I feel like I'm just treading water

Not Waving but Drowning
BY STEVIE SMITH 1902–1971

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he’s dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.

Do the hard times come to a screeching halt at some point? Do things start making sense and all of a sudden you know, you just know, what it is you are doing?

These are restless nights, man. And not just for me. I am not restless in isolation. All around me there is fear mongering towards a generation so unsure of ourselves that we are deer in the headlights, unable to move in any direction even when we know the fucking 18-wheeler is barreling down the highway at top speed and won't stop to spare us. From all sides come the nagging questions about what our plans are, what we intend on doing with our lives, whilst at the same time being told that there are no jobs, that by the time we retire the retirement fund will be empty, global warming will have killed off all the polar bears, China will take over and disasters upon disasters upon disasters will happen. And this is not even considering the small catastrophes that happen at 4 PM on an ordinary Wednesday, the ones where the unthinkable occurs to the ones we love. 

So I am in a constant state of panic about not being able to manage it all, about unsuccessfully multitasking, about where to come 2016. For now there is a plan, for the next 6 months there are barely hours left to breathe. But come 2016, the Fates are reinventing my wheel for what feels like the umpteenth time. 

Logic and experience tell me it will be ok. Everything will be ok. You can't plan this, you have to leave some things in the hands of whatever comes next. Logic and experience tell me I can handle all of it. But still. At times I wish I was made of lesser stuff, that I needed someone besides myself to tell me it will all be ok, that I could remain in one place for the sake of one person, that life within boundaries would be my choice. Instead, an anxiety about wanting more than walls and 9-to-5s and a daily dullness challenges the fear I have of being much too far out all my life and not waving but drowning.

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.

Don't you worry about it

No one has a clue what they are doing. What the point is. And yet most people pretend at it so well that it intimidates the few who are ready to admit they realise no path is final, no choice set in stone. As a tween I wanted to be a chef, then a marine biologist, then a lawyer. When I started studying, I still had notions of becoming a lawyer. Luckily, what I felt was bad luck intervened at the time and I was presented with a way that I was not even aware of.

2015 is the year of big decisions that weigh heavily on the heart and mind at night. After this place of friendly people, water and small universities, where do I go? What do I do with my stuff? WHAT IS THE PLAN SABINE. And always, always this question, ghost-like behind everything I do: what do you want from your life?

I don't know. I honestly don't know what it is I want.
I want to learn. I want to teach. I want to make it better, not worse.
I want to spend Christmas with my mom and sister. I want to get to know places, not merely travel them. I want a room full of books. I want a dog (or 2) again. I want to smell yesterday, today, tomorrow in spring. I want to have my own space. I want to have things but not be bound to them.
I want to find a place that again feels like home.

Resolution (Kygo Edit)

I like preserving things for the future, whether they be photographs found at flea markets of people I don't know or the 3kg of plums I bought because the sign read "Aus Südafrika". The photos can be stored for whenever I know what I want to do with them, but the plums were already looking fragile after their long trip. Because I did not want to get spuitpoep (haha, diarrhea) from eating them all in a day or two I baked muffins for my class (adapting this plum, hazelnut and chocolate cake by substituting some of the flour for cocoa and adding almonds, not hazelnuts). However, it felt like a drop in the bucket because I still had 2.5 kg of plums. What to do? I still have plum jam, so no more of that.

The solution was plum chutney. My sister and I have an obsession with adding Mrs. Balls chutney to almost every meal, but it isn't readily available here. Therefore I thought the plum chutney could be a decent alternative (although nothing beats Mrs. Balls).

My mother has a little book called voedselpreservering which would have been greatly helpful since I was not sure of the amount of vinegar, sugar, etc. to add. In the end I combined these two recipes (Spicy plum & apple chutney and Richly spiced plum chutney) and phoned my grandmother for help. It turned out ok, but the consistency is too jam-like. Ah well, at least it is chutney. Nom nom nom.

Apples, onions, garlic, spices, cinnamon, star anise.

 

The finished product. In the end I had 8 or 9 jars :)

My salvation lies in your love

Yesterday, incredulously, I watched as President Zuma announced Nelson Mandela's death. Until now he had always bounced back from his numerous hospital stays. What it must feel like to be home, now, to share in the sadness of his passing and the joy his life had brought. In Germany an epic storm is causing floods and blowing away trucks, but what nature inflicts on itself seems tame compared to what people can do to others - it took an indomitable will and a humanity that most lack to be able to forgive one's oppressor as Mandela did.

My whiteness and my youth prevents me from truly understanding what the struggle was, what had been sacrificed and what it meant to live in a country where race controls your life. Actually, no : I have never not had freedom, but I know that race is still a deciding factor in SA. It is a ripple underneath everyday life that somehow refuses to disappear. I notice when I am the only white person because I feel it makes me vulnerable. white + girl = better watch your back. Not always, not everywhere, not because everyone is some criminal, but simply because the ripple of racism is closely followed by the ripple of crime and corruption that washes over any hope for a better future.

I wrote at the beginning that it is astounding what one person can do to another. I wonder if now we have moved past racism to class difference being the main social problem: those who have nothing see no moral qualms in killing another for a cellphone. However, if you have a roof over your head and enough money in your bank account you might wonder how someone could be so dismissive of the rights (and in the worst case scenario the life) of another.

It is difficult for me to speak on these issues while sitting in another country, starting a new life here. But within two weeks three of my friends were assaulted in one way or another and it is very hard to remain 'Proudly South African', to say wonderful things about your home and assure people that the crime is 'not that bad'. I miss my family, my friends and my country all the time, especially after hearing news like this. I miss the sunshine, December holidays at the beach and not looking like a pale vampire. I miss feeling like I belong.

But I also enjoy not having to be afraid all the time and being able to walk home, alone, at 3 AM after a friend's house warming and not worrying about being robbed.

As the blanket of sorrow falls over South Africa and everyone is in a state of mourning, I wonder what Madiba's death will mean for the future of the country. What influence did he still wield, if any? How will power relations in the ANC shift? Will Zuma stay on for a second term? Why do people not see that at least in part they are voting for their own demise? It will be an exciting time to observe what happens to Mandela's legacy, and whether the people of the rainbow nation will manage to find a pot of gold at its end or fail in this endeavour. I choose to cling to optimism because historically South Africans have fought too hard to attain the rights listed in the current constitution. It cannot have been for nothing.

Choose your own adventure

My cousin posted this on FB, and I wish my graduation speech could have been like this. I can't even remember what we were told. Something about "go out there" and then "give back to the university". Pshhhh.



THIS IS WATER - By David Foster Wallace from The Glossary on Vimeo.

Something Good.

Please tell me something good happened to you today. A little moment of joy or an enormous surprise, just anything happy.

In the past three hours, it is as though all my ideas and dreams and hopes and back-up plans for the future were sucked up by a monstrous fan and ripped apart in seconds. Seconds. And now the fan is just continuing, as if what he has done to me was hardly even noticeable. Moving along. Breezing about.

Why do I feel so shredded?
First Japan informs me I've been chosen as an alternate and will be told any time between now and fucking Christmas whether I can go. Yeah. Because I haven't been waiting long enough already.

For the moment I was still sticking to that 'keep calm and carry on' bullshit. I was thinking, ah, well, apply to universities and do your Masters and that is what you wanted to do in any case and ALLWILLBEFINE. Everything's ok. You are ok.

Then I went to the University's site where I really desperately wanted to do my Masters, and BAM, they say the program has been postponed because it is being "re-evaluated" and there will be no admissions for 2013. What. No. Nonononononononono.

Now, I am not sure.
Start dreaming from the beginning. "Re-evaluate" yourself, what you thought you wanted, what you could do now.

No need to panic.

Idealistic Animals (Man)

The whole time I'be been stressing about having to choose. About having to definitively say 'yes' or 'no'.

Now I will let the chips fall where they may. For now, I choose 'maybe'.

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.  

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.

Don't be sorry

via Patron of the Arts on FB

Monday, I graduated. It is quite a big deal, you wear your robes and look like a slightly less cool version of Harry Potter. I was going for a female Ron Weasley vibe, but without the wand ( ha ha, that's a nice pun) it did not work out so well.

Basically, one sits around and then gets herded on stage in little groups, where somebody with a nicer cap and more colourful bands around their shoulders shakes your hand and hands you your degree. It is very exciting, because it is the culmination of three years of studies and work. But the moment becomes quite insignificant when it happens 5 months after you passed all the necessary subjects, and when you have to sit there for two hours as hundreds are given the same degree as you.

How will I ever find a job?

Today, a girl came to my consultation hour ( I tutor, which is probably a job, but also not a real 9-5, pay-your-taxes situation) and asked me where this degree was taking her.

After three years, I have no idea. She asked what my plans were for the next year, and they are to do my Masters degree. And after that? My Doctoral degree. And after that? Whatever comes after that on the scale.
Why would anyone ever want to stop studying? I know this plan is a bit rough, and that studying costs money and all that, but somehow, I am not too worried.

The things we learn in Visual Studies make me passionate about my life, about the directions it can take, about the possibilities that present themselves.

The girl was a bit disappointed I think. But there is no formula to happiness. If you enjoy what you do, and somehow you can financially be not too badly off, I think it is worth it. Engineering, business, medicine, they all are suited better to others.

This thing I go to class for, this direction I cannot explain to people over koek en tee ( cake and tea), this degree where people continue asking "But WHAT will you do with it?!?!?", well, it has kind of found me, so I think that is pretty awesome in a world where everyone feels lost.

By rights you should be bludgeoned in your bed

He phones. We always know when it is him calling, mostly on weekends. Under the pretence of connection, of family and of catching up he talks without end. He has no interest in listening, only telling what is happening in his life, how wonderful it is to live in a city "wo immer etwas los ist"*.

I want to reach through the phone, travel thousands of kilometres with a raised fist and smash it into his face. We live here, where not much happens, where Radiohead will never perform, where having been robbed and getting your third driver's licence in five years is normal. Fortunate, even. So don't tell me you won't go see Nick Cave because he comes every year. Don't tell me about the film festivals you won't attend because you are tired. Don't tell me your work is 10 minutes away by bike, or 5 minutes by metro.

Do not tell me these things that I cannot do because here does not facilitate the same lifestyle. And do not tell me about your adventures when for a week we have been sitting in front of laptops and readings and books and have worn the same sweatpants-tshirt-hoodie combination. Don't tell me about the possibilities that you are not embracing.

Look. Here is great. Here the sun shines in winter. Here you need playlists for long drives. Here is home. It is just that sometimes home is a bit boring and usual and then being informed of all the things you could be seeing and enjoying, but won't because it's overcast, fuck, that just makes me kind of furious.



*where something is always happening.

I'll save it for tomorrow

via Warholian on FB

A few of the people I went to school with are married now. Some even have children. They have settled into serious lives with serious jobs and I don't even know what I'm doing next weekend. Or this one, come to think of it. 

It is a strange idea to me how how some people have achieved already what I have kind of pictured to only become part of my life in 10 years or so. If at all. I don't want to change my life right now, I just want the option. Once you've settled it is harder to just pack a suitcase and leave indefinitely.

Congratulations, people-with-plans. When I make some definite ones, I'll tell you all about them. For now, it changes constantly. 

If you are Christian, I wish you a very happy Easter weekend, and may you find tons of chocolate eggs in your garden.    

Un jour

This is from one of my lecturer's wall. 

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.

Yes.

I found this whilst cleaning out my room.
Not entirely sure what I meant with the note at the time, but for all that will be, yes.




Update ( 5 minutes later):

Ah, the full quote is :
"For all that has been, thanks. For all that will be, yes." - Dag Hammarskjold ( Swedish diplomat)

For a moment I was admiring my own brilliance, now I admire his. 

57th percentile

I am a person that achieves. Not necessarily top of my class or best at something, but I like doing well. I guess everyone does. We like knowing we can do something better than others, that we are not just average and mediocre and that somehow, this being good at something enhances our individuality. Perhaps our achievements and talents are what set us apart from the other 7 billion.

English is not my strongest subject. At school I loved it because the ways of language made sense to me and it was enjoyable to learn. Now, however, English as subject has become tedious. I don't want to read Middlemarch or Portrait of a Lady. There is nothing in those words for me. 

Emma was great fun. I previously saw the BBC TV series with Romola Garai and the book was more fun having a specific image in my mind. It was therefore quite a surprise to get (only) 57% in my assignment. Normally, I do the assignments and I check that I answered what was asked and I move on. This was a punch in the face, a big red letter screaming at me :" HA! you underachieving shell of a person!" Somehow how I see myself is still always linked to how I achieve academically.

Sure, admittedly marks do not constitute a personality, but with a bad mark comes a lower average, and the lower average in English brings down my average in general, which could impact the amount of scholarship money I receive from the university for my degree. The better I do, the less I pay. So perhaps the disappointment is threefold: the work was not as good as I thought it was, my talent for English isn't either, and this will reflect badly on the amount I will have to pay for tuition next year ( since it is my mom who pays, it is even worse). 

There was a girl in school with me who always went to the teacher if she thought she could get just one more percent out of an argument. Even if she had 98%, it was not good enough. I also went to talk to my lecturer, but more to find out what I had done so that in future I could do it better. There are times when fighting for marks is the right thing to do, but here it was more of a learning curve. I still think marking is a subjective thing in the humanities, because it is hard to give the reason for each percentage. But I must admit my own mistakes. Also, there is no use in crying over spilt milk.

Now, after that lesson learnt, is another remark I have to make. 

Giving. 

There is a monstrous egotism that lives in people and they choose to feed it instead of combating it. Why would you give your old clothes to your cleaning lady, ask her to sell them to people living in poverty, and then still ask her to give you half of the profits? I know, you bought the clothes originally. But by now, you will not wear them any more. If no one would take them, you would probably throw them away. Furthermore, you have already replenished your wardrobe, I don't really see why you cannot just give your clothes away? 

The same goes for Matric Ball dresses ( = prom) . Mine was supposed to look like the one Catherine Zeta Jones wears in this ad: 

Needless do say, it didn't. 

But perhaps now someone else could use my dress. I won't wear it again. 

So if you are in the same situation, consider donating your ball-gowns to The Princess Project. I am unsure if they only take celebrity-owned ones, but that seems a tad silly. I mean, it is not as if SA has a lot of celebrities. 

Bride & Co has a similar idea in Johannesburg, so if you are in that area, you could drop your dress with them. 

Maybe I am a hypocrite. My dress has been hanging in the closet since 2006. I wore it once to Halloween. But I've never gotten round to donating it. However, I do clean out my closet about twice a year and get rid of everything that I haven't worn in a while. As in a year or three, not a month. Our cleaning lady takes the clothes and I assume she keeps what she likes and either sells or gives away the rest. I don't care. I am not wearing them any more and if someone else can use them and profit from them, that is my charity for the day.