percentage of people who will consistently inquire about the well-being of the important ones in their lives, irrespective of distance? Is it only a special breed that insists on not giving up when the kilometres increase?

I desperately want the life of my choosing, the problem remains that I don't know what to choose. Do I go back, do I make the argument for being close to my mother, close to a few I remain in contact with, close to sunshine, close to mangoes? Or do I plant some roots in the Northern Hemisphere, get a retirement fund, forget about leaving all the time? Do I choose weekend-trips to Zürich and all the places I haven't been before? Do I embrace the possibility of actually wanting to make new friends that last?

More than the question of belonging to a nation, in your twenties the question is simply of belonging when your world is no longer a fixed place.

Where the Humans Eat

As part of a group project on youth culture for university I went vegan for two weeks. On day 13 I cheated by drinking shots of Bailey's (it contains cream). The vegan experiment in itself was challenging because it was quite time-consuming to buy products that contain no animal by-products. Also, I missed cheese and butter and non-70%-chocolate.

But in itself the project wasn't life-changing. Rather, the book Eating Animals by Jonathan Safran Foer was. I had never before really thought about the conditions the animals were kept in because they aren't treated terribly at my uncle's farm. Sure, he probably sees his animals as a business investment, but I like to believe that he enjoys working with the animals and does not torture them. The farms Foer describes have nothing to do with farming: they are factories designed to produce as much as possible in the shortest amount of time, without consideration for the pain and suffering of the animals that constitute this produce.

I also wrote about this on our eating-vegan-blog, called Eat Your Vegetables. The articles in German are by my fellow students, and the English ones are written by yours truly. The video above is one of a few by restaurant chain Chipotle in the States, whose Food with Integrity program supports ethical approaches to farming (click here for my post on factory farming).

Although I won't say that I am a dedicated vegetarian now, I will admit to being more conscious of what I buy and generally don't eat any meat here. In SA, that might be different because I know the animals are treated better (depending on where you buy your meat from, naturally). In general I think it is not necessary to label your own food consumption too much. Instead, I wish more people would read Eating Animals and be more aware that as consumers they have the power: if you want to buy the cheapest produce, you should know how the animals are treated in life and in slaughter, and then reassess whether the life of another living thing is worth the few moments on your taste buds. For those of us with the means to buy whatever food we want I think this is the most important realisation: you are choosing what to eat, and thus dictating production.

The takeover/ The sweeping insensitivity of this still life

3 Weeks.
3 Graduations.
2 of them mine.
Now it is all done with : no more waiting anxiously to walk across a stage for a full 20 seconds; no more balancing your hat precariously because it has chosen this (!!!) moment to slowly slide from your head; no more photographs in with hundreds of others just like you in the background.
Now there is nothing I actually have to do, to attend, hah, not even community patrol to drive.

A friend of mine posted a photo of himself five years ago and now, stating that although he felt much the same, he also didn't. And that he still wanted the same things.

In one month I'll be 25, and damn, this quarterlifecrisis thing has hit me over the head with a baseball bat before kicking me in the stomach a few times and then proceeding to steal one of my motherfucking kidneys. It has been nice enough to leave me my other kidney, because, you know, life goes on, and I should just man up. For a while there I felt like Charlie the unicorn heading to candy mountain: everyone asking you stuff and you're all miserable in your blanket of self-pity and then, in the end, it is all dreadful in any case.

But then, somehow, everything got better. I sort of might have a sort of job. I might still leave to teach English somewhere. I might still apply for Masters programs starting in the fall (well, northern autumn, southern spring). I might do nothing but Coursera courses this year. I might just do anything I want. There is no more findaman-marry-buyadog-buyahouse-havechildren-workworkwork-die. Perhaps that, and not the Internet or gay marriage or black presidents or female chancellors or whatever you like, is the fundamental change of the 21st century: the "knowledge generation" has the option of opting out. We (not all, of course) are choosing jobs we love and fulfil us, not work that pays the bills. Or ideally it should be so.

