Foschini Fail

To Mr AD Murray (Foschini CEO)

In the recent run-up to Christmas I spent quite a lot of time doing what every girl loves – shopping. It all started at Menlyn Shopping Centre at the beginning of December when my sister and I stumbled across the most beautiful baby doll negligee I have ever seen. I was absolutely amazed!

I have a severe fetish when it comes to lingerie and really struggle to walk away from something that I like!

In a frantic rush, rivalled only by that of women at a Boxing Day sale, I clambered over my sister to find one in my size, and I must just add that at that point I would have paid any ridiculous amount for it, only to find out that they didn’t even have my size!

After a momentary lapse into a near suicidal depression I realized with glee (thanks to my sister) that ‘Foschini’s is a franchise store and I would be able to find the cute ensemble at any ‘Foschini’s in South Africa. And on that note my day’s shopping came to an end.

Since then I have been to five different outlets (including going all the way to Secunda and George) in the hopes of finding it. To my utter dismay, I cannot find it anywhere. And when I did eventually find one my size (in Secunda, can you believe?!?) it had holes in the material and the padding of the bra was completely screwed up.

I hate to complain, but seriously, this is absolutely ridiculous. Is it truly possible for all your stores to be so completely incompetent? Is it possible that none of your stores can have stock of it? And if you do wish to have such an absurdly under stocked store couldn’t you at least have an online store so that I could order it in my size? 

Well, I have now given up on trying to find my sexy little baby doll lingerie and due to the complete incompetence of your stores and some extremely rude shop assistants I must say, my faith in the ‘Foschini’s name brand is lower than ever.

So before you lose any more potential clients I suggest that you hire someone who can actually do their job and get adequate amounts of the latest stock. I also suggest that your staff be hired by someone else who understands that potential clients should be treated with respect and friendliness instead of a self-absorbed, lazy assistant who couldn’t even bother to check whether there was any more stock coming in in the near future.

And if you can’t find someone who can do the job properly, don’t even bother stocking your stores because there is nothing in ‘normal-human-size’ anyway.

If you are at all concerned about me, as a potential client, please could you inform me of a proper ‘Foschini’s so that I may find this particular item, if not, I’m sure I can find something similar on the internet anyway.

I look forward to a speedy reply.

Katherine McGinn

Unhappy Client

Avid Blogger

Christmas 2012

And so, with the fading chords of another Christmas carol, this very special family day draws to a close. Full stomach, droopy eyes and completely satisfied taste buds remind me of my complete over-indulgence of our truly amazing meal and as the sun fades I feel my heart swell full of love for my family, my skin rejoice at the feel of the fresh cool of the evening light and my belly stretch to cope with the increased intake as I realise that once again my eyes became too big for my tummy.

Yes, another amazing day.

I think back to the early hours of the day. Woken up at the crack of dawn by my own excitement, followed by making coffee in bed for my parents and then my favourite; presents! This may seem a bit shallow, but let me quickly explain something to you all. Last year for Christmas I found my sister the ultimate gift and I knew from the moment I bought it that she was going to adore it. As she opened it and found her very own strawberry milkshake coloured Stellenbosch hoodie, she squealed and came bounding across the room and into my arms.

Her joy at the simple gift made me realize just how well I know her and just how much her reaction meant to me. Seeing that pure emotion made me see just how special it is to be able to buy the people you love gifts that bring them so much happiness.

My reason for loving the present opening ceremony is not only because I love being spoilt rotten but also because I love seeing the reactions to the gifts that I have bought for my special family.

Later, while lying on the beach, soaking up the sun and working on my tan, I thought back to this little family ceremony of ours and couldn’t help but giggle out loud. I was really spoilt this year, I really and truly was and it seems as if everyone enjoyed their presents. But the funny part was, as usual, my Teddy Bear’s (stepdad’s) comments throughout. He has the ability to make completely ludicrous and inappropriate comments whilst simultaneously making me want to shoot him in the face and roll on the floor laughing my head off.

