She’s gonna blow!

I have known my good friend Angie since High school and she has always been 'the crazy one' filled with enough energy to light a bulb. And soon she and her hubby, Francois will be adding a wild (blue bull supporting) member to the Botha family, Divan. I asked her if I could take some pictures of her (huge belly and all) and the family to be and she willingly agreed. And I would like to share their warmth and happiness with everyone:






Congratulations, and I wish only the best for the Botha family!

Short story #1: Patience

I know ‘short story’ implies that the story should be short, but I do hope that those who do read my tale will not only be patient, but enjoy.

I was particularly inspired by the words from, Darren Hayes’ song Darkness (Click here! for the video link.)

Patience:

As he entered the over-modern hotel room, the iciness of the air-conditioning startled him. The same room he once adored was now much less attractive. For him it was another cold reminder of the empty room that was smugly waiting for his return. The darkness of the room reminded him that loneliness was now his only companion. But being isolated, lonely and depressed, was his biggest comfort. He feared his own thoughts; thoughts that were about to haunt and torture him throughout the night. Tired and still annoyed at all the superficial conversations he had to endure earlier that evening at a friend’s dinner party, Shane Larkin secretly thanked the red wine for his current state. There was just enough alcohol coursing through his veins to numb the fear of another night. Shane has always had split opinions about his visits to these overpriced hotels. They were great for getting around because everything was in walking distance, especially the one he was staying in now, which was in Victoria. Staying in Central London was particularly great for Shane because he hated using public transport. But he missed the tranquillity of the countryside, and the overcrowded tube with its crisscrossing colour coated lines only confused and aggravated him. He remembered, even as a young boy when his grandfather would take him to the Museum of Natural History (which is some of his fondest memories), the tube made him anxious and nauseous. Overpriced taxis were not an option and busses, where you have to fight some arrogant teenager for a place to sit only gave him headaches. In addition to the centrality, the Hotel now provided a dark safe haven from his problems and heartache. Almost like a metaphorical cocoon with a mini bar, where he could recuperate, grow and drink enough to be able to once again fly back into the pitiless world he had come to know. The emptiness of the hotel was now the perfect place to say goodbye. Other perks include the crisp linen, room service, the giant lavish bathtubs and the endless selection of pornographic channels. They would awaken a childlike thrill from within, which helped him deal with whatever he had to. However, the other side of the coin was not so comforting: Shane had an intense loathing for the monotonous styles and atmosphere of each room. The thought of each sheep-like guest, enjoying the same five star luxuries that he found so pleasing disturbed him. Eerie (and strangely arousing) thoughts of those who shared the room and bed before him would brood in his mind. Also the masses wandering the city with lost identities all looking for something to fill the void (just as he was) somehow shattered Shane’s sense of individuality. To feel wanted again was what Shane was yearning for most at this moment.

Desperately seeking to feel part of the outside world, Shane opened the curtains. It was already dark outside, raining. It seemed cold. Raindrops were trickling into the river Thames, becoming part of a whole. He craved to feel apart of a whole again. The lights of the London Eye were doing its umpteenth rotation filled with excited tourists trapped inside, admiring the city. Silence filled the hotel room. While admiring this scene through the window he caught sight of his own reflection. He felt dark inside, just like the window that made it possible for his reflection to stare back at him. It has been five years since his so-called ‘freedom,’ but he had never felt more trapped. It was as if he had been hibernating ever since his departure from his hometown and was only waking up now, to find the life he had created, and was now used to, was tawdry and absent of substance.

Ever since his emancipation, Shane would never allow life and time to take its natural course. He was constantly planning, scheming, and undertaking so much in his years. The self-styled happiness he had continuously created and forced upon himself would always come to an abrupt end, leaving him with an even bigger obsession to be in control. Immense impatience unnoticeably became his way of living.

Whilst lying on the hotel bed staring at the ceiling, Shane recalled the days when he first moved to London. It had been an exciting time for him. Moving away from his home represented freedom, which also meant he would be able to live an openly gay life. This was a thought he had only dreamt about as a teenager. Thus, living in the city where there were many other gay men meant he finally felt part of a whole. However, the immense freedom he had discovered was not only enticing but also intimidating. Within this enormous city and all those who had become used to its splendour, Shane felt young and naive. This was exactly what he was, an eighteen-year-old boy who had been sheltered most of his life. He had no understanding of being independent and all the responsibilities that came along with it. Although being terrified Shane never admitted it to anyone, especially himself and was ashamed and annoyed by his own inexperience. Shane then consciously reconstructed his identity and pretended to be blasé about things that terrified him. He figured this way he would learn more and would not come across as naive. Shane also felt he had no time to waist as he had already lost so much time and experience in High School. Things most adolescent kids had experienced and some even mastered, Shane still had to encounter. A fear of peculiarity and ending up alone due to his immaturity fuelled Shane to learn as much as possible. Friendship, success, financial independence and alcohol abuse; but out of all experiences Shane longed for, the most vital was finding love and a relationship.

Back in the chilly room Shane had now climbed into bed, the soft sheets covering and warming his body, and for the first time since his return from the party, Shane found himself smiling. He thought about the first time he met him. Jesse Smith. Shane had just come back from a brief visit to his parents. They had been very concerned about his sudden weight loss since his move to the city. After many teary kisses and a final speech about his diet, his parents greeted him as he climbed into the train that would lead him back to his freedom. When the overland train stopped at St Pancras railway station, Shane stepped off onto the platform, carefully minding the gap, and immediately ran to the loo. He refused to use the mucky toilets trains provided and was puzzled at how any person could ever urinate whilst the train was in motion and not end up making a mess. When he walked from the restroom, he noticed a young attractive man wearing a dirty cap, confidently leaning against a pillar, about to light a cigarette. As he passed, he gave Shane a lingering stare and an almost smug smile. It was a well known fact that the English had never been particularly enthusiastic when it came to greeting strangers and Shane was no exception. Therefore, he just blankly stared at the oversized pigeons wandering around the same pillar and walked by trying to ignore the man’s overconfidence. Shane was feeling peckish after his trip from Otford and decided to have lunch at the local pub. After placing his order and waiting, it seemed the smug man had followed him and sat next to him. A couple of minutes of awkward silence passed when the guy assertively introduced himself, “Jesse Smith, nice to meet you.” Awkwardly, Shane reached out his, “Shane, nice to meet you too” he replied, still feeling apprehensive about the man’s spontaneity. Jesse then asked if he had a lighter to which he over eagerly replied, “No sorry, I don’t smoke.” Jesse then made a patronizing joke about how he would rather smoke and have more or less an idea of his cause of death. Shane just smirked and once again felt like a total prude. Jesse then asked if Shane would join him for a pint of beer and Shane thought what a great way to redeem his overly prudish image. After his second pint, Shane had relaxed more and started to enjoy the stranger’s company. At first, he suspected a flirtatious vibe coming from Jesse, then discarded it and blamed the alcohol. But when Jesse asked him what his plans were for the rest of the evening, he knew Jesse had ulterior motives. At first, he found this arrogance, confidence and forwardness intimidating and semi-annoying. Now, it thrilled him. Although scruffy looking and untrimmed, Shane admired Jesse’s beauty. He had a perfectly tanned skin accompanied with dark features and a very appealing, yet comical, Scottish accent. They agreed to find a more suitable venue to continue their flirtatious acquaintances. With bags from their trips, they walked for miles talking, laughing and sharing funny stories about their lives not knowing or caring about their destination. Hours passed before either of them realized that they were tired and sat on a step in front of a building they both had never seen before, in an area neither of them had ever been to. They continued talking without any hesitation. It was only then, that Shane first noticed Jesse’s beautiful lips. The mere thought of Jesse kissing him made his stomach stir, but with his confidence now once again low after the tipsiness from the beer earlier had subsided, he doubted this would happen.

Hundreds of people strolled by on adventures of their own, while they were still on the step. Both agreed they were starving and decided to continue talking over dinner. Finally figuring out where they are, which was Victoria, they had trouble finding an affordable restaurant open at this late hour. After another few miles and many closed restaurants, they discovered a random Persian restaurant willing to serve them despite having a private wedding function. Both Shane and Jesse found the two Persian cat sculptures at the entrance and the very outlandish decorations hilarious. A waiter showed them to a table, separated from the newly wed couple’s ceremony and both were relieved, finally, to be sitting comfortably. In the background, the ceremony sounded festive and seemed to have a karaoke theme. They chuckled as some old woman (it had to be the grandmother of either of the wedding couple) being heckled while she was trying her best to sing ‘I will survive.’ With much effort, they ordered from their non-English speaking waiter, forgot the ceremony and once again enjoyed each other’s company. After dinner, Jesse insisted on a few drinks and ordered shots. It only took three tequilas for Shane to feel confident. Six tequilas and two pints later both had befriended the family of the wedded couple and were invited to join the ceremony. They found themselves mingling, despite the lack of fluent English speaking relatives. Another few shots later (sponsored by the brothers of the groom) Shane and Jesse had joined in the party. They dared one and other to get on stage at the Persian wedding and join in on the karaoke. Both their solos were enjoyed by everyone, especially the wedded couple. Finally, they said their goodbyes and left the restaurant, which had closed hours ago to the public. It was now after midnight and both were desperately trying to sober up wile drowning themselves with bottles of Evian water. They then decided to share a room and started looking for a hotel. Both being tired and annoyed by the lack of reasonably priced hotels, they agreed to book into a five-star hotel.