I am fortunate enough to have a mother who says I can still stay at home. I am equally fortunate to have chosen a degree I enjoyed very much, and where I was sure I was heading in the right direction somehow.

And I am fortunate to know how to write. This might seem trivial, I mean, EVERYONE can write. With millions of blogs/Twitter accounts/Pinterest/etc. everyone has a platform from which to promote their writing. However, an actual talent for writing is still a skill. Look, I very much doubt what I write and the words I choose and the self-obsessiveness that a blog seems to require. In order to write about your life constantly you have to admit to a degree of narcissism, but you also need to see the light and the dark in what you write. I went to this spoken poetry event, and it seemed as though everyone believed their poems to be excellent, even when they weren't. Nevertheless, it is easy for me to criticise because I am an uncourageous audience member, not daring to speak the words I dare to write.

But after having read the submissions some of my peers have made to one of the Coursera courses, writing well should be one one of those things you mention when the interviewer asks you about your strengths, because it is something to be proud of. The ability to structure an essay well, to spell correctly and to bring across an argument without blabbering on forever is admirable because not everyone can write, well, well.

And that has been enough to stop the lull in my life. Enough with this "meh"-feeling.
Writing. Writing. Writing.
And moving on.

Deurmekaar

Ek besit nogals 'n hele paar digbundels, meestal in Engels. In Duitsland het ek my eie aanmatiging ondersteun deur tweedehandse Penguin digbundels in die U-Bahn te lees. Nie dat ek baie van die gedigte verstaan het nie, dit het eer daaroor te gaan om nie te lyk soos 'n Duister nie, om nie iets in hulle taal, wat tog ook myne is, te lees nie. Duits was oorals, en ek wou wys dat ek iets anders as dit ook kon wees. 

Maar al die gedigte was eeue oud en geskryf deur mans wie se wêrelde nie dieselfde gelyk het soos myne nie. Dit was soos die kunsuitstalling wat ons gister by Fried Contemporary Gallery bygewoon het: ek kon die prag wat ander sien verstaan, maar het self nie gevoel as of dit my besonders geraak het nie. Met kuns wil ek my hande oor die werk laat gly, ek wil elke deel voel en sien en met die macro-zoom-lens van my oog elke besonderheid opneem en nooit vergeet nie. Met gedigte wil ek dieselfde emosionele reaksie hê, ek wil voel hoe woorde oor my lippe vloei en deur my tong gevorm word en hoe klanke by my bly. 

Deesdae hou ek van Danie Marais se woorde, oor wie ek van tevore al geskryf het. Maak seker om na sy digbundel Al is die maan 'n misverstand te kyk. Dalk hou ek van sy gedigte omdat hy 'n paadjie wat vergelykbaar aan my eie is gestap het, en ek op die oomblik moet begin keuses maak oor die Toekoms (met 'n groot 'T' want mens moet altyd bietjie bang bly vir die môre). 

Ma

Ek moes geweet het, Ma,

geweet het ’n mens kan nie wegkom nie,

nooit

van jou eie stem,

van Afrikaans,

of verlange,

of die suburbs,

of niks nie.

Maar ek het probeer.

Ek het gehardloop,

gefokkof,

heen en weer,

Duitsland, rock bottom, en terug;

was elektries van hoop,

vrot van ambisie,

maar die lewe is sekuur

en die hart, Ma, is ‘n sagte teiken.

Ek moet met jou praat, Ma,

want die tyd versand

en alles lek weg na verderf.

Jy moet my vergewe, Ma,

want ek weet nie altyd wat ek doen nie.

Ek is nie goed met my hande of geld of aanvaarding nie.

Ek het jou liefde soms in die gesig geskop –

oor ek die almagtige stilte nooit kon bykom nie,

oor ek in volle beheer van my eie verleentheid moes wees,

oor niks anders binne bereik was nie.

Ek het jou liefde met klippe gegooi, Ma,

maar jy het vir my gekyk soos die see.

Jy weet maar te goed,

hoe ek voor jou betoog en my hande in die lug gooi

soos ‘n ortodokse Jood voor die Klagmuur

elke keer dat ‘n droom in my skoot kom vrek.