I got beautiful messages from family and friends wishing me a Merry Christmas as well as the usual broadcast messages from people I never even speak to. I got amazing presents. I learnt how to cook a turkey. I got some special moments with my family. And as if that wasn’t enough I got completely awesome food just to top it off. And yet my favourite moment of my entire day is right now.

As I lie here typing on my laptop, listening to music on a sound system I got from my parents, I am joined by my two very favourite people on the planet. My sister lies next to me, cuddled up into a ball with her head resting gently on my shoulder and my sunburnt little brother lies next to her snoring as loudly as his little lungs can manage. Yes, this is my Christmas and I have enjoyed every second of it.

So to all of you, I wish only the best of Christmas wishes. I hope that your day is as special as mine and I hope that those of you spending it with family take a moment to realize how lucky you are to be surrounded by the people you love because it is a privilege that we often take for granted but a privilege nonetheless.

Boycotting the Propaganda

The holidays have arrived, bringing with it way too much food, chocolate and a near torturous amount of time with the family. And then there is the inevitable religious propaganda; from Christmas carols to washing cutlery and crockery on the beach, December brings together all kinds of traditions, most of which are based in religion.

This makes it difficult for the rest of us, because while we may love to get caught up in the festivities that this time of the year brings, we don’t have anything to base it on, but does this really mean that we should skip out on family time, delicious traditional foods and showing our appreciation by buying those we love little (or not so little) presents?

Well, the other day my sister and I were dragged, rather unwillingly, to a carol service. I managed to convince myself it wouldn’t be that bad because I love music, especially when it’s performed live and I’d already been informed that one of the singers had an amazing voice.

Admittedly, the music was good, and the relief I felt when someone brought out a trumpet was unsurpassable. Also, the singer happened to be amazing and her voice reminded me of the likes of Sarah McLachlan. So not all bad then.

I also told myself that it would just be carols and not much preaching.

I couldn’t have been more horrified when the preacher went on for what felt like an age about God, the bible and Jesus, all in Afrikaans.

For two hours I sat there feeling completely out of my depth.

And then, right when I thought that I had wasted a perfectly good evening, when I could have just stayed at home and put some of Sarah’s hits on, some Afrikaans oomie with a ‘Mr McCarthy’ moustache came on stage. Well, knock me over with a feather, this guy could sing. And I don’t mean that semi-pleasurable kind of singing. I mean that goosebumps running up the back of your neck kind of singing.

So not a complete fail of an evening then.

But still, I don’t see why on earth I should have to attend a Christmas carol evening, in order to enjoy Christmas. I mean if it hadn’t been for Mr Goosebumps’ amazing voice that evening would have completely ruined my Christmas spirit. So if I just want to pick a random day and use it to give my super awesome sisterling presents then who are you to tell me that I may not?

I am boycotting religion this Christmas… because I can!

 

Family Man

I doubt that any man ever questioned my dad’s intelligence. His methods, maybe. His parenting skills, well hell, I was pretty convinced he didn’t have any for a while. But his intelligence? No.

At my dad’s memorial service a lot of people got the chance to express their opinions about him. His oldest friends spoke of a man I knew very little about; a younger, more care free version of my dad. But still they spoke of his intelligence. His newer friends spoke of the pure success of my father and also his keen intellect. My dad was a successful man; an opportunist.

And us? Well, we spoke of all his little habits, all the things that we teased him about, all the things that we knew we’d miss the most; sayings, songs and irritating little tendencies. And for ten months now I have only been missing those things.

That was until the other day.

I was sitting in our old ‘ska donkla’ of a bakkie, next to my mom. We were rattling up and down over the dust road that leads to Komati Gorge, the lodge my dad and my step-mom created. As usual my mom and I chattered away happily. I didn’t tell her, but I think she knew that I was a little apprehensive about heading back there, after all this farm was as close to a home as I ever got.

Having divorced parents who share custody and being in boarding school isn’t exactly conducive to getting settled in.

This farm was my dad’s creation and a huge part of him went into making this lodge the beautiful, successful haven that it is.

But as we rounded the last corner, and I saw the lodge buildings surrounded by green grass and beautiful flower beds gently scattered around the river and the trout dam, I caught my breath. It was just as stunning as ever. I knew then I had nothing to fear.