The same hotel and room Shane was in now, still smiling under the covers, reminiscing about that eventful evening. He then remembered finally kissing Jesse’s gorgeous lips; lips that had been haunting him the whole evening: even while they were falsely singing Queen’s, ‘Bohemian Rhapsody.’ They were sitting on the balcony, laughing about the randomness of the evening when Jesse suddenly stopped talking. An awkward silence, filled wile the sound of traffic in the background descended. He had a serious look on his face and for a second Shane was concerned. When Jesse pulled in and gave Shane the softest kiss, all his concerns melted, his hopes finally paid off and the moment devoured both of them.

After that night, they frequently met at the same hotel. Each time was better than the one before. Jesse was more than Shane’s first kiss. Shane had become infatuated. After the third visit, they agreed to be a couple. The first three months were filled with young love: they were obsessed with each other. Shane had finally found what he had been longing for most of his life. Jesse had been more than he ever had anticipated. The more they met, the more they planned to meet. Four months, and plenty of expensive hotel bills later, Shane knew it was love. He loved all the amazing qualities about Jesse. He was confident, spontaneous, fun and had so much ambition and plans for his future. In addition, Shane had learned the less flattering qualities about Jesse too, and his drug abuse was one that concerned him the most. He never supported it, but also never judged it. He believed Jesse when he claimed it was only for fun and he had it under control. Being in love was much more important to him. Their visits to the hotel had become less, due to Jesse having to work more often but they still saw each other every other weekend. Jesse had had many financial troubles to which Shane never hesitated to offer to help. Shane borrowed money from his parents to help Jesse, and Jesse assured him it was not for drugs and continuously promised that he would pay him back as soon as he had found a decent job. Shane never doubted that he would. He loved him too much.
Due to their lack of finances, by their seventh month anniversary their romantic hotel excursions had come to a complete halt. The last time Shane saw Jesse, they planned to meet at the hotel for their eight-month anniversary. It was only three weeks until then and they said goodbye at London Bridge Station as Jesse bordered his train. Shane felt that Jesse had been very quiet that weekend and he felt odd while walking down to the tube station on his way to Tesco’s to do some grocery shopping for the week ahead. The whole time while walking through the isles, Shane had a knot in his stomach about their parting and Jesse’s attitude towards him but chose to ignore it and give him some space. Days passed without them texting. Shane found it odd and tried calling but Jesse never answered. A few days later, Jesse’s phone number was disconnected. Shane tried every possible way to get hold of Jesse but had no luck. Shane was worried and wondered if Jesse was all right. Thoughts of an accident or death haunted Shane every second of the day with still no word from Jesse. It was only a week later that Shane received an email from Jesse saying:

Dear Shaney.

Sorry, things would have never worked out between us. I have too many things to sort out. I love you but I am moving back to Scotland soon. I promise to pay you back when I can.

Regards, Jesse

Shane had already had a whole month to process what had happened when he booked into the hotel this time, but the heartache and pain was still very much real. Alcohol and sleeping pills had been his only solace. But, Shane still went, hoping that Jesse would come. But he never did. He was now crying under the sheets. The room was dark and silent and the sound of his own sobs annoyed him. He hated feeling so vulnerable. But the closed doors, curtains and windows somehow made him feel less vulnerable. He was completely covered in darkness, hoping for change to come. He hated Jesse, but still missed everything about him, and this made him feel even more like of fool. His ears would constantly anticipate a knock at the door but silence was all they could hear. Hours passed and he fell asleep dreaming of Jesse.

Months passed with Jesse occupying his dreams. Shane would fondly look back at their wonderful times together and the hotel room in Victoria. He never went back there after that weekend. Shane’s resentment and longing faded. However, Shane could not forgive Jesse for breaking his trust. He felt betrayed and humiliated. Shane would always love Jesse but he was relieved to be able to move on without someone that could potentially have destroyed his future. He hoped only the best for Jesse wherever he was. Now conscious about how much he had learned from this experience, Shane felt more mature. He knew now to be more patient. Take time to trust. Take time to love. Practice self-control and just to let things be.

Verwyder die blinddoek

Elke persoon het daardie iemand in hulle lewe wat stil-stil jou maak wie jy is. Hulle is amper soos jou lewende en tasbare weergawe van ’n ‘engel bewaarder.’ Hulle breek, bou en beskerm ongesien jou hele lewe lank, terwyl jy te besig is om dit te geniet.

My ‘engelbewaarder’ was nog altyd by my. Maar die blinddoek van my jeug het my nooit toegelaat om hom rêrig te sien nie. Ek het net altyd hom vanselfsprekend aanvaar en het net aangeneem hy is deel van ‘die pakket’ van my lewe. In my naive dae van jonk wees en selfsug het ek selfs aangeneem dat hierdie persoon my net nie ken of verstaan nie. Ek het gedurig gedink, hoe kon iemand so eenvoudig en stil ooit ’n eksentriese wese soos ek verstaan. Maar ek was net bederf.

Dit was nie totdat ek grootword en my aandag verskuif van myself na dies om my wat die blinddoek verwyder word nie. Ek het my ‘engelbewaarder’ herontdek en het besef dat ons kan saamstem, gesels, saam huil en staaltjies deel van ons lewe. Dit het gebeur een middag terwyl ons in die motor ry en spontaan klets wat my self-sprekende liefde van al die jare verander het in ’n liefde wat nie beskryf kan word nie. Meteens besef ek dat hy my nie net verstaan nie maar dat hy my met sy hele hart liefhet. Ek is gedurig opsoek na onvoorwaardelike liefde en hier was dit, reg voor my. Die idioom, as dit ’n slang was, het hy jou gepik eggo laggend in my kop. En alhoewel hy altyd daar was en gesorg het, het ek hom nooit gesien nie maar nou net die gedagte van hom nie meer in my lewe nie, veroorsaak ’n hartseer wat ek nooit wil ervaar nie.

Ironies genoeg, dieselfde eenvoud, geduld en stilte wat ek eens nie kon verstaan van my pa nie is nou die einste karaktertrekke waarna ek strewe. Hy het gegaan vanaf net iemand in my lewe, na my grootste rolmodel. Ek wens in my toekoms kan ek dieselfde geduld en liefde hê wat hy nog sy hele lewe lank so suutjies gedeel het. Ek sien uit om in my ouer jare soos hy te wees, net sonder die boepens.

Pay no attention to the ‘Keg-guys’ of today

I have recently been relaxing (which is code for just being plain lazy) in my hometown, Rustenburg during the summer holidays. The other night I met up with a few high school friends and we had some sushi and ended the evening with a nightcap at... the... Keg and Bull. Do not judge me. The options for a suitable or tasteful venues for socializing in this area are very limited. Nevertheless, as usual when accompanied with the right crowd the evening was more than enjoyable. I spent the whole night socializing and networking (as we social butterflies love to do), with a glass of the finest blend of boxed-wine (it was the Keg, they don’t exactly specialize in fine wines) in hand and met a couple of really interesting people. One individual whose company I enjoyed in particular was Lebo, a first year drama student at Tuks. Now Lebo is exactly what you would expect from a drama student. She is fun, loud, eccentric, funny, spontaneous and just plain mad. I loved her! It was karaoke night at the Keg and she had no hesitation, jumped up on stage, and rocked the crowd. We shared plenty of funny and embarrassing stories about varsity and in usual semi-tipsy character, we promised to be best friends as soon as varsity starts in the new semester.

The rest of the evening was very pleasant until Lebo’s best friend came back from the bar and said that a very large and pathetically drunk guy had just walked up to him and threatened to assault him for socializing with Lebo. The reason for his threat was that she is black (which was ironic as she wasn’t even THAT black, more creamier I’d say). Still we managed to offend this Neanderthal so much that he felt the need to warn us that he would harm us if we continued to talk to Lebo (which is impossible, she is a drama student and they love to talk). Now I have gone through this scenario a thousand times in my mind, but I still cannot grasp why a table, who might be more liberal (and therefore I personally think is more fun than any white-conservative-heterosexual table) would offend someone. If the gay men at our table were doing body shots off each other while wearing pink feather boas, and the sexy girls that accompanied us were flirting with married men and Lebo were doing traditional topless dances before slaughtering our dinner for the evening, I might have had some understanding about his reaction. However, we were not! I promise.

Now my time back home has been very educational and liberating. Just the other day I went jogging past my old High school, (both panting and sobbing while missing those carefree days) and realized that I am not the scared and fragile teenager I once was. I also became conscious that I had been avoiding Rustenburg ever since I finished High school. The reason was that I wanted to avoid just this exact small-town mentality that the ‘Keg-guy’ had proudly presented to us. Which is the the type of attitude I had experienced while growing up and learned to despised all these years. Every time I would come home to visit I chose to rather stay indoors with my family and avoid dealing with the memories and people that reminded me of the days I felt trapped and scared. As soon as I would leave to go back to varsity, I felt excited to be able to be myself despite what the people of Rustenburg or my past might think or say about my sexuality.

