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.

How to disappear completely

"That there
That's not me
...
I'm not here
This isn't happening"

Once in a while I'll look in the mirror and not recognise myself, because who is this 'I'? What does it really matter, what is the point of exiting, what is the reason for getting up in the morning and going to sleep at night only to do the same thing, endlessly looping, until one day your whole life has passed you by and you wake up old, forgetful and ready to stop breathing.

In most moments of wonder, of insecurity, of not knowing, of not wanting what I have, of wanting to be anywhere but here, well, then it is time for music. Music has the ability to transport me away from all that is into all that could be without having to move. It is an escape mechanism that requires nothing more than a song and a pair of headphones. Mostly I'll turn to old playlists that have accompanied me since the age of teenage angst : Sia's Breathe Me, Ray LaMontagne's Lessons Learned, Sufjan Stevens's For the Widows in Paradise, for the fatherless in Ypsilanti, and then, always, Radiohead (either the post's title track, or their version of Wish You Were Here from the Lords of Dogtown soundtrack with Sparklehorse).

I like them all because the instruments and the voices become tangible: as Finn Andrews of The Veils says, "a large problem with the digital era as it seems to me, is that nothing knows how to rot", and thus everything sounds too retouched. There is a time and a place for electronic/digital music, but the quest for the answers to existence seeks music that is itself wondering and imperfect.

A friend posted the following image/quote, and perhaps that is the answer: to understand myself, I must swallow a world as well. And what better way to maintain this consumption of ideas and questions than by immersing myself in music.

Poster design by Brett Thurman

'til morning comes, let's tessellate

I was one of the boys. We had "Who could talk to the most people"-competitions and "jis that one is hot"-sightings. I saw myself as part of the crew, not an object for conquest. Later I wanted to leave, let them have their fun, sans moi. One offered to walk me to my car, but since it was literally parked in front of Arcade I saw no need. He came with nonetheless. While I unlocked and in my mind planned to give an awkward hug goodbye, Monsieur asks: "So, wil jy vry?" ("Do you want to make out?"). I politely declined, mumbling something about "not tonight, thank you", and leaving without awkward hugging. This asking for a gevryery was bad enough.

__________________________________________

We went to school together. I was a year ahead, but not a year older. A mutual liking for Alexisonfire and Acid Alex was all we had in common. Now, I see you occasionally on campus, all black skinnies and black T-shirts and black chucks and a moustache too neatly trimmed. Hello, how you doing, well, ah, ok, I've got class, ok bye. 

Then at the place after a few drinks, my friends abandoned me and I had to listen to you talk about your perfect ex-girlfriend who dumped your ass a year ago. My advice to "man the fuck up" was met with: "You are such a bitch. But it works. Why did we never hook up?". Goeie genade. Because short men who only wear black don't do it for me. And because I am far from perfect. 

__________________________________________

We were sitting outside. I knew you from class, but not really. You asked, and I did not object. Maybe it is not the question, but the person asking. 

Do it like a dude

I never got the birds-and-the-bees speech. Instead, my friend K used to get this magazine called Bravo, where each week(?) one girl and one guy would have a page dedicated to a naked picture of themselves and  a little questionnaire about their sexual experience. There was a "Dr. Sommer"-section where some doctor (or presumably just a staff member) would answer questions pertaining to sex ( something along the lines of "I want to sleep with my boyfriend, but don't know if I should.  - Anna, 13 years old). There was also a page where teenagers could recount their first time and photo-love-stories where inevitably some girl would fall in love with some guy and at some point the would end up anywhere from just kissing to heavy petting to having sex. 

It sounds all dodgy when I re-read it, but actually it was very educational. Even now the website is quite cool if you are a teenager and don't want to ask a real person uncomfortable questions. Actually, it is hilarious. The question of the day is "The sex ended so quickly!". Another one is "Moritz wants to stop constantly masturbating", or "My mom found a condom in my room", or "Pain from too much sex?". I want their problems.  And the images! Here are two gems:

This one had the caption: "My penis itches!" 

Damn. I am almost peeing in my bed (perhaps I should send in :"Why am I incontinent?") it is so funny. But also educational. I mean, most people aren't comfortable with saying 'penis' and 'vagina', never mind talking about what goes on behind closed doors. Real life is not a Sex and the City get-together to talk about the benefits of some sex swing over lunch and a Cosmo. People are embarrassed easily when it comes to anything involving bodily functions. 

In light of over-sexualized advertising, music videos, series and film, I find it quite ironic. I mean, you can't talk to your kid about what's happening in his/her pants, but watching Spartacus or Game of Thrones is fine. Even in more family-friendly shows like Glee, Gossip Girl and Grey's Anatomy people are shagging all the time. 

Funnily, a middle-school teacher in the US has created this blog about questions that her 7th graders drop in the question box. So great. 

Both images via Sex Questions from Seventh Graders

Sidebar: Uhm, when I wrote this last night, the sexquestionsforseventhgraders site was working perfectly, but seems to be failing now. But maybe its just my internet today. 

It's all the same

Wedding Bells

I have been to three weddings consciously. When I was little, I was a flower girl at my aunt's wedding, in April I went to a friend's wedding and a few weeks back to my great-cousin's. The first one was somewhat of a flop because my mother made my sister's and my dress, but my aunt had failed to convey a specific theme to her and we were dressed in the wrong colours.