The lodge is now run by two wonderful managers and we hardly ever come here anymore, but there are still traces of our family. Family photos on the walls, our dogs’ paw prints in the concrete, my step-mom’s amazing ability to match colours and textures. It took a trip back here for me to realize that this farm was a huge part of my life, and I had missed it.

Not only was this farm home but in every building, every dam and every flower bed I can see the pure genius that was my dad. Each little bit of this farm holds a memory for me; a memory of my dad, of our family.

Because he was, in his own kind of way, a brilliant man, a family man.

Cyber Sexy

Help! We are under attack. The cyber world has taken over!

Sounds like some hill-billy Amish woman who has just found out that her son has a cell phone (if you can still call a Nokia 3310 a cell phone) and is now freaking out because she thinks her son has some disease. But no, this time it is from me, who happens to be typing this on a new computer and publishing it on the internet.

Generally I am very pro-technology. I love that I can research different countries from the comfort of my bed and contact friends in other countries, but due to certain events in the past week or so I must say I am completely against the idea of ‘cyber-love’.

About a week ago some random guy invited me on Facebook. Uncharacteristically I decided to accept the invite seeing as the guy was from Stellenbosch and I may have met him out one night and due to my drunken state forgotten about it. I was expecting that, as with most Facebook ‘friends’, that he’d probably stalk my profile once and I’d never hear about it again.

Unfortunately not. For an entire week I have been dealing with constant messages asking personal questions that quite frankly I don’t care to answer. And that’s not even the worst part. He’s not even a first year yet. As if I want to deal with the crap of some younger guy who spent his entire matric vacation texting me like some stupid love sick puppy. I mean really?

And then he had the audacity to ‘like’ a photo of me that was taken about four years ago. Seriously dude, get a life!

Then, as if I wasn’t irritated enough already, a friend of mine went out one night and his friend decided it was a good idea to message me off my mates phone. I didn’t think much of it, until he asked me what I was wearing and for photos. How nauseating. As if I want to deal with pathetic, pig-headed, sex-obsessed assholes like that? Did he really think that I was going to strip down and send him porno shots?

I mean really!

Now, I am pretty much addicted to my phone. I love being able to stay in contact with my mates and get hold of them whenever I need to. But that is where the addiction ends. I do not want to form cyber-friendships or get to know someone via some pathetic social network. Getting to know someone is something that has to be done in person.

Anyone who doesn’t see that is in my opinion completely pathetic and neigh on being psychopathic.

So if you’re hoping for some free porn or wanting some cyber attention because you have no life DO NOT text me!

By the way, if you’re a friend and looking to chat, I won’t have signal for a week so don’t bother either.

My First Ever Thanksgiving

With every passing day in a place as vibrant and colourful as Stellenbosch I meet new people, see new faces and interact with cultures, races and beliefs that are very different from my own. Some of these people I meet once and never see again, some of them I bump into on campus every now and again but others wiggle their way into a very special place in my heart.

Tonight I celebrated my first ever Thanksgiving. It was a completely new experience and I wasn’t sure of what to expect but I knew that I was going to be surrounded by friends, so I wasn’t too worried. One of the traditions of Thanksgiving is to share with your fellow diners something that you are grateful for before the big feast.

I looked back on 2012 and what it has held for me. It has been an extremely busy year and a lot of things have happened, I’ve had amazing experiences and heart-shattering moments. I have laughed and cried and danced my way through a torrent of other emotions. I have a lot to be thankful of. But the thing that stuck out for me the most was the friends that I made and the friends I held close this year.

As with any hobby, SCUBA diving has opened up a world of new people and experiences for my indulgence. Recently I went on a week-long diving trip to Aliwal Shoal, a dive site near Umkomaas which is just south of Durban. I was a little apprehensive as I only knew two of the people going on the trip but have wanted to dive this particular site since I first fell passionately in love with diving.

After about five minutes of being surrounded by these people I was wondering to myself why on Earth I had ever been worried.