Like I said, those days are over. Five years have passed and I can both be home and myself without any fear of judgement. I have bigger things to worry about these days (like finishing my damn degree) and my past does not haunt me anymore. I have actually learnt to embrace my high school memories, old friends and Rustenburg (which is not as bad as I remembered). I have also learned that when people like the ‘Keg-guy’ chooses to share his foolish opinions and threats one should not take it personally or feel ashamed. I say we should carry on having an awesome time with our dazzling black bordering on creamy friends and continue to flirt the pants off the cute person *** next to you, who just happens to be the same sex as yourself. I think the best response to give to those narrow-minded fools (whom I will now always refer to as the ‘Keg-guys’) is first to get pissed at them, then you may pity them and finally carry on drinking your cheap wine. Ps. this was exactly what we did!

I see dead animals, true story!

I have recently been told that my blog posts (although still amazing, don’t forget!) tends to be a tad bit too technical and formal. I welcome criticism (especially if it is about my spelling ‘cause I tend to slip up on that one a bit, I do apologize) as it helps me grow as a writer. And I have scanned over a couple of my posts last night and saw this is very true. I guess I am so use to writing for publications, which expect a certain more ‘formal’ writing style, that I have unconsciously been forcing it into my posts.

So today, I thought I would just ramble a bit. No confessions of heartache, no philosophical explanations and no blast from the past. Just a random thought. On the other hand, maybe a worrying cry for help (or attention). Let me know...
You see, the last couple of weeks I have been having this reoccurring unusual dream. Now, I know what you are thinking, “O great, here comes another boring story about someone’s lame dream.” Goodness knows I find it particularly dull when someone wakes up and feels the need to share their dreams. However, the dream of mine is very odd.

In this dream, I have three flies as pets. Yes, pets! I feed them, walk them regularly, talk to them (like you would do with a cute puppy), pet them and even occasionally kiss their foreheads. All of which are things you would normally do with your cat or dog (or even birds!). But I had to choose flies! And the best part of this dream is that I love these flies more than life itself. Just seeing them excites me. Nurturing them gives me purpose and just the thought of some mean person swatting them angers me more then you would ever imagine. And I have to confess, I enjoy these dreams. Just experiencing the emotion of the unconditional love for one and other is such an amazing feeling. Yes, even if it is for three very unclean (but also very delightful) flies.

Throughout history, people have sought meaning in dreams. Dreams have been described as psychological reflections of the subconscious, spiritual messages from the dead or even predictions of the future. Some feel that dreams are prophetic and contains messages. Then what does my dream mean? (I ask with an anxious and confused tone in my voice.)

I have no idea what this bizarre dream might mean. Maybe a dead pet is trying to reconnect with his former owner. Does this mean I am now a psychic medium for animals that have ‘crossed over’ using me to connect with the living world (as flies)? Will cats, dogs, fish and any other pet that has passed be bothering me while I am just trying to have a good nights rest? Maybe it means that I have a subconscious yearning to procreate and love my offspring. Or does it just mean that I have somehow developed some sick fetish for flies. Who knows? One thing I know for sure, is that Sigmund Freud would of had a field day in my subconscious.











Ps, how funny is this cartoon!?

Sestien steke is niks in vergelyking...

Ek was onlangs in die hospitaal vir ’n operasie (dit is ’n blog vir ’n ander tyd maar ek gaan net noem dat ek sestien steke gekry het... Boooya!). Ek hou hoegenaamd niks van hospitale en die morbiede atmosfeer wat hulle skep nie. Alles vanaf die kos, die reuke, die siek mense wat drentel met hulle drip sakkies wat saam agtervolg en die ongelooflike vernederende blou weggooibare onderbroeke is alles iets wat ek liefs vermy. Terwyl ek in die saal lê en wag vir my operasie probeer ek my bes om geselskap met ander in die saal te vermy. Sodra iemand na my kant toe kyk glimlag ek net en maak asof ek iets dringend moet tik op my selfoon. Omdat ons ’n saal deel is dit nie goed genoeg rede vir my om met vreemdelinge oppervlakkige geselsies aan te knoop en onderlangs te kompeteer wie is die siekste nie. Maar helaas na ’n hele paar mislukte pogings om te maak of ek slaap kon die moeder langsaan my net nie meer haar opwinding inhou nie. Sy begin gretig deel hoe haar seun (wat ingenieurswese studeer by Tuks!) op pad was om sy verstand tande te verwyder. Geïrriteerd met ‘n grommende maag (ek vra met trane in my oë, waarom mag mens nie eet voor operasies nie) sit ek toe maar regop en gesels saam.

Oorkant my bed was daar ook ’n jongman. Dit was duidelik waarom hy in die hospitaal was, sy regterarm was onlangs geamputeer. Terwyl hy besig was om te eet, verskuif die moeder haar aandag oor na hom toe en lig hom ook dadelik in oor haar seun se studiekeuse. Sy vra hom toe ook uit oor sy ongeluk.
Hy verduidelik hoe hy onlangs in ’n myn ongeluk was en het dus so sy regterarm verloor. Die moeder gesels verder met hom en hy geniet die aandag. Ek wat oorkant sit en luister hoe hulle klets, vermy toe enige oogkontak met die man. Ek het nog nooit geweet hoe om met mense met ’n gebrek te hanteer nie. Ek dink dit is omdat ek vir hulle jammer voel en so graag wens ek kan dit beter maak vir hulle. En is dus bang dit wys in my gedrag teenoor hulle. Ek weet ook nie of ek die persoon sal te nakom deur die verkeerde vrae te vra nie. Maar terwyl ek luister hoe hulle gesels bly ek wonder of die man weer gaan gelukkig wees? Of voel hy sy lewe is verby? En hoe gaan hy kan aanbeweeg?
Maar toe gebeur die volgende. Terwyl die susters die seun langs my instoot om sy verstand tande te verwyder vra die man sonder die arm vir hom, “Wat gaan hulle aan jou doen?” Die seun (wat tans bleek was van angs) antwoord, “Ek gaan my verstandtande verwyder.” Die man antwoord met baie entoesiasme en verligting terug, “Shoe, ek is bly ek is nie jy nie!” en wens die seun sterkte toe.

Heel verbaas en geskok probeer ek om nie hardop te lag vir hierdie ironiese scenario nie. Hier sit ’n man sonder ’n regterarm en voel verlig dat hy nie op pad was om vier tande te verwyder nie. Was hy sarkasties? Of dink hy rêrig om verstandtande te verwyder is erger as ’n geamputeerde arm? Dit het my dadelik laat besef dat die man ‘fine’ is. Hy is positief en kry homself nie jammer nie. Hierdie is vir hom net ’n struikelblok in sy lewe en hy gaan nie dat dit hom onderkry nie. Hy het wel vir die seun se ma gebieg dat hy steeds bang en hartseer is, maar hy weet hy gaan ’n volle lewe lei omdat hy baie hoop het.

My operasie het vlot maar heel vernederend verloop omdat ek in my lokale verdoofde staat vir die dokter bly vrae vra soos “Dokter, hoeveel mense is al vandag op hierdie teater bed dood?,” en “Het jy al ooit ’n vak geher want ek het al BAIE!” Maar na daardie dag in die hospitaal het die afarmman my inspireer. Ek het besef, en bly myself herinner dat geen probleem of uitdaging wat die wêreld jou kant toe stuur nie oorkombaar is nie. Al wat jy nodig het, is genoeg hoop.

Sy het my dag gemaak...

My dag het tragies begin. Die Engelsman sou die uitdrukking gebruik het ‘ek het vanoggend aan die verkeerde kant van die bed opgestaan’om dit te verduidelik. Die rede vir hierdie woes begin was oordat ek sorgvry gisteraand vroeg in die kooi gaan klim het, met die wete dat ek vroeer gaan moet opstaan om vir my her-eksamen te swot. Dit het die heel aand by my gespook. Vanoggend vroeg het ek met groot moeite myself uit die bed gesleep en dadelik agter die boeke ingespring. Soos gewoonlik probeer ek dus om ‘n magdom informasie in my kop te forseer. Met ’n kloppende hoofpyn en ‘n onderdrukte angsgevoel vertrek ek kampus toe. Ek was natuurlik laat en nat van vanoggend se sporadies motreëntjie. Wonderlik! Al hierdie struikelblokke moes ek ook nog aandurf sonder een koppie rooibos met heuning. Dit was aaklig!

Maar my gemoed het dadelik verbeter na my toets en ek uiteindelik my tee geniet en ‘n epos ontvang van my goeie vriendin, Elaine wat tans in Australia vertoef. Die epos se opskrif het gelees, “LEES EERS VOOR JY DIE ATTACHMENT OOP MAAK.”
Dadelik gaan kyk ek die aangelaste foto’tjie (jammer ek kon die temptasie nie weerstaan nie) en sien ‘n bitter ou en verwaarde lose motorvoertuig. Saam met die foto spog Elaine van haar nuwe 1987 Mitsubishi Magma Elite wat sy gekoop het. Sy vertel ook hoe die voertuig outomaties is en hoe hy nog loodpetrol gebruik (en hoe sy geen idee het waar om dit aan te skaf). Verder pronk sy opgewonde oor hoe sy nie kan wag om ‘n Chinese waaier voorop te sit en kassette te speel terwyl sy naweke die stad gaan verken. Ook doop sy die motor, “Granny Mobile.” Die laaste sin van die epos lees, “En net terloops die is nie 'n grap nie, ek is dood ernstig!”