During high school, I waitressed on the weekends at a wedding venue, but all it taught me was that I was a poor waitress and that weddings are often strange affairs where people either drink too much and celebrate together, or sit in awkward silence and leave early.

Since the wedding at the beginning of the year was the first one I was invited to, I  was so exited that I bought the present weeks before and had my outfit all planned out. On the day, the mother of the bride turned up late, so everyone had to wait for her to arrive. The guests were seated on five rows of long wooden benches on either side of the aisle underneath beautiful old trees and large white umbrellas. In front of me sat some older ladies and the one smelled distinctly of some fiery chewing gum, you know the red one with cinnamon in it that burns away your taste buds. My black and gold fan from the bachelorette party helped in wafting the scent towards others.

The wedding was held at Kleinkaap, an imitation Cape Colonial venue. The old trees and leaves on the ground reminded me of our garden in Geneva when I was little. We had an enormous, ancient oak tree in the corner and come autumn, the garden was covered in its leaves. Strange how enchanting dead leaves can be. Bach then I was quite allergic to the tree's pollen, so luckily these trees were different and I did not swell up like a party balloon.

During the ceremony, the priest spoke about how a marriage should not be seen as a business transaction or a prison. Although this is true, I doubt anyone ever goes into a marriage thinking: oh well, my life will be hell but I'll have bags of money. Perhaps in arranged marriages in Afghanistan where the girls are 12 and their husbands 40 that is the case (see Khaled Hosseini's A Thousand Splendid Suns), but if one considers the typically Western view of marriage as being for love and being a commitment to someone for the rest of one's life, I found the sermon quite misplaced.

For the rest of the wedding, it was very nice, but the different wedding parties did not mix very successfully and some of the older people left after the food was served.

I don't know about all the rules at weddings, but is the main thing not the celebration of a union of love? Often I think people should just keep it a very intimate affair and only invite those people whom they feel will share in their joy. Brides worry too much about whose feelings will be hurt if they are not invited or if someone cannot bring a partner.

My cousin's wedding was great. It was a very Afrikaans wedding, but the place they held it at was lovely, the food was delicious, and above all, everyone was just so happy to celebrate the day with them. My sister and I initially felt a bit out because we are not directly related, but we were placed at the table with our other cousin and his family and they were very embracing. Everyone danced langarm ( long-arm, a type of dance) or just bounced around on the dance floor (my langarm skills need much improvement). The bride and groom also made speeches thanking their parents and various guests and I think in the end, everyone just really enjoyed being there and celebrating the day with them.

I think every wedding should just be a big party in honour of the married ones, and I hope that all future weddings will feel like the photographs on welovepictures.

on welovepictures

Mal(l)

"Mal" means to be crazy in Afrikaans. Today my mom, sister and I braved Menlyn shopping centre, because we are leaving for the coast on Monday and won't have time otherwise. It is always a somewhat insane environment to be in : the epitome of consumerism, sheltered from any thing that happens on the outside and filled to the brim with people intent on buying buying buying.

Normally, my mom takes us out individually, but today, due to lack of time, we had to go together. I hate it because my sister and I have different shopping styles. She wants someone to tell her what looks good and what doesn't and to constantly comment on her choices. She has often told me that I am not the sister she would have wanted, because she wants someone to share clothes and shoes with.

Well, we don't wear the same size, and I don't want any one to help me. I want to go in, try what has caught my eye on, and if it doesn't look right, I'll be moving along swiftly. Finding clothes that fit well is great, but if you don't, it is no tragedy either. So, we do not make great shopping companions, and my mother gets caught in the middle, patiently waiting outside changing rooms and trying to accommodate us both.

My sister also does this thing where she buys something and then has to buy other somethings that fit with it. For instance, if you were to buy a dress, and then say that you have no shoes that go with it in order to buy new shoes as well.

Again, I don't do that, which causes more friction. I buy things that will fit with what I have. I don't know how people can enjoy shopping? I enjoy finding something, not the journey through shop after shop and spending hours in centres that mirror a perfect, isolated little world. This year, one of our themes was malls and how they manage space to influence shoppers. Next time you go to a mall, look to see if there are any windows, any clocks, any reference to a real world just beyond the walls.

When we got home, I hung up my new clothes only to realize I have quite a lot of them already. It is always nice to have something new and every one wants to look good, but I am wondering how much the upper-middle class loses perspective in relation to what they have as opposed to people with a lower income. We ( me included) focus so much on what we want, what we feel we deserve, because after all, we work hard for it.

At the moment, the COP17 climate conference is happening in Durban. In the news they said that at the conference, the top 1% is representing the other 99%, but only focussing on their own best interests. My mother told me about how people are living in Langa, a township in Cape Town. To them, climate change and greenhouse gases and the Kyoto protocol has no importance, because they are worried where their next meal will come from and whether they will be able to support their families.

How can we go and justify spending so much money on so many insignificant things when the world is at need? On the one hand, I also want to buy my family something nice and have them be overjoyed when they open my present, but it does not feel right for us to indulge when other people have nothing.

Now, my question is, how do you balance this? How do you celebrate Christmas without feeling guilty for what you have? I mean, I am often quite ungrateful for what I am given. I think we all take things for granted  because to us they are an part of everyday life. I don't know how to change this either. Living more conscientiously? Volunteering? Donating? Giving something to eat to the newspaper-man that comes around on Tuesdays?

How can we change the world for all, not just for those who can afford to go to malls?

Question

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

(Berlin 2008)