Thoughts on a Monday. But not this one.

Walking.
Getting away as far as possible, escaping from what I have grown up with, what I have been taught, what I can remember.
I think about my BFF in elementary school, Tina. I always thought I would leave first, because that is the life when one is used to moving. But she left first.
Now everyone has left, somehow. It's not easy making new friends, but also somehow, it is ok. The whole small talk aspect of it pissed me off, but I see myself as a Zwitter: alone and in crowds, part and yet not, entirely.

Today was a bad day. Normally your presence would have saved it. Holding you would have eased it.
Now mourning, c'est d'être vivant quand la vie même est morte, it's like being alive when life itself has died, c'est de respirer quand tout souffle s'est enfuit, it's like breathing when all breath is gone, c'est sentir trop, like feeling too much about everything.

Walking I saw
the lady in the car waving at me for not letting me walk past. Fuck you.

There is a teenage girl with black tights and shirt jumping in tandem on trampoline with a little girl in a yellow dress. I hear the see-saw of the springs. Un peu d'air sur terre. A moment of not being bound to the earth and its restrictions.

Then the varkhond barks.
A second later the bubbling of a child's laugh from behind a tall wall.
People are standing on the corner, careful to look away as I approach. No eye contact here.
The heavy breathing of an older man jogging only in tiny blue shorts. A short wave.

Congregating in the street. It is strange to see after years of hiding behind enormous gates, "Good fences make good neighbours".
A dad with a huge drooping-eyelid-dog, the two boys barefoot on bikes, circling him.
Walking and crying.
A little boy playing with two pavement specials waves at me.
A grey cat sleeping, blending into the pavement.

Now, the boy kicking the soccer ball home, uphill. I would just pick it up and carry it instead.
Three men around a cellphone, watching me, talking about me in a tongue I cannot understand. But I feel the words. Mens weet altyd.

Two older men, politely greeting. They must have known the restrictions the pass/past laws. I am wondering if we still choose to live in our own race, or if it's mostly dependent on means.

Then, I am home.






This is how I think. It is never just one language.

Mourning Part II

I won tickets to see Two Door Cinema Club, Isochronous and Desmond & the Tutus, courtesy of 5 Gum, and it really was a great night. Dancing, dancing and more dancing.

But at about 4 AM, our last dog Milou passed away. I don't know. When Spitzi died, it was horrible and I cried for days because he was the dog-of-dogs, the great character that cannot be replaced, the one that I still miss. Now, Milou, well he was also a little character. He often was a little bitch, growling and not liking children and having bad eyes and teeth due to the incestuous nature of the Yorkshire Terrier breed. He was a little rat, sneaking over to the neighbours and raping their poodle.

He could however also be a nice dog, one that wants to sit on your lap, one that squeezes tightly against your body in order not to be cold, one that 'smiles' when you get home, one that races you on the beach, one that sleeps on newly washed clothes, one that will be missed, dearly, as well.

ek stamel ek sterwe*

Die jaar toe ek weg was het ek dit gemis om jou elke oggend te sien en te sê: " Goeie môre bokkie, het jy lekker geslaap?"

Ek het dit gemis om my hande in jou vel te druk en om jou agter jou ore te krap.
Ek het jou gemis en wou na elk een toe stap wat soos jy gelyk het om hulle koppies te vryf.
Ek en jy, ons het saam grootgeword. Jy was altyd net hier, net waar ek jou nodig gehad het.

Jy kom soek my in die oggende, jy lê buite die badkamer se deur en wag, jy kom stamp jou neus teen my been as jy wil kos hê, jy poep soos geen ander nie, jy krap die deur om buite toe te gaan, jy pipi in die huis, jy het my verjaardagpersent geeet toe ek 9 was, jy kom lê onder my bene as ek 7de laan kyk, jy lê in die kombuis altyd in die pad, jy raak omgewonde as ek vir jou 'n kombersie op die vloer in my kamer sit, jy het die meubels se onderdele gekou toe ons in die VSA vir vakansie was, jy hou daarvan om jou kop by die venster uittesteek as ons ry, jy wat vroer jou lyf tussen die diefwering kon deursqueeze, jy wat my neus lek as ek jou optel, jy wat verlore was vir 'n middag, jy wat by die kar wag as jy al die bagasie sien, jy wat die perfekte groote is om 'n drukkie vir te gee, jy as enigste vir wie ek sê dat ek lief is vir jou.