Dit was eers nadat ek myself weer terug op die stoel plak wat ek besef hoe hard ek sopas gelag het. Die hele ry moeë studente in die biblioteek staar verleë na my en sukkel om te verstaan hoe iemand durf in die eksamentyd lag. Ek kommer vir ’n oomblik of ek nie my broek natgemaak het van die skaterlag nie maar was verlig toe ek sien dat dit net my bottel water was wat ek met die slag omgestamp het. Ek bekyk die kiek van vooraf, verbeel Elaine in hom, en lag van voor af. Meteens spring ek aan’t werk en skryf hierdie blog.

Hierdie blog se doel is geensins om my vriendin te verneder nie. Ek onthou net destyds toe ek in my eerstejaar deur my ‘Crocks fase’ gegaan het, het Elaine dit goed gedink om ’n Facebook groep te stig, “Red vir Ryno.” In hierdie groep pleit Elaine aan almal om asseblief by die groep aan te sluit sodat ek sal summier ophou om Crocks te dra. Saam met die groep was daar ook baie vernederende kiekies van my wat uitkamp, dans en kuier met my gunsteling paar Ackerman Crocks aan. So al wat ek gaan sê is, ‘payback!’


Nou vir al die lesers wat dink ek is gemeen en onsensitief, wil ek julle net inlig: Ek is mal oor haar nuwe motor! Ek met my Vuka is ’n kenner van alternatiewe vervoer en die motors van vandag verveel my. Ook kan ek vir niemand anders behalwe Elaine sien ’n 1987 Mitsubishi Magma Elite ‘rock’ nie. Ek kan nie wag totdat ek vir haar gaan kuier en ons albei die land van die gevangenes bekyk deur haar ‘vizor’ vensters. Ons gaan hom albei ‘rock’ Elaine!

If you live long enough...

The last couple of weeks I’ve been attending rugby games at Harlequins Rugby Club. Some of you who know me might wonder ‘why would you even set foot there?’ Well, I’ve discovered an openly gay rugby team. I know this is an oxymoron to its purest form but these guys are actually really good. They bust their balls (first of many puns to feature in this blog post) every week playing touch rugby, which is not as violent as the usual barbaric game. The funny thing is that I have actually grown a fondness for this game. Big gasp! The game I have been running away from, cursing, faking illness for and ignoring most of my adolescent life is actually quite intriguing. I’ve even found myself cheering and cursing next to the field (very uncommon behavior). And to think, it only took a couple of gay men in shorts for me to realize that rugby can be most exciting.

Now before you judge and fling accusations of superficiality my way, I want to stop you right there. Despite the cute legs and copious amounts of hair product there is much more to this team. They are accepting and don’t judge no matter who you are, were you come from, what you do or how much or little you know about handling a ball (pun), they are more than happy if you join or support the team. And when you slip up and you are not able to catch or pass a ball, it’s only that, a mistake, they don’t criticize your masculinity to the level of humiliation. They would rather help.

So I have officially made plans to join the Versatile team. This choice might send shocks of panic (or laughter) to those who know me. It might even cause an imbalance somewhere in the universe with catastrophic consequences. But I’m not bothered. I will face my fears, join the team and accomplish my goal of scoring my first tri. Then I will brag about it until I’m blue in the face, call my father to make him proud and maybe even include it on my CV. But before all this, I will firstly need to get over my fear of rugby balls. Let me explain…

During my years as a young lad (who had no interest in sports what-so-ever) I had to live in the shadow of my all star sports playing brother. I know what you’re thinking, ‘O great, here comes another Dr. Phil inspired confession of adolescent insecurities.’ But no, I will spare you. What I will share with you is an experience that caused me to have an unnatural fear of a moving rugby ball. My brother’s specialty was rugby. He was very talented (pun meant for his wife) which caused him to play for the first team and get the gorgeous girl in the end… Many envied him. But for me this meant that many hours of my youth was spent sitting next to a rugby field playing while my parents were screaming at some unfortunate referee. One day in particular I was minding my own business next to the field studying an ant colony while pouring Coke over them (thrilling stuff) when suddenly I felt a massive THUMP! Pain rushed through my head and everything went dark. When I finally opened my eyes I discovered masses of people gathered around me. These included my parents and most of the team players. I then realized that the rugby ball had hit me in the face while the opposing team was mere seconds away from scoring. My parents soothed me with candy, secretly hoping I had not sustained any brain damage while the team thanked me for their victory. I was dubbed the ‘lucky charm’ for the day. A feeling of satisfaction came over me. I had finally contributed to the sporting world even if it was to my own expense. But despite the good turnout of events I had been left with this panic caused by egg-shaped forms. I would cringe when I see a rugby ball flying my way. A feeling of fright would rush over me when someone would kick a rugby ball (even if it was on TV). And I found myself weeping while cracking open an egg to make French toast. Thus I have avoided and ignored the game of rugby ever since. But soon things will change. It is time to face my fears.

A very good friend of mine has bravely offered to teach me to play. He, who has had his nose broken six times and had to resort to plastic surgery for a now flawless nose, has played rugby most of his life. So at least I am in good hands (pun). Pretty soon I will kick my fear of the moving rugby ball and be jogging on the field while tossing (pun) and catching the ball (pun, this is too easy) like a pro. So expect invites to my first game pretty soon. And who knows, maybe next I will be diving the Great Barrier Reef and conquering my fear of the ocean (and everything inside of it). Life is too short to be scared!

You’re so vain

My good friend Sean Miller is a very talented photographer (no, he did not pay for this opening line!). This is odd as he is a Vet student and I have it on good authority that they are not creative beings. But not Sean, he is special. He has previously taken really nice photos of me (after I begged him). It was an awesome experience. I loved getting my sexy face on (and some of your garments of). Posing for someone is almost like acting and its fun sometimes to just get out of your comfort box. And also the final photos does wonders to boost ones confidence.

Recently I asked Sean again for some new photos so we took to Faerie Glen Nature reserve. As usual I was shy at first but after a few glasses of wine (before 12) I was shy no more and enjoyed being centre stage again. Pretty soon I was swimming in the river, climbing strange structures and covering myself with mud trying not to laugh. A source (I’m not too sure about his credibility) claims that the water at this exact location was once proven to be contaminated and not too save for swimming. But no need to panic, I survived without waking one morning, with any extra unwanted limbs. The photos look awesome and I thought I'd share them.








Please visit Sean’s Facebook page (by clicking here) to check out some more photos and book time with him for great photos for any occasion. Or contact him at sean.myles.miller@gmail.com.

Uitstel op sy beste

Dit is November en vir alle studente beteken dit eksamen tyd. In dié tyd word alles aangedurf behalwe studietyd. Daar is ʼn pragtige Engelse woord om hierdie fenomeen te beskryf (wat elke student hulself in oormaat van skuldig maak), 'procrastination.' Daar is baie maniere om jou studietyd uit te stel, soos byvoorbeeld: Die aanhoudende wil om alles skoon te maak (oor-en-oor), die ontwikkeling van onsamehangende stokperdjies (soos my nuutste blog-post), ʼn obsessie met sosiale netwerke soos bv. die drang om jou Facebook plasings aanhoudend te wil verander (en daarin vir almal in Facebook wêreld te herinner van die smart van studentwees in eksamentyd), briefies van lyding in al wat ʼn houtbankie is in die studie sentrum te graveer en laastens (my persoonlike gunsteling), om elke maaltyd ʼn okkasie te maak wat baie tyd en aandag verg.

Ek was nooit ʼn student wat dae voor die tyd kan voorberei vir ʼn vraestel nie. Dit is maar ʼn gebrek wat ek besit en ek het dit aanvaar. Ek werk en leer beter onder druk. ʼn Dag of selfs ʼn paar ure voor my eksamen is al wat ek nodig het en dit is ook wanneer my studiemetodes floreer. Dit beteken ook dat ek myself onder baie hoë druk plaas met bitter min slaap. Die is ʼn gevaarlike kombinasie en gemeng met genoeg kafeïen, kan dit fataal raak (goed ek oordryf miskien net so bietjie).

Ek onthou destyds in my eerstejaar het ek Afrika geskiedenis as ʼn vak geneem. Wat ʼn informatiewe vak! In hierdie leervak moes ons minstens vyf verskillende Afrikalande ken vanaf hulle antieke geskiedenis tot en met hulle huidige politieke leiers. Nou vir almal wat al die onreg gehad het om enige Afrika land te bestudeer sal weet hoe die name besonders moeilik is om uit te spreek, spel en laastens (en belangrikste) onthou!