 After a week of diving, drinking and lazing around in the sun I had made some of the most amazing friendships anyone could ever have asked for. These are the people who have exposed me to my first ever Thanksgiving and although it is an American holiday I cannot think of a better tradition than one that makes us realise just how lucky we are. So I must give thanks to all the people who have come in and out of my life this year.

And as the end of the year approaches and goodbyes become inevitable I can’t think of a better time to say thank you and goodbye to some very special people in my life. To Brittany and Monique who are leaving the country tomorrow, I must say thank you for exposing me to your cultures and beliefs, I must thank you for the laughter and memories that we have shared and I truly am grateful for your influence on my life, even if it was short.

To my roommate, I know I will still see you in the new year even if we will no longer be roommates but I need to say thank you for a truly amazing year. You have been there every step of the way this year, guiding me and helping me through one of the most difficult years of my life. I must have been hell to live with this year and yet you were always the perfect flatmate. Thank you.

I hate goodbyes and I’ve never been good at them. The thought of not seeing someone who has largely influenced your life is truly terrifying, but there comes a time when you have to part ways. That doesn’t mean that the influence that person had on you should be left behind however. So as people come and go in your life always remember the things they have taught you.

Lastly I must thank all the people who are not leaving. Thank you for making what could have been the most disastrous year of my life, not only bearable but rather, completely fantastic. I love and appreciate every single one of you.

And on that note I will say Happy Thanksgiving, give thanks for being happy.  

Life's Magical Moments

It really upsets me that no matter how many times I watch or read the fifth Harry Potter, Sirius Black always dies. And Cedric Diggory always dies in the fourth one. And no matter what I do, that stupid Umbridge woman always irritates the hell out of me. There must be some way that I can change it. Maybe if I read it one more time? Or watch a different recording? Well, the truth of the matter is I can’t change it, no matter what.

The thing is though, no matter how many times I end up crying my eyes out because Sirius dies, or end up gritting my teeth every time Umbridge opens that horrible mouth of hers, all these things make the Harry Potter series what it is, and that is TRULY AMAZING!!

I know there are stacks of people out there that hate Harry Potter and that think it’s childish and pathetic but there are also tonnes of people who have grown up wishing their lives were a scene from Harry Potter and I am pretty sure that my sister and I aren’t the only ones who nearly jumped off the top of a building when we didn’t receive a letter from Hogwarts at the age of eleven.

Quite frankly I don’t really understand why there aren’t more Harry Potter fans in the world. I can’t quite comprehend what kid wouldn’t become truly obsessed with the idea of magic and dragons, spells, witches and wizards.

As I got older I started to realize that it was all fictional and that magic didn’t exist but that didn’t stop me from enjoying the stories and loving the characters. Then, at the beginning of this year the most amazing thing happened. A friend of mine and I were at a typical feedlot party and were chatting in the kitchen when me, being the cluts that I am, knocked over my wine glass and it broke into tonnes of little pieces.

Ok, yes, nothing exciting about that, but as we were cleaning it up he found the most amazing shard of glass, shaped EXACTLY like the lightning bolt on Harry’s head. As both of us are completely nuts about the books we got super-excited about it and decided to put it somewhere safe for the remainder of the evening. However, we managed to break it in our slightly inebriated states.

Now, I know the whole concept of magic is fictional and all and no I’m not delusional, but I must say that seeing that tiny shard of glass did give me some sort of unreasonable joy. Maybe there is a certain kind of magic in life. Maybe there are moments in life which can be truly magical. Maybe, just maybe.

And if my only reason for watching Harry Potter is so that I can hold my little shard of belief in magic then so be it. Besides, it’s great for the procrastinating mind.

Welcome to Hell: AKA The Dating World

The life of being in a full-time, serious relationship is scary. There are so many things that you have to remember and a slight variation to the most perfectly, beautiful sentence can land you up in the dog box for an eternity. It’s scary and demanding and never-ending. But there is something far scarier, and that is being in the dating world.