Wat gaan ek alles aanrig,

as jou liefde gaan lê?

Soms droom ek

hoe jy jou rug op my draai

om dood te gaan, Ma;

Hoe jy my

soos ‘n sleep, Ma, agter jou aan

skeur. 

Die gedig is nie my eiendom nie. Van sy gedigte is as Engelse vertaling ook hier te lees.  

Believe (in) me

Yesterday we went to my cousin's farewell because he is moving to Cape Town ( lucky him :). So over the course of the evening everyone was enjoying themselves, drinking, conversing, and having a good time. But at some point some already-over-the-limit guy thinks that it is a good idea to start discussing religion and belief right there and then. I think belief is a very personal thing, and cannot be discussed sensibly in all situations and with all people.

I don't know this guy, but after stating that I was more inclined to an existentialist philosophy, he launched an attack on my morality and was in complete disbelief that I was not a believer of the Christian faith. Does morality automatically link to your religious beliefs? Do the 10 commandments make for the only moral guidelines one needs?

My parents took me to church and Sunday school and I even spent a year in Grade 9 learning about the bible and Christ. But I only went because it was what was expected of me. I have never felt an intimate connection with the Christian God, simply because the way the faith is twisted by each follower and by each parish disturbs me greatly. Everyone has a personal take, which they deem to be right.  What is even worse is the idea that a forgiving God will forgive anything, so it is o.k. if you do something against the moral code, you just have to say "Sorry" afterwards.

Listen, I think everyone has the right to believe in whatever they want, and I think my choice to not believe should be respected. Perhaps it changes, perhaps I will later accept a different faith into my life, but perhaps I will continue to believe in the here and now, in the resistance to a life not lived out of fear, in multiple perspectives, and in the inherent goodness of humanity. Morality is not exclusive to religion.

My friend K and I had this same discussion earlier, and she made a valid point: it is easier to believe than to question it. Again, I am not saying you should stop believing if that is the route you chose, but be aware of what you are going to church or to the mosque or whatever for. Know why you believe, why you chose this, why you need this in your life. Do not simply accept what you were raised with, what your environment expects of you.

Religious freedom is enshrined in our constitution, so please accept non-belief, just as I accept and respect yours.

Sage advice

via Warholian on facebook

What does it mean to do your own thing? Is it when you leave home, finally, and are responsible for yourself, completely? Is it the choices you make, and stick to? Is it waiting for better, thinking that at the end of this year/this degree/this job/this relationship/ this what-ever-it-is, your life will change radically, that you will finally be able to do what you want?

I think it is all not as easy as what photoshopped advice makes it out to be. We all live in a reality of our own choosing, but I think there are many factors that an individual cannot ignore. There are bills to pay and contracts to fulfil and responsibilities in the here-and-now that one cannot just run from. Perhaps this is more sage advice to myself than to anyone else because I always eye a life less ordinary and forget to live the one I have in this moment. I keep wanting more and making plans to leave and "do my own thing", without really knowing what it is at all. I'd like to say, fuck you all, but there is no one I could really say it to because in the end it is always my decision and there is no one to be angry at. There isn't even anything to be angry about. So here is to expecting the best of today and finding what my thing is before I head anywhere. Here is good, for now.

Great Pretender

via Postsecret

We had a garden-party today and people always want to know what my plans are. Here it is: I don't have any idea where my life is heading. This year it's Honours, after that who knows what will appear on my path. Throughout 2011 I was certain that I would leave for South Korea after obtaining my degree and teach English and be free of Pretoria, but the plans in my mind and reality were not the same. So I am here, still. It is slightly unforeseen and I know this will be a hard year study-wise, but it is the choice I made, I'm sticking to it for another year and then take it from there. 

Congratulations

Today the matrics (Grade 12 in SA) received their exam results. It must be very exciting to find out your marks and if you got a distinction and, if you are going on to a tertiary education, whether or not your marks meet the requirements.

I matriculated in 2006, but because I was at a German school, there was the option to do Abitur, which is the German matric and would add a year to my time at school. My marks in matric were good enough to receive a bursary, so I spend another year at school. In any case, I would not have known what to study.