Weereens het ek besluit om hierdie studie-ervaring vir die aand voor die tyd te los. Angstig en al klaar moeg vaar ek die studiesentrum in. Met my eerste tree in die sentrum voel ek die melancholie. Jy kan dit selfs ruik! Jy voel elke student wat hulself hier vestig smag om by ʼn ander tyd en plek te wees. Die hele ervaring herinner my aan ʼn Afrikaanse begrafnis. Almal is bitter hartseer, en vind vertroosting in vingerhappies soos selfgemaakde toebroodjies en muffins. Hulle hou mekaar ook gedurig stil uit respek vir die dood (die wat die volgende dag moet skryf) en probeer onthou aan al die goeie tye wat was (en wat nog gaan kom) voor hierdie depressiewe ervaring. Ek probeer my bes om die desperate gevoel te ignoreer en kry ʼn gepaste plekkie (weg van mense met lopende neuse wat gedurig snuif en oorfone wat harde kletsrym musiek speel), vat ʼn diep asem en vaar blindelings deur die boeke. ʼn Hele paar ure gaan verby waar ek met ʼn slakkepas vorder.

Nog ʼn paar ure vlieg verby voor die nare insident gebeur… Terwyl ek heel verbaas en vies die Afrika slawerny in die 1800’s deurlees (en die voorvaders van Amerika en Brittanje vloek) gaan die studiesentrum se ligte skielik af. Dit is stikdonker. Verward en bekommerd sit ek en wonder of dit al toemaaktyd is. Oombliklik begin ek te kommer en verbeel ʼn hele paar scenario, almal van hulle waar ek alleen in die donker sit en probeer om verder te studeer met my selfoonliggie (en wonder waar ek kan kamerverlaat sonder dat dit in die more ontdek sal word). Meteens skop my reflekse in en ek spring op. Ek gryp na al wat ʼn boek en nota is en stop dit in my sak. Ek hol die gang af en begin soos ʼn besetene skreeu vir enige iemand wat sal luister, “Wait, there’s someone still in here!” Stilte volg. Weereens begin ek skree na hulp. Net harder die keer. Meteens gaan die ligte aan. Dit vat my oë ʼn paar sekondes om te herstel. Dit is toe wat ek besef dat daar ʼn skare vir my sit en kyk agter hulle hokkies. Almal met ʼn uitdrukking van skok op hulle gesigte oor die luidrugtige student wat pleit vir sy vryheid. Amper onmiddellik word die stilte van die studiesentrum gevul met skaterlag. Jare se melankolie en depressie vloei summier uit die sentrum. Ek wat steeds in die gang staan met helfte van my boeke wat uit my sak hang voel hoe die beskroomdheid my opvreet. Meteens besef ek die ligte het net vir ʼn oomblik afgegaan. ʼn Normale tegniese probleem. Almal weet dit. ʼn Gevoel van verligting, verleentheid en wêreldsmart val oor my en ek draai glimlaggend om en gaan sit weer in my hokkie en vervloek verder die wêreld en sy kroos.

Goed, nou na ek hierdie vernederende staaltjie geuiter het, is minstens nog ʼn uur gemors van my studietyd. 'Procrastination' maak weereens ʼn aap van my vanaand! Daar is nog net agt ure oor voor my volgende riller van ʼn eksamenvraestel en ek weet nog gans en al te min. Ek wens net iemand sal vanaand my tyd in die studiesentrum so opkikker soos ek twee jaar gelede gedoen het. Ek het dit nodig!

Kook en Geniet #2

Ek gaan nie eers probeer nederig wees nie, maar ek is inderdaad ‘n bobaas kok. Ek kan vir ure agter die stoof staan en eienaardige kombinasies kwyt raak. Ek het die afgelope twee dae ‘n storm op gekook. Ek wil baie dankie vir Pieter en Marie sê wat beide opgewonde en braaf genoeg was om al my meesterstukke te beproef. Marie het selfs genoem dat ek genoeg kooktalent besit om iemand se hart oor te wen. Ek gaan nie stry nie.


‘n Sappige stukkie beeshaas met ‘n geel, groen en rooi soetrissie en balsamiese asyn sous. Bedien saam met vars groente en koes-koes.


Kersietamatie, babamurg pampoentjies en olyf pasta.


Bruchetta met basiliepesto, kersietamatie en feta kaas. (My gunsteling!)


Die familie wat my lewe met liefde vul. Piet, Marie, Nino, Gina, Max, Sammy en Molly (Molla’tjie). Ek het bitter baie skindernuus oor hierdie familie, en te min spasie op my blog. So vir meer informasie stuur gerus vir my ‘n e-pos. Marie en Pieter het baie geraamtes in die kas en ek brand om dit te deel met iemand.

Lied vir die hart

Hierdie is sonder geen twyfel my gunsteling ‘song’ en lirieke in die wêreld. Elke woord het soveel mening en is so waar. So as jy hom het, gaan sit hom aan en lees saam...

Stille Waters
Gesing deur Laurika Rauch

JY'T GESÊ ONS LIEFDE SAL BLY STAAN
AL TUIMEL AL DIE BERGE IN DIE OSEAAN
DOEN VIR MY 'N GUNSIE VOOR JY GAAN
GOOI VIR MY 'N KLIPPIE
'N KLIPPIE IN DIE OSEAAN

WIE SAL OOIT DIE LIEFDE KAN VERSTAAN?
NADER AS 'N HARTKLOP, VERDER AS DIE MAAN
DAAR IS 'N TYD VAN KOM, EN 'N TYD VAN GAAN
DIT HET EK GELEES MAAR
HOE SAL EK DIT OOIT VERSTAAN?

EN KYK HOE SAK DIE SEKELMAAN
IN DIE STILLE OSEAAN
STILLE WATERS DIEPE GROND
ONDER DRAAI DIE DUIWEL
ONDER DRAAI DIE DUIWEL ROND

MISKIEN IS LIEFDE NET 'N FANTASIE
DIS NIE ALLES MAANSKYN EN ROSE NIE
JY WAS VIR 'N RUKKIE AAN MY SY
WAS JY NET 'N BIETJIE
NET 'N BIETJIE LIEF VIR MY

MISKIEN IS DAAR 'N PLEK VIR ONS TWEE SAAM
ANDERKANT DIE BERGE VAN DIE MAAN
EN AS DIE MAAN WEER OPKOM SAL EK ONTHOU
EK WAS VIR 'N RUKKIE
OOK 'N BIETJIE LIEF VIR JOU

EN AS DIE MAAN WEER OPKOM SAL EK ONTHOU
EK WAS VIR 'N RUKKIE
OOK 'N BIETJIE LIEF VIR JOU

Ryno’s ‘how to guide’ for curing a broken heart.

Yes, it is inevitable. We will all suffer from a broken heart sooner or later in our lives. After recently having the pleasure of making a new friend who only just suffered a bad breakup, I realized that no one ever really prepares a person to deal with heartache caused by breakups. There is so much you learn from educational establishments but none of them provides a ‘how to guide’ to help you deal with a post-breakup broken heart. I myself have had the honor of being a guest to dwell the lonely and dark quarters of a broken heart. Thus I thought it well to share a few pointers on what got me thru these dark but also very enlightening days.

• First of all, cut all connections with whatever caused you the heartache in the first place. By dwelling around the cause you will constantly be reminded of it thus making it hard to move forward. This means to not speak to, wonder, or ask about the cause.
• Take time to forgive. This is so much harder than you can imagine. It is important to first get rid of all the hate you possess. Hate is a very intense emotion which leads to revenge. Both might seem like solutions at the time but they will only delay you from starting to forgive. And by forgiving you let yourself to be positive again. Forgiveness should also go both ways. It is not only important to forgive others but also yourself. Everybody makes mistakes and you only grow more mature by making them.
• Crying is a wonderful diversion. Allow yourself to cry as much as possible. You’ll soon realize that there are many different variations of crying, each one with a different purpose. There is the ‘passionate cry.’ It comes fast and unannounced and causes your face to automatically crumple up. So much so that some snot will reach your mouth within seconds. It allows you to release all the built up stresses and angst caused by heartache. Next is the ‘self pitying cry’ which can be triggered by your own reflection (whether it is from a mirror, spoon or a photograph). This cry allows you to take a few seconds to first berate then pity yourself. This is then followed by thoughts like, ‘boy that was a bit dramatic’ and you then realize you’re not half as bad as you imagined. This then boosts your confidence. Then there is the ‘sincere cry.’ This cry comes from the heart. It is usually caused when the reality of your situation becomes clear. You realize that no matter how much it hurts, how much you still love, or how big the longing is, you are fully aware that this is what needs to happen. I also call this the ‘bitter-sweet cry’ because when it is over, you actually feel better. So no matter what society dictates, cry when you feel like it. It works!
• Do not rebound! I repeat, do not rebound! There is this widespread myth that by going out and finding a suitable replacement will make one feel much better. When jumping to the next meaningless sexual endeavor you only end up degrading yourself and the sexual connection you once had with the person whom you loved. No matter how successful, attractive or ideal the next suitor may seem, you will constantly compare them and thus not giving the person a fair chance. Always be aware that future relationships and romantic excursions are still to come, just be patient.
• Exercise. Find an activity that you like and allow yourself to do it as much as possible. Endorphins are probably the best thing discovered since sliced bread!
• Always be aware that when suffering from a broken heart no emotion is permanent. There will be days when you will wake and miraculously feel as if all is perfect again. You automatically assume that your heartache is in the past and then go forth with your daily errands. Only to find yet another dose of depression is just lurking around the corner. Be conscious and accept that your emotions are similar to a rollercoaster and that you can go from sad to happy and vice-versa within minutes.
• Speak to your psychologist. They may not have concrete answers but will remind you that you are not the first (or the last) person to suffer from a broken heart. And that all of these bizarre emotions are normal.
• Know that missing the person who caused the heartache does not make you more vulnerable. Allow yourself to enjoy the good times and wonder about the bad times. The fact is that you shared so much with that person and by denying the feelings you had just makes the whole excursion redundant. But beware! There is a difference between nostalgically dwelling in the past and to long for it. It is human nature to remember the good times (and with enough time the bad times also tend to seem good) and you may wonder or doubt the reason you are not with that person anymore. Just always be realistic and remind yourself that there is a good reason things didn’t work out.
• Finally, dwell on your future. By moving to the next phase of your life new hopes and dreams tend to penetrate into your thoughts. This causes you to be optimistic and look forward to something again.