It sounds pretty awesome. You get to go out with whoever you want to go out with and you can go wherever you want. You’re constantly meeting new people and experiencing new things. It sounds like the dream, what people forget to mention is the aching nausea that comes with meeting someone new, and the painful bruises as you try to do whatever it is your date has decided is appropriate, and that dull laugh in the back of your mind as you slowly realise that the person sitting opposite you is a complete freak.

Yeah, the dating game is HIGHLY over-rated.

This year I have been lucky enough to be exposed to the worst possible dates your mind could ever dare to conjure up. From being stranded in Hout Bay to having a lap-dance in Mavericks from some girl who was way too excited by the prospect of showing me her girly parts, I have seen it all this year.

It all started about mid-February when my boyfriend and I broke up. I was shoved back into the dating world and was nowhere near ready for it. After months of convincing myself that men are evil I finally agreed to go out with another guy. And to my utter surprise I actually enjoyed myself. I was sitting on the grass of a gorgeous wine farm, lazily drinking away as I watched a stream trickle by with a seemingly nice guy.

Based on the success of the first date I decided it couldn’t be too bad. That was until I found myself sitting in a stunning little restaurant in Hout Bay silently wishing to be anywhere other than where I was as my date caused an absolute scene about his food and the service and all sorts of other minor things. As I sat there in complete shock, I watched my only lift back to Stellenbosch throw a tantrum, get up, walk out and drive away leaving me in a town I do not know with a restaurant full of eyes peering at me and the bill.

This was followed by a series of secret crushes on friends until the end of the semester. And then, out of nowhere this REALLY good-looking guy started chatting to me over various social networks. I had met him a couple times and he seemed like a decent guy but generally guys who are that good-looking are a waste of time so I hadn’t given it much thought, however after a month and a half of texting I was more than a little excited to get back to Stellenbosch.

Boy, oh boy, was I in for a surprise.

For months I was strung along on little glimmers of hope followed by deathly silence only to see that tiny little glimmer again. When I eventually realised he wasn’t actually interested, it was already far too late. I had embarrassed myself to the end of the world and back for months on end, and I was not proud. And so, with my self-esteem at a new all-time low, and my tail tucked between my legs, I went back to the drawing board. There had to be a solution to this never ending series of self-abuse.

Bad date followed bad date and the good dates ended with pathetic sentences I always thought I’d only hear in movies until eventually something snapped and I realised I was fighting a losing battle. In one final attempt to replenish my belief in love I started dating a guy I had known since I first moved to Stellenbosch. I was convinced that it was going well when one evening while sitting on my little veranda, sipping at a glass of wine and listening to him playing guitar reality struck yet again and my little fantasy was broken. As I watched another man leave my life I decided in disgust that enough was enough.

And so with my tail still firmly between my legs I’ll disappear into the cosmos until such a time as I have the energy to deal with the unrelenting heart-break that is the world of dating.

Ignorantly Sharing Ignorance

My sister is probably the most highly-opinionated person I know and as if that wasn’t bad enough already she’s also stubborn as hell. Only this morning, she reminded me just why it is that I would hate to get onto the wrong side of an argument with her. Don’t get me wrong, I have a lot of respect for my sister. I think she has grown into a beautiful young woman and I couldn’t be more proud to call her my sister.

But DAMN!!! Don’t fight with that chick… EVER!

Heather and I text regularly and my days are not the same without our little conversations. They are always humorous and I often find myself wondering at the complete inappropriateness of her jokes but we have a strict “No Judgement” policy so I generally end up laughing instead of worrying about her mental health.

This morning, in one of our little chats she didn’t fail to provide the usual entertainment when she brought up the topic of something one of her grade 8’s was talking about. In this particular conversation the young woman was speaking about the South African political climate and was desperately trying to prove to everyone present that she was a devout ANC supporter.

Basically her opinion amounted to these concepts:

·         Without the ANC we would still be living in Apartheid

·         Everyone against the ANC believes in Apartheid

·         And that she hopes the DA fails

Now, apart from the obvious deficiency of knowledge in her small little grade 8 mind, this still shocked me. I’m pretty sure that there are a few old oomies on farms in towns no one knows about that still believe in the concept of Apartheid and would love for it to come back but I’m also pretty sure that the majority of South Africans are completely repulsed by the concept altogether. And yet many of us nonbelievers do not support the ANC and nowhere on the DA agenda does it mention anything even slightly apartheid like and I’m pretty sure that goes for most of the other political parties.