Somehow, it was always clear to me that after school I would continue my education, that I would go to a university and get a degree and a master's degree and do my doctorate and hopefully be happy with it all. Well, after getting my BA, I am looking quite forward to doing my honours degree ( here, you do a year of honours and then only a year of masters, whereas I know elsewhere in the world you do a two-year masters degree).

But to be honest, I still have no specific idea about where I want my life to head. The last years in school I was not a very happy person because I felt I needed to get away and see the world and experience something else. I just wanted to leave here. After a year away, and after three years at the university, I realised that I still want to leave and jump on planes and drift from place to place, but right now, being here in Pretoria is pretty good. I am fortunate to have a mother who helps me to continue my education, to be able to live in a nice house,  to have one remaining dog at home, to go to the coast during holidays that last for months, to have met people whom I would like to be friends with for a long time, and ultimately, to have  learnt so many new things. I think that although I did not study anything very specific, I have above all learnt to appreciate a more faceted and nuanced view on the world- perhaps I have learnt how to be more open, to be more considerate, to be more questioning and to see myself as rather lucky.

So, to the matrics of 2011, I hope that you choose carefully now, and that, even if sometimes you question your path, you will never have any regrets.

Here is a poem my Robert Frost that I have always liked (especially) for its last two lines:

The Road Not Taken ( 1915)

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference. 

via Bartleby

It takes forever

My friend is only here for a short while and today we spoke about her internet connection in Germany and how even though it was slow for Europe, it was comparably fast to SA standards. And as if to prove her right, our internet connection is suuuuuper slow tonight. My sister sent me a Vimeo clip that won't load, my emails refuse to come in, even Facebook is not cooperating.

I read that in Scandinavia access to internet is seen as a basic human right. This is a very strange idea to me because on the one hand, we fail to provide all of humanity with access to clean drinking water, never mind a basic education, but in the First World the internet must be accessible to all.

Do not understand me wrong. I think the internet is a great source of useful and useless information and it is wonderful to be living in a time where we have so much knowledge and entertainment just a click away. But it is also astounding that one part of the 7 Billion can move ahead at the speed of light, whereas other populations are light-years away from this. It is strange to think that perhaps at this rate of development, we are not merely creating a better future, but also losing some of the more intrinsic values by expecting technology and advancement to be what propels us forward.

I am just letting my mind wander here, but in reflecting back, the rise of the Industrial Revolution and our belief in the purely positive aspects of technology are a double-edged sword : although it has brought with it  incredible developments like the camera, like hospital equipment and various non-animal driven forms of transportation, one could see all of these as negative as well. Without the camera and its advancement into moving pictures, there would be no child pornography. Without equipment that can keep people who are brain-dead alive, they could have maybe passed away in peace rather than being a living vegetable. Without transport, we would not be so reliant of petroleum to fuel our global economy.

In Paradise Lost,  God's argument is that he gave Adam and Eve the power of choice, of being able to weigh an argument and decide accordingly. I think we are living in an age where personal choices can make a large impact. Choosing to recycle, choosing to eat less or no meat at all, choosing to help others if possible, choosing to see oneself as part of a global population is more important than choosing to be an individual. We don't want to be like one another, we don't want to be wearing the same thing as others, but the truth of the matter is that we are all human and if we lose the ability to connect with each other, irrespective of race or age or gender or sexual orientation or political affiliation or whatever other category you can think of, there is not much hope for a brighter future.

"Entitled" to rape

In last Monday's Pretoria News ( their site is currently under construction so I can't give you the direct link to the article, but if you have October 24th's paper by any chance it is on page 5 under "Study finds motive for rape worldwide") Esther Lewis reports that in South Africa, 70 % of men who have raped someone felt "entitled" to do so.

How does anyone feel entitled to harm another? ENTITLED???? How must your mind work? How can you not respect another human being enough?

Even worse, the research ( done by the Sexual Violence Research Initiative) revealed that most rapes of girls under the age of 15 and gang rapes are done out of boredom and "for fun". Raping for fun? For fun??????