The truth is there is no cure for treating a broken heart. But by learning to be more patient, practicing plenty of self control and adding a lot of time to this equation, you will find yourself recovering and feeling stronger in no time. Good luck and learn to enjoy even a broken heart, for it is a great learning curve!

Laaste rubriek in Kampus Beeld vir 2010

‘Moet nooit spyt wees nie’ is ‘n baie lang sin.

Ek staan nou die dag in ‘n ry op kampus (besig om te kommer oor my volgende toets) en hoor toevallig hoe twee vriendinne gesels. Die meisies verduidelik aan mekaar hoe wonderlik hulle eerste jaar op kampus verloop het. Hulle spog entoesiasties oor hul nuwe vryheid as studente, en ook oor al die skatte wat die jaar voorsien het: splinternuwe motors, eie woonstelle, goeie vriende en ook oulike kerels wat hulle bederf. Ek het die meisies en al hulle geluk stil-stil vervloek, en verder gekommer oor my verpligtinge.

Hierdie jaar was vir my die teenoorgestelde. Hy was gevul met hartseer, verkeerde keuses, finansiële onstabilliteit, en liefdes kwale. Ek het vir dae hierdie meisies beny. Ek het bly wonder waarom my jaar ook nie iets kon wees om oor te spog met ander nie.

Ek het besef my vorige jare as student was ek bederf en onverandwoordelik. Ek het ‘n sorgvrye lewe geleef en het nie in die minste omgegee oor enige iets behalwe my eie bestaan nie. Ek het gemors met finansies, familie, harte, vriende en ook myself.
Dit het my laat besef hoe hierdie jaar nie noodwendig sleg was nie, maar ‘n herinnering dat ek groot geword het. Ja, ek weet elke student skrik as hulle die woorde “groot word” sien. Dit beteken vir baie die einde van hul bestaan. Studente weet met die verloor van hierdie sorgvrye leefstyl kom verandwoordelikheid, finansiële bewustheid en aansienlik minder aande in die square (hierdie mag miskien die moeilikste van almal wees).

Toe ek myself weer toelaat om in een van my vriende se ore te neul oor al my tekortkome, sê hy baie kalm en eerlik vir my: “Dit is hartseer hoe jou jaar vol uitdagings was. Maar jy moes daar deurgaan om te besef hoe waardevol sekere dinge is in die lewe. Jy gaan ook nou twee keer dink voordat jy met ander mors.”

My lewens filosofie was nog altyd om nooit spyt te wees nie. Ek het selfs die woorde “no regrets” op my pols getatoeër (ek het besluit op engels omdat die woorde ‘moet nooit spyt wees nie’ eenvoudig nooit sou pas nie) om my te herinner hiervan. Ek het gereeld gesoek na ‘n antwoord vir al my kwale maar het vergeet om net op my arm te kyk. Ek kan nou terug kyk na al my uitdagings en nie spyt wees oor enige een van hulle nie. Hulle het my gebring tot waar ek nou is.
Sterker, meer volwasse, meer bewus van ander en nog ‘n trappie nader aan my toekomstige lewe. So aan al die studente wat ander se geluk beny en verwens, hou op. Jy maak jouself net moeg. Jou ongeluk is nie ‘n uitgemaakte saak nie. Jou beurt sal weer kom, jy het net nou nodig om bietjie te leer.

Onttrekkings simptome

Ek het vanoggend baie lukraak op hierdie gedig afgekom. Ek weet nie wie hierdie dame is nie maar Sanette, jy praat woord-vir-woord met my siel.

Onttrekkings simptome
Sanette Engelbrecht

My hart het sy punt bereik
waar omdraai ʼn moet is
alvorens my siel
in tyd stil gaan staan
met die wete
dat jy nou weg is.
In vlees dwaal jy hier rond
dwing my tot die afgrond
waar ek na my gesig
in die water staar
wat my al nader trek.
Verby is die nagte
angsbevange natgesweet
wagtend op die dagbreek
wat uitlokkend lag
dit het my weer betrap.
Die nagmerrie was nie ʼn droom nie
en ek nog minder vroom
toe ek maar weer
en weer en weer
jou menswees gelate
teen my hart druk.

Groet as jy my hoor

Die afgelope ruk word ek oorkom met arbitrêre vriendelike waaie. Oral groet mense te gretig terwyl ek verby jaag met my bromponie. Ek waai dan maar ewe verbaas terug maar wonder dan, ‘waarom hierdie skielike bedagsaamheid van die samelewing?’ Ek voel soos die dorp se spesiale kind wat almal altyd groet uit jammerte. Ek bevraagteken en bestudeer my voorkoms by elke verkeerslig opsoek na wat sal ly na die spontane vriendelikheid, maar vind niks nie. Heel ontsteld sit ek dan maar my oorfone weer terug (ek geniet so om kliphard te sing saam met Chirs Cameleon wat speel oor my i-pod. Die akoestiek in my helmet doen wonders vir my stem!) in, vergeet van my dilemma en ry verder om weereens by die volgende draai gegroet te word deur ʼn lukrake spul drywers, voetgangers en vanoggend selfs ʼn Taxi (Ek het nie eens geweet hulle besit enige vermoë van hoflikheid nie).

Maar eers voor ek die storie verder vertel moet ek meer uiter oor my betroubare makker. My Vuka. Ek het haar in my eerste jaar aangeskaf. Sy is nou al saam my deur dik en dun. Die perfekte maat. Ek het by die Vuka winkel ingestap destyds, haar aanskou, en het binne ʼn halfuur by my volgende klas gespog met my splinternuwe ryding. Sy was te ‘smart’! Ek het haar gedoop as Darkey (ek sweer, daar is geen rassistiese bybetekenis agter haar naam nie) en binnekort het ek die hele Pretoria verken met haar aan my sy (of onder my as jy wil spesifiek wees).

Ek het soveel herinnering met haar. Ek onthou een aand, opsoek na avontuur besluit ek om Pretoria beter te leer ken. Vyf ure later sit ek in Midrand. Dit was drie uur die oggend en ek het goed paniekerig geraak. Sy het nie gestop totdat het weer veilig was by my bestemming nie ietwat bewerig maar niks wat suikerwater nie kon stop nie.

Daar was soms tye wat ek skoon vergeet het ek besit haar en sal dan terug na my koshuis stap of ander ry planne maak. Dae het verby gegaan wat ek nie eens besef het sy staan nog alleen op kampus of langs ʼn winkelsentrum êrens nie. Helaas sou ek weer van haar onthou en sal opgewonde haar gaan haal waar sy getrou vir my gewag het.

Ek het ook deur ʼn fase gegaan waar ek vergeet het om die sleutel saam my te neem. Ek sou vergeetagtig die sleutel binne die aansluiter los en my klas gaan bywoon. Dit was totdat ʼn vreemdeling een middag gaaf vir my ʼn kort briefie gelos het. Dit het gelees, “Mnr Ellis (my studente kaart was saam op die sleutelhouer), ek raai aan dat jy in die toekoms jou sleutels uit jou bromponie verwyder. Iemand mag hom dalk net steel. Lekker dag.” Heel verbaas oor die man se eerlikheid onthou ek tot vandag, elke keer om die sleutel saam my te neem. Dankie vreemdeling.

Nou in my derde jaar is sy miskien nie meer so spoggerig en nuut nie, maar sy doen nog haar daad. Ongelukkig was sy vir ʼn paar maande buite werking oor ʼn pap wiel en pap remme. Ek (wat ook ly aan ʼn pap rem) wat nie die verskil tussen ʼn moer en boud ken nie, het haar stil-stil weer vergeet. Dit was totdat my pa onlangs kom kuier het en aangedring het ek my pap rem laat staan en ons my Vuka self regmaak. Ek gaan trek toe gepas aan vir die sessie en smeer myself wit met sonskerm. Binnekort is ek en my pa gretig besig om haar te diens. Met ʼn skroewedraaier in die hand, hard besig om al wat ʼn skroefie is uit te draai, is ek en my pa hard aan die gesels. Paniekerig vra ek my pa of hy gaan onthou waar elkeen hoort en hy stel my tot ruste. Ek glimlag benoud en draai maar verder. Want my pa weet beter. Ons werk vir ure maar ek vat kort-kort pouses waar ek vir ons glase water met suurlemoen skywe gaan haal. My pa vind vir al wat ʼn eensame skroef was weer ʼn plekkie en binne ʼn oogwink is sy weer heel op die pad.