Her complete ignorance astounded me, even for her age.

The other thing I noticed was that she was so proud to be an ANC supporter. I find it relatively amusing because the fact that she is going to Uplands College, an upper-class, private school on the outskirts of White River, means that her parents are wealthy. This means that they probably do not rely on the government for housing and food, unless of course her parents work in government or are tenderpreneurs.

Either way, it means that they have either benefitted personally from the ANC or are completely ambivalent to whether the ANC delivers on their promises or not. And I think we can all agree that the ANC is NOT delivering.

Anyway, to get back to my story and this is the amusing part, because upon hearing this loud-mouthing of completely idiotic opinions my sister decided to take action and after deciding that this girl was too stupid to waste a proper political debate on, my sister merely told her to shut up and do some reading. I’m not entirely sure what happened after that but I’m pretty sure that anyone facing my sister in this situation would have shut-the-hell-up and ran to their room to phone mommy. And if she did dare to face my sister then I know from experience that she is currently sitting in her room crying her eyes out wishing she had done some research before making a complete idiot of herself.

It paints a lovely picture, doesn’t it?

I thought it was hilarious and laughed for what seemed like an age, but something about the story was haunting my mind.

Is this complete fear of Apartheid and the major lack in education the only reason why the ANC is still in power? It would make a lot of sense. I have been wondering for years now why it is that people continue to vote for this corrupt government even though they continually disappoint. This seems to be as reasonable an explanation as any and it came directly from one of the ANC’s “greatest supporters.”

It is vital that we change the opinions of the majority before we find ourselves in a place of no return, and I’m pretty sure we need to do it now! This is an urgent matter that needs immediate attention, because if the 21^st of December is not the end of our country then this government surely will be.

Love, My Ass

Seeing as my self-confidence has reached a new all-time low, I may as well put it up for a proper beating. Now, I need you all to be as brutally honest as you can be regardless of how much you pity me after that last rather pathetically sad sentence and answer this question for me: what is wrong with me?

Do I have some hideous mole that makes my nose three inches longer, sprouting hairs and oozing puss off of the edge of my face that I haven’t seen? Or am I largely overweight and the reason I can’t see the scale telling me so is because my belly is in the way? Or am I just such a horrible person that managed to find friends out of pity? Seriously, what is wrong with me?

At the rate at which boys run away from me you would swear I was an overweight bitch with acne to hell and back and growths growing out of my forehead. I must be a real looker.

So apparently I’m not as pretty as mom always told me I was and I’m obviously not even half as charming as I seem to think, so what is the answer? Well, it is tempting to blame this whole thing on myself and say that the reason no boys will date me is because I’m completely ‘undateable’ because that allows me to feel sorry for myself and gives me a perfectly good excuse to get stuck into the chocolate, or better yet, the peanut butter.

The other option would be to blame it on men and rant and rave about how much I hate all men, but seriously, that’s getting a bit boring. We’ve all heard it before, and quite frankly, I’m over it.

So here is the master plan; I am going to forget about the entire concept altogether. Sure the concept of love is appealing and yeah, I’ll miss those Friday night dates that leave you with butterflies in your stomach, but to be honest, it’s just not worth it anymore. So as of now, I am officially off the market and instead I am going to focus on the things that I am good at. Besides overweight, boring-as-hell-Kat is getting used to talking to her teddy bear anyway.

Marriage and a Shower: The Answer to Life

Growing up in a school that caters to the mid and upper class means that I have been exposed to the luxuries that come with being wealthy. I have gone to birthday parties in houses bigger than my junior school hostel (which was home to every female border from grade 1-7). I have watched in awe as friends brought more and more ludicrous toys and gadgets to school and I have stayed in fancy holiday houses on golf estates on the coast.

Yes, I have been spoiled and I’ve enjoyed every minute of it.

However, it is now proving to be more problematic than I originally thought as I sit up late at night wondering whether I can sell one of my kidneys (or perhaps both) in order to go on a particular diving trip or buy myself a couple presents. Being poor is not something I enjoy and budgeting my monthly income is virtually impossible.

So if anyone is looking for a kidney, mine’s for sale.

But in the mean time I really need to become wealthy and the sooner, the better. So as I sit here dreaming up ‘get rich quick’ schemes it comes to my attention that our President has the perfect scheme. He gets paid an absolutely ridiculous R3 million a year to sign a couple papers, make sure his mates are paid well and sleeps perfectly well in his comfy bed as the rest of South Africa sleeps on the tiny piece of pavement that was left when they came home from a seriously underpaying job.

And as if that wasn’t easy enough he has now fooled his homeless supporters into believing that instead of spending tax payers money on homes for people who don’t pay tax (not even going to start on that issue) he is going to spend R250 million on a beautiful homestead for his own family.

Sounds like a really tough job to me, but seeing as I am a woman and will therefore never be allowed to be the President of a country where most of the men truly believe that woman are a lesser specie; I’ve come up with an even better plan. I am going to marry him.

Sounds crazy right? Is it though? I’d be living in a beautiful home and feeding off of his rather substantial income and all I’d have to do was sleep with the idiot occasionally, followed by a shower of course (no one wants AIDS). That sounds relatively easy to me.

There’s only one problem though and that is that I am white.

Now, before you jump down my throat about the fact that I am being racist or whatever, let me give you some perspective. In a recent address by the President himself, he said that South Africa’s problems should be solved “the African way, and not the white man’s way” and yet his speaker, a certain Mr Mac Maharaj, will be the first to call you racist if you so much as mention The Presidency in a slightly critical tone.

So I do not mean to be racist when I say that my skin colour is problematic but maybe with some shoe polish I could qualify, but seeing as I can’t seem to find an application form to be his next wife at the Home Affairs office I would like to use this platform to ask President Jacob Zuma a very personal question.

“Will you marry me, sir?”

The End of the World... Again

My complete inability to be organized has always been the source of much pain in my life. It drives my mom insane, causes my step-mother’s blood pressure to shoot through the roof of even the tallest buildings and drives my roommates and friends insane, but most importantly it has caused a lot of pain to my rather sensitive derrière. If I have to receive one more hiding or detention for my completely retarded organizing abilities I may actually die.

But, for once it has paid off, because I was intelligent enough to not book a flight back home.

Yes, I know, it sounds pretty absurd. Why on earth would that be a good thing? Well, all you people who booked flights home with 1time now have a slight problem don’t you. Yeah, guess who’s laughing now.

Well, I was…

Until I realized with an urgent sense of dread forming in the pit of my stomach that if 1time wasn’t flying anymore then all the other airlines would have to compensate for the lack of available flights which inevitably means increased flight fares.

Slightly problematic, to say the least.

So how on earth are we all going to get home at the end of exams? Will the other airlines be increasing the amounts of available flights? I have been away from home since July and desperately need to have a home-cooked meal (the real reason that students are going home this holiday).

I fear that this whole 1time fiasco is a much bigger issue than I originally thought it would be. Actually scratch that, I knew it was a huge issue, I just didn’t realize that it directly affects my life until I got a rather demanding tweet from a friend of mine (but I’ll leave that for another day).

So what actually happened?

Well on Friday afternoon a friend of mine stood in a queue waiting to board a flight from Cape Town to Johannesburg. As she was boarding news broke that 1time airlines had filed for liquidation and that many passengers were left stranded hoping for other flights. She was relieved to find out that her flight would be one of the last to take off and happily took her seat not realizing that the airhostess who showed her to her seat was holding back tears as she found out via the intercom that she’d just lost her job.

Yes, 1time has failed miserably. It has left many passengers stranded in foreign cities and airline personnel are stuck away from home and jobless. Truthfully however, people should have seen it coming. 1time has been in the news a lot lately regarding financial difficulties and most people realized that it was only a matter of time before they went bust. And boy did they go out with a bang!

So what