The article further states that 17 % of the men that rape were raped themselves, that 45 % said their mothers were rarely at home and that 72% said their fathers weren't at home very often either. Furthermore, 3/4 of those interviewed said they had raped someone before their 20th birthday.

I was watching Special Assignment or Fokus or something on SABC once and they reported that 50% of South African children grow up without their fathers. Now I wonder if this can link to the 56 272 people that were raped between April 2010 and March 2011. That would be round 154 people per day and 6 people per hour.

The article states that boys "need to be socialised at school and community level, and taught what it meant to be a boy or man, and to gravitate away from violence". But should not a parent, a father, take responsibility for their son or daughter and teach them right from wrong? I think the high level of single-mother households and absentee fathers is partially to blame. Who are we to learn a moral code from when there is no one to teach us?

Perhaps it also depends on the level of education and the support from people around one that the child receives. My father left when I was around 11 and my mother had to find a job very quickly. However, my sister and I turned out rather well because we always knew that she was working so much to provide for us and that in turn our responsibility was to work hard at our education. One need not be rich to feel accomplished in life.

According to the article, most rapists had been exposed to childhood trauma. Does trauma define a person? Does it either bury you or make you rise above it? I don't know. Mine was not very traumatic.
But I believe there must exist a basic humanity in all of us. There must be something pure that is corrupted by circumstance. I don't understand how we cannot see each other as equal. By respecting you am I not also respecting myself?

I don't think one can blame anyone for one's own choices. I am excluding mental instabilities and psychotic problems here, but in the case of people of sound mind and body everyone is responsible for their own actions. Sure, life beats some up more than others, but ultimately, you choose your own reaction.

Rape

          Adrienne Rich

There is a cop who is both prowler and father:
he comes from your block, grew up with your brothers,
had certain ideals.
You hardly know him in his boots and silver badge,
on horseback, one hand touching his gun.

You hardly know him but you have to get to know him:
he has access to machinery that could kill you.
He and his stallion clop like warlords among the trash,
his ideals stand in the air, a frozen cloud
from between his unsmiling lips.

And so, when the time comes, you have to turn to him,
the maniac's sperm still greasing your thighs,
your mind whirling like crazy. You have to confess
to him, you are guilty of the crime
of having been forced.

And you see his blue eyes, the blue eyes of all the family
whom you used to know, grow narrow and glisten,
his hand types out the details
and he wants them all
but the hysteria in your voice pleases him best.

You hardly know him but now he thinks he knows you:
he has taken down your worst moment
on a machine and filed it in a file.
He knows, or thinks he knows, how much you imagined;
he knows, or thinks he knows, what you secretly wanted.

He has access to machinery that could get you put away;
and if, in the sickening light of the precinct,
and if, in the sickening light of the precinct,
your details sound like a portrait of your confessor,
will you swallow, will you deny them, will you lie your way home?

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"

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.

Un/real ( another lesson learnt)

We were talking about you behind your back. We were saying how we cannot comprehend your choice, how we could not do what you do, not now, not yet, maybe not ever. I don't know if it is worse to talk about someone when they are not present or to say to them what one thinks and thereby hurts their feelings. What is worse? Maybe one should just not say anything at all. 

Whenever I observe people and listen to what they talk about, it is interesting to see that everyone is lonely. We are surrounded by more possibilities of interaction than ever before, we can be on-line, communicating with strangers or friends or family or simply other people, and yet, the emotion that binds us is loneliness. Yes, love and hate and envy and joy and the Pandora's box of emotional reactions is natural to everyone, too, but I think we are all lonelier than we can admit. 

One of my lecturer's said that when we walk around or go to work or whatever, whenever we are in the company of others, all we want is an acknowledgement of existence. Someone to say, yes, ja, you there, I see you. You are here to me. Somehow we crave interaction but loathe it at the same time: it is easier to know what is going on in someone else's life by simply checking their Facebook or now, Google plus site. It is easier to be a voyeur than to actually speak to a person. I know, I am quite good at wasting my time reading people.com and honing my voyeuristic tendencies. 