Ek was te bly om weer haar terug te hê in my lewe. En blykbaar ook die res van die wêreld. Waarom sal hulle my so vriendelik groet? Het hulle ons twee so gemis?

Ek het aanhou wonder totdat ek vanoggend kampus toe ry. Met die gejaag uit die deur uit het ek my oorfone agter gelaat en is haastig op Darkey weg. Als het heel vlot verloop totdat ek my eerste linker draai moes vat. Eweskielik gaan my toeter tekere. Ek dink dit is vreemd maar ry verder. Teen die derde linker draai wat my toeter afgaan besef ek iets is nie lekker met my bedrading nie. Meteens besef ek waarom die volk om my aanhoudend groet. Ek vermoed my pa het ʼn skroef misplaas. Verlig dat my voorkoms nie die oorsaak was nie, besluit ek dat die swak bedrading nie ʼn slegte ding is nie. Ek dink ek gaan dit so los. Dit is lekker om heeldag te groet en gegroet te word. Ek dink vandag se beskawing kan doen met ʼn bietjie spontane vriendelikheid. Nou, drie jaar later bring Darkey nie net geluk vir my nie, maar ook aan almal aan my linkerkant.

My drome hou my kalm

My aande is resent oorweldig met salige drome. Vanaf my eie slaapkamer het ek onlangs die toekoms en menigte ander lande besoek. Ek kuier met bekendes en vriende wat ek jare laas gesien het. Elke aand is soos ʼn verassing en ek kan nie wag om my kop neer te lê op my kussing vir my volgende avontuur nie. Hierdie drome is helder en ure nadat ek wakker geword het onthou ek net meer en meer. Die mensdom analiseer hulle drome al vir eeue en ek self het dit begin doen. Waarom het ek hierdie skielike duidelike drome? En waarom onthou ek hulle so goed? Ek het sover tot die slotsom gekom dat dit my manier is van wegbreek van die realiteit van ons wêreld. My hele lewe is ek ʼn optimistiese siel (dus ook naïef) en het gedink die wêreld is net goed. Alles is swart en wit. Ek hoef net terug te sit en te geniet. Wat ʼn ontnugtering toe ek besef dit is nie die geval nie. Dit was ʼn bitter pil om te sluk toe ek besef die wêreld het baie gruis dele. Ek sukkel tot vandag toe nog om sekere goed op hierdie aarde te aanvaar. Ek besef nou eers op die ouderdom van 23 dat daar ongelooflike baie goed is wat my kan kwaad maak. Ek het ook dus besef my blog is ʼn heerlike manier om ontslae te raak van hierdie aggressie wat die wêreld en die mense daarop in my opwek. Ek gaan dus nou begin kla. So aan al my sensitiewe lesers, draai julle skerms. Ek gaan ʼn paar sake noem wat my bloeddruk die dak laat opstyg:

• Leuens. Hierdie saak maak my spesifiek woedend. Ek verstaan dat die moderne samelewing baie van jou vereis. Sosiale druk maak mense soms selfbewus oor jou eie sinnelose bestaan. Maar dit is geen, maar geen rede om ʼn leuen te vertel nie. Nie eers ʼn wit ene nie! Gebruik dit eerder as ʼn talent en skryf ʼn storieboek. Jy is daar geensins beperk om te lieg nie. Maar moet dit nie in jou alledaagse lewe gebruik nie. Wees opreg en trots oor jouself en wat jy tot dusver behaal het!
• Lui wees. Hierdie is ʼn spesie wat ons aarde besoedel. Ek kan dit nie verdra as mense hulle pligte oordra aan ander nie. Ons almal is op hierdie aarde gemaak om te doen wat jy moet doen. As jy dus jou verpligtinge oordra na ander veroorsaak jy dat die mense om jou tam en moedeloos raak. Hulle verwens jou ook in die geheim. So hou op om lui te wees en doen wat van jou verwag word.
• Ek het al vroeër my mening gelig oor hierdie saak maar ek sal net gou weer dit noem. Mense wat aanhoudend praat. Julle benadeel nie net julself nie maar ook almal wat vir julle moet luister. Praat, gee kans, haal asem (jy mag net dalk nog breinselle verloor met die tekort aan suurstof) en leer luister! Jy mag net dalk agterkom jy weet nie alles nie.
• Hierdie is baie gemik op die moderne generasie. Jou foon is vir jou persoonlike gebruik. Probeer asseblief om snaakse sms’ies (of e-possies), oulike prentjies en musiek vir jouself te hou. Ons almal het fone en het dit tien-teen-een al gesien of gehoor.
• Ek is nog nie klaar met hierdie saak nie. Hy gaan heelwat gepaard met my vorige een. Musiek... Dit is heerlik. Ons weet. Maar kies asseblief die tyd beter om dit te deel met iemand. Dit is glad nie lekker om by ʼn restaurant te sit en iemand pluk hulle foon uit om die nuutste treffer te deel met almal nie. Boonop sal hulle almal aan tafel laat stilbly sodat ons moet luister. Dit is ongeskik en net irriterend! Hou op.
• Laastens, en die Bybel stem selfs saam met my oor hierdie saak. Skinder. Dit is onaanvaarbaar. Ek kan vreeslike uitbrei oor die wat skinder. Maar al wat ek net gaan sê (vir nou), is dat dit nie op hierdie aardbol hoort nie. Niemand ken ʼn ander nie so hou jou mond oor hulle sake. Werk eerder aan jou eie tekortkominge.

Sjoe, wat ʼn mondvol! Dit voel soos ʼn berg van my skouers af. Ek dink die wêreld en sy mense het nog baie om te leer (ek insluitend!). Totdat ons van beter weet sal ek maar net aanhou slaap en droom van ʼn beter tyd en plek. Dit is ʼn lekker wegbreekkans vanaf ons absurde bestaan.

My teenage relief

Dawson’s Creek has always been a part of my life. I first started watching it while I was in High school and I have been a religious follower ever since. Yes, I know I’ve heard all of the jokes so spare me. While traveling Europe I came across this soppy teen box set. After watching the first season I made it my soul purpose to purchase every single season. And what a wonderful purchase it was. I watched season-after-season balling my eyes out (Jen’s death in the end gets to me every time!). I absolutely love the optimistic views to love, friendship and live. Ironically I’ve never been a big fan of the Dawson, Joe and Pacey triangle but I’ve always found myself identifying with Jack and Jen (I know big surprise!) So my recent visit home, after many dramatic changes in my life, I’ve once again grabbed at my six-box set with the hope to find some answers. Yes, I’ve actually joined a group on Facebook saying, ‘I believe all the answers in life lies in a Dawson’s Creek episode.” The last couple of days I’ve been stuck to my laptop’s screen pondering my own existence while… sobbing my eyes out (don’t judge!). I love it.

This teenage soppy series has encouraged me to share with you guys my 5 most inspiring quotes from Dawson’s Creek:

1.“I want you to love to the tips of your fingers and when you find that love wherever you find it, whoever you choose don't run away from it. But you don't have to chase it either. You just be patient and it will come to you…” (Jen)

2.“I'm scared that I'm going to end up alone. I'm scared that I'm always going to be somebody's friend, or brother, or confidant, never quite somebody's everything.” (Jack)

3.“Well, it’s like a best friend, but more. It’s the one person in the world that knows you better than anyone else. It’s someone who makes you a better person. Actually, they don’t make you a better person; you do that yourself because they inspire you. A soul mate is someone who you carry with you forever. It’s the one person who knew you and accepted you and believed in you before anyone else did or when no one else would. And no matter what happens, you’ll always love that person. Nothing can ever change that." (Dawson) ***

4.“What's real -it terrifies all of us. If you think that anything of any value in this world comes at an easier price - you’re wrong.” (Jen)

5."I want you to spend a lot of time at the ocean because it makes you dream.” (Jen)

I now leave you all with this thought, [he screams in a shrill but desperate voice] WHY DOES JEN HAVE TO DIE IN THE END!?

Maak jou ore oop!

Net ’n kort gedagte...

Aan al die wat on ophoudend praat. Die babbel-bekke van ons tyd. Julle besoedel ons kosbare aarde met julle sinnelose inligting. Om vir julle te luister is sieldodend. Julle is gans en al te gewoond om julle stemme te hoor eggo oor enige onderwerp wat bestaan. Julle neem selfsugtig die aandag wat beter benut kan word op ander dele van hierdie planeet. Deur om konstant te neul, preek of oordeel neem julle ook die kans om te leer van ander. Julle weet ongelukkig nie alles nie.

So ek vra net: Hou op! Bly stil! Leer luister. Om te luister is soms soveel meer verrykend.

Hierdie is op niemand spesifiek gemik nie maar as jy voel jy kan identifiseer met een van die bogenoemde, vat asseblief iets van hierdie stukkie.
Dit is al vir nou.

Disintegration of my ego

So the last couple of weeks I’ve realized that future job opportunities wasn’t just going to fall into my lap. And I decided to finally bite the metaphorical bullet and recently started sending out a couple of my feature articles to various magazines and internet sites. Being the young and naive enthusiast I anxiously waited for their responses. And it was to no avail... Their reactions were much more honest than what I anticipated. This completely bruised my thin-skinned ego.
One magazine editor in particular smugly pointed out that my article was way too short for his magazine and that it was lacking depth. Thank you very much (insert sarcasm). These two frank comments would shatter my artistic essence which resulted in myself even doubting my ability to write an e-mail to friends, let alone a whole article!

You see, my self confidence tends to ebb and flow like the tides of the ocean (deep enough!?). My ever-so-sensitive ego has a tendency to feel whatever energy I’m fed from the outside world (Oooo, this ones nice!). No seriously, I remember last year I was working for a newspaper. It was an amazing experience. I felt so powerful with my newly gained status as a journo and the free stuff was nothing more than brilliant. After applying for an editors position and feeling confident about it, I was denied the opportunity. This completely shattered my self worth. I even protested one evening by getting drunk and taking part in many risky (but also very memorable) drunken, self pitying and rather vandalising activities (you don’t want to know). For months after the incident I pretended to not care but deep inside I had lost all faith in my abilities as a journo. Only now, almost a year after the whole debacle I fully understand how the person that was chosen was much more experienced than I would’ve ever been. It was a long road but I’ve grown from it. But will I ever grow from this editor’s shocking comments? It was only when two friends recently contacted me that I realised my uncreative streak would come to an abrupt end.

The first was Dolly. Now to all my English readers, I’ve previously blogged about Dolly and will most probably write about her in the future. She is an acquaintance who I met by chance in our first year at varsity. Since then I have randomly bumped into her on campus with frequent, but brief encounters. Recently, after knowing each other for more than three years, Dolly (who has proudly since become a very wise, and saucy mother) thought it well to take our friendship to another level. And boy am I happy! I received a call from her the other day wanting to know where I’ve been lately. She hasn’t seen me in my usual spot in the library and was worried. We briefly chatted and I told her about my bruised ego. Her response to my egotistical-white-bourgeois situation was to start gardening! And then her airtime ran out which left me nagging to a telephone dial. Despite the lack of creative effort to solve my problem, it is very comforting to know that someone, somewhere out there realised that I was absent. They even cared enough to use their last bit of airtime to call and make sure I was fine. What an amazing feeling!

The other was a friend who just knew how to boost my ego. My ex-flatmate and also best friend, Stephan just reminded me that even though I might not always feel it, I am in-deed a creative soul. You know, one of those who sips wine wile judgmentally comments on other’s writing. It may sometimes be a burdening to poses such talent but I will believe, that in time I will prevail (whoa, their goes my ego again!).

This was just a small reminder that life will sometimes get you down. Your ego will take a tumble from time-to-time. It is natural and even healthy. It doesn’t matter how hard you may take it (it is now obvious that I take it like a girl), you should always remember that there will be a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. You just need to remember what you are capable of to get there sooner. Good luck to everybody with this task.

Pussy Cats

Just like food and babies, I absolutely detest it when people post hundreds of dull photos of their animals on the net. And yes, even though this might be boring and even stereotypically gay to some, I am dedicating this post to my two cats, Chelsea-Grace & Bella. Deal with it Nanna! Its my blog and I believe you only live once, so embrace the gems that you have.

The ever looming relationship status

I anxiously log onto my profile. My time is finally here! I bid a last parting snarl to my ever looming ‘single’ status. My mind dwells from my profile for a second and I ponder: Am I too hasty? But, this feels right. He must be the one. We have so much in common. Is everyone going to think were moving too fast? To hell with what they think, I love him. Yes, I’m totally in love with him. It just feels right. This means it must be right. No, why am I even doubting myself? This is right! My focus draws back to my profile. I change my status. I am now officially in ‘a relationship.’ This is so exciting. I can’t wait for this journey to begin...

You see, after many years of reading about it, seeing it on television (I totally blame Grease for my warped expectations with love!) and I’ll even confess of daydreaming about it, I finally came across my first relationship. It started out much like many of those I fantasized about... It came unexpectedly. Spontaneity was very important to me. I never wanted to pursue my first love. I wanted it to come to me at the right time. And this time was around December. We met at a Christmas party. His confidence immediately caught my attention. After randomly talking I discovered we were from the same town. ‘Big deal’ you might think. But knowing how small and unknown this minute town was, you would’ve also been surprised to meet any other person from there. Not even to mention another gay chap. Pretty soon the flirting started and continued thru the evening. I played a little hard to get and he willingly humored it. I was smitten for his charm. We kept in touch after the party and started dating. After only a few dates we were both completely gaga about each other. I remember one evening in particular, after having dinner in Brooklyn he insisted on opening the car door before getting in himself. I was completely in awe of this unknown display of small-town-gentleman-like behavior. I knew at once that this man was destined for me. Needles to say, that evening after countless of hours of candlelit kissing, I asked him if he would do me the honor of being my boyfriend. Yes, I know, we small town boys are romantic like that! The next morning I couldn’t wait to finally change my status on Facebook to, ‘In a relationship.’

Finally it was here! All those hours of fantasizing about my first love had paid off. I remember those December holidays being wonderful. Total bliss. The summer heat, holidays and my new hunky boyfriend. Now when I was planning my first familiarity with love I had always imagined myself to being cool, calm and collected when it happens. This was not the case. At all! What was really happening was what I’d like to call, ‘newbie overload syndrome.’ I will describe this foreign term now. This phrase takes place when a newbie (what I call people who are new to dating), like myself, is overwhelmed with immense amounts of ecstasy that is generated from love. This complete overload of endorphins causes delirium and makes rational thinking only a mere notion. This irrational thoughts mixed with a naive love-struck teenager and a dash of summer heat results, disaster! But why care? I was in love. After declaring our undying love we moved in together, spent every waking second with each other and even introduced our parents to one and other. This happened over a period of three months. All the while rarely giving any attention to ourselves, our passions or our friends. Our love became suffocating. But who cared? We were in love!

It wasn’t long before the ‘love high’ subsided. The crash to reality was a hard blow. His insecurities troubled me more each day. His bad habits aggravated me. And I frequently cursed at him for leaving his shoes all over our living room floor. I soon realized that things might have moved too fast. I didn’t recognize the guy I was dating and could barely recognize myself. Although I loved him very much, I knew that we were very different. But still, the fighter in me wouldn’t give up and I would make this relationship work and prove both to myself and all those who doubted us wrong. This was a mistake. My relationship then became a chore, an occupation that I disliked.

Soon our once happy relationship became hostile. I became a person that took pleasure of pointing out all of his faults. I would jump at every occasion to show him that he’s not good enough for me and that I deserved better. Fighting became part of our daily routine. I broke up with him almost on a weekly basis threatening to leave. I vaguely remember uttering the words ‘hate’ a few times. It tore him apart. Afterwards the guilt came. I resented myself for hurting such an amazing, caring person. I would then beg him for forgiveness and then promise to be better. Although he forgave me, it never got better. For some reason we both clung to a destructive relationship, hoping to be better. But things had to change...

My first relationship was nothing like I fantasized. Nowadays, with my Facebook status to no avail, bragging being ‘single’ again, I fondly look back at my first relationship. It was a cold reminder of reality.

Although it wasn’t all filled with heartache, I still feel guilty. Not only because of all the things said, but because of not being more patient and allowing myself to enjoy the moments. There are many things I would change about my first encounter with love but like a good friend reminded me after we broke up, “If there is one good thing that came from this, it is that you’ve learned a great amount. And if you didn’t, then you really are an idiot!”

Sucker for spring!

In the midst of winter now officially being a vague memory I thought of sharing one of my most favourite souvenirs of spring. The Brunfelsia pauciflora! Yes, I know you’re all probably asking, what the? It is more commonly known as the ‘Yesterday-today-and-tomorrow.’ With help from my good old friend, Google, I will share a bit more about this striking flowering shrub.

Not only are they stunning to look at, but they are a happy reminder of winter’s absence. This plant only blooms in the springtime and the distinct fragrance that lingers (which is orgasmic to the nose!) is a happy reminder that summer is just lurking around the corner. The name yesterday-today-and-tomorrow is cleverly derived from the flower’s three day existence. With the flowers opening purple (yesterday), then turning pale lavender the next day (today) and then finally white (tomorrow), these short-lived wonders brings great joy to the earth’s dwellers. Although this beautiful plant may feel to many South-Africans as being proudly South-African it is actually Brazil who borrowed us this jewel.

Now, I leave you all with this small task: Go out NOW! wherever you are, whatever you may be doing and go outside, find a Brunfelsia pauciflora, take a whiff and enjoy!