As jy buite lê en slaap kyk ek of jou ribbe beweeg, of jy asem haal, omdat ek altyd bang is dat ek nie daar sal kan wees nie as alles verby is.

En nou was ek daar. Jy kon nie meer loop nie en ek moes jou dra. Toe ons by die veearts instap het ek al geweet maar gehoop jy het net iets slegs geeet. Ek het gedink ons sal somer vinnig weer by die huis wees, ek wou jou nog bad vir die nuwe jaar. Ons was 9 uur daar. 10 uur was ek alleen by die huis, sonder jou, sonder die kans om jou ooit weer te sien en te hoor en aan jou te vat.

Ek sien die heeltyd die klein lyfie voor my, die tong wat uithang, die tannie wat sê ek kan nou vir my "'n nuwe baba gaan kry" en hoe ek jou daar gelos het, alleen, hoe jy nou in 'n vrieskas wag om verbrand te word.

Jou bakkie staan nog hier en jou halsband lê op my tafel en jou kos staan in die kombuis en die bure se honde se ore voel soos joune en ek weet dit is belaglik en almal dink jy was net 'n hond en oud en dit moes gebeur en ek weet dis waar maar jy was myne. Jy was myne. En nou is jy weg en die huis leeg en as Milou alleen oor die vloere stap kan ek jou naels se getippel nog hoor.

Ek mis jou en dis eers een dag dat jy weg is.

Spitzi 15 November 1996 - 31. December 2011.

*

While I was away I missed greeting you in the mornings and saying : “Hello darling, did you sleep well?”

I missed you and wanted to walk up to everyone that looked like you and wanted to touch their faces. 

I missed it to run my hands through your fur and to scratch you behind your ears.

The two of us, we grew up together. You were always here, just when I needed you.   

You look for me in the mornings, you lie in front of the bathroom door waiting for me, you press your nose against my leg when you want to be fed, you fart like no other dog, you scratch the door to go outside, you pee in the house, you ate my birthday present when I turned 9, you lie underneath my legs when I am watching 7de Laan, you are always in the way in the kitchen, you get excited when I fetch a blanket to put in my room for you, you chewed the feet of our couches while we were holidaying in the USA, you like to have the car window open and stretching your face out of the car when we’re driving, you who could squeeze your body through the burglar bars, you who licks my nose when I pick you up, you who were lost for an afternoon, you while you wait anxiously by the car, afraid we’ll leave without you, you who are the perfect size to hug, you who are the only person I ever say “I love you” to.

  

When you are sleeping outside I watch to see if your ribcage is moving because I am always afraid that I won’t be there when everything comes to an end.

And now I was there. You couldn’t walk anymore and I had to carry you. When we walked into the vet’s I knew but I was hoping you had indigestion. I thought we would be out of there in no time; I still wanted to wash you for the New Year. We were there at 9. By 10 I was at home, without you, without the chance to ever see you or hear you or touch you.

I still see your little body, laying there, with your tongue sticking out, the lady holding me and saying that now I could buy myself “a new baby”, how I left you there, alone, how you are stuck in a freezer waiting to be burnt.

Your bowls are still here and your collar is on my table and your food is still in the kitchen and the neighbours' dogs' ears feel like yours and I know this is a bit ridiculous and everyone probably thinks I am exaggerating and thinking that you were just a dog and old and it had to happen and I know it is true but you were mine. You were mine. Now you are gone and the house is empty and when Milou walks across the floor I can still hear your nails scratching on it.

I miss you and it has only been one day that you have gone away from me.