I wonder if it will change, or if in the future we will all disappear behind the profiles on social networking sites,  behind avatars, behind screens and photoshopped images. Will we all chose to project unreality and a created persona, rather than presenting ourselves, as we are? This is quite a dilemma: in an age where manipulation of images and the creation of a personality are expected, where the search for absolute truth has changed to a search for absolute perfection, where every 10-year-old owns a better phone than their parents, hmm, in an age where we are not expected to be us, how can we? 

When we were talking about you and your choices and how we think you are lonelier than you let on, I say just talk about it. There is no need to fear being rejected or being judged ( well, if you gossip about someone I guess you are already judging them, so perhaps that ship has sailed). I like people more when they are real and troubled and problematic and strange and human than when they are an illusion of perfection. 

.

In die buitenste ruimte

Here is a poem by Danie Marais from his work In die buitenste ruimte.
This one is entitled In Duitsland waar die wolke in gelid marsjeer


Duitsland is waar die wolke in gelid marsjeer,
waar die son 'n permit het om te skyn,
waar die maan nie mag opbly so laat soos sy wil nie.

Duitsland lyk soos Duitsland op televisie.
Al verskil tussen Duitsland en televisie
is dat daar iets gebeur op televisie.

Die misdadigers in Duitsland droom
van groot gewere,
van Amerika.
Die boosewigte het almal
warm water, elektrisiteit en 'n mediese fonds.
Die kriminele lei lewens van stille vertwyfeling
nes die onderwysers, slagters en bankiers.

Duitsland is seker maar soos orals -
die soort van plek waar jy bang is
dat Die Mense gaan uitvind van jou,
gaan weet van jou;
dat Die Mense hulle televisies gaan afsit,
uit hulle talk shows ontsnap
om jou te kom haal,
te kom kreun en hamer aan jou ruit
op die vierde verdieping
soos zombies in Night of the Living Dead.


Duitsland is spekvet ongesond.
In Duitsland is dit moeiliker
om 'n omgewingsonvriendelike deodorant te koop
as dit is vir 'n vet meisie
om in die MTV-hemel te kom.

In Duitsland saai jy mielies
in die blombakke op die balkon.

In Duitsland
lê 'n see van hoekige huise nog so blou,
as jy ver stemme oor die telefoon hoor.

In Duitsland praat jy lekker Duits,
tot jy een oggend skielik weer
soos iemand wat by die tandarts was
sukkel om "selbstverständlich" te sê.

In Duitsland is Afrikaans die moordwalvis
wat jy grootmaak in die bad;
is dit Afrikaans wat opkrul soos die luislang
onder sy vyeboom in die woonkamer.
Afrikaans word jou huisgod, jou altaar;
die potplant langs jou hi-fi
wat soos Little Shop of Horrors se Audrey II
in die maanskyn groei om lang gevaarlike skadu's
oor die buurt se dakke te gooi.

In Duitsland loop jy
perfectly digitally animated, vat jy
sonder om te raak, beweeg jy
sonder om te roer
deur mure en mense, glip jy
moeiteloos
soos 'n stem deur 'n telefoonlyn
deur die onverskillige dag.
In Duitsland is Suid-Afrika niks meer
niks minder as herinneringe en foto's nie -
'n ou rugby-besering wat lol in jou gewrigte
as dit koud en nat word.

Tot jy eendag onverwags stik
aan jou trane langs die Cape Grapes
in die supermark,
in Duitsland,
laat selfs druiwe uit Italie
jou skielik dink aan die huis.

In Duitsland droom jy dikwels
van familie, ou vriende lank gelede,
dat iemand doodgegaan het
terwyl jy hier ver is.

In Duitsland moet jy doen
wat jy wil
of jy nou wil
of nie.


you can get the english translation here

I remember going into a store and seeing Cape Grapes. I remember searching for a good mango for a year and finally finding one, after 12 months, in an Asian food store. It was tiny, but so yellow and juicy in the middle of a snowy Berlin. We would go to Galeria Kaufhof on the Alex and go stand in the "exotic" section to search for Mrs Balls Chutney at 4 € for a bottle. So we bought curry-ketchup and saved the chutney. I would check out the fruit section and be sad when seeing the little flag-sticker. The fruit came from home.

Strange how desperately one often wants to escape one's everyday, how one gets bored with it. But then, overseas, far away, one remembers most fondly anything tied to home. I read a story about people queueing outside the ticketing booth for Wimbledon on the evening before the match, ready to sleep right there in order to score a seat. People started braaing a vleisie ( grilling some meat), and the writer of the article said every single person there who started barbecuing was South African. Strange how we will cling to any act of memory, but on the phone we will say how wonderful the other country is. How now, it is "at home". And when we come back, everything there was better.

I don't know. I miss the freedom of being able to go when and where I pleased. I miss not being afraid in the metro at 5 in the morning. I miss Milka. I miss being able to go to concerts by smaller bands or seeing exhibitions on Thursdays because under 26s get in for free.

But here, I have space. Here it is a different kind of freedom. Here the police does not stop you for cycling on the wrong side of the road. You don't need to fill in forms every time you move a street further. You don't hear your neighbours all the time. You can get into the car and just drive ( if you have one). In December, the cities are deserted and everyone is at the beach with their families. Here, Sundays are for church and braaing. And stores are open.

There are different facets to each place you stay. Perhaps we should not play them off against each other, but rather appreciate every environment for its individual attributes.

At the moment, here is good. Tomorrow, somewhere else will be.


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Choices

Today I was faced with choices in each of my classes.
Paradise Lost is ( as far as I have learned today) based on the choice of whether Christ or Satan is the hero, on whether God could have chosen to forgive sin and then Jesus would not have had to die for us. Admittedly, I have not yet read more than some passages, so Paradise Lost is still quite a mystery to me.

Then in French, again, a choice: is it necessary to tear down old buildings to make space for new ones? Do we need to destroy past artefacts in order to build our own, contemporary legacy over it? I think this is different in South Africa, when we compare our city structures with those in Europe. We have a lot more space. We tend to build in rings around a centre, and the further away from the centre, the better ( meaning more $$$$$$). And we like building repetitive enclosures, little Truman Show's. Perhaps crime has forced people to live in their own little prisons, but I think instead of trying to shut out the world, we should (have) fought. We should have said: I am not willing to live like this. I am not willing to build walls and security gates and live in a place where people cannot come to visit me because they need to prove their blood type before being allowed to enter. I remember I once dropped my friend off at her house, but because we went in with her security tag, I could not get out with the password she gave me. So she had to come and speak to the night guard and it took forever to get out. Tsss. I can understand that the guards are just doing their job and that crime creates jobs (haha) and so on, but if there were less crime, maybe people would find jobs not protecting others, but rather helping others. We could all help a little more.

Anyway. Next class. Visual Communication. And Art History. I always leave these classes questioning what I have thought before. And not in that fake "who am I? oh I'll just read some Baudrillard to relax"-way. More in the: hmm. I have never thought about that way of seeing the world. Interesting. After every class I have more choices to make. More ways of approaching everyday encounters. I am glad I choose these subjects. People think, ag, art history. Michaelangelo and that. How will you ever find a job?! But I think, economics? engineering? You will always only see a formula that needs to be followed. Perhaps you will think outside the box, but you will always see a problem that needs solving. Hopefully I will not see the world in terms of problems. Hopefully I will see it in terms of people, of reactions, of emotions, of a reality that is not mine. I do not know exactly where I am going with this.

So on to French. Again. Thursdays are wonderful for my French. Here the choice concerned press freedom and the media tribunal that the government wanted to create. I am glad that so many opposed it. The freedom to choose what to write about, what to report on, is integral to any democracy. I mean, once you start censoring, where do you stop? And who decides? People argue that some things should not be spoken about, but is that not then your choice to react to it? The information should be available to those who want it.

That is it for now. A bit of rambling. Today was just such a good day for thinking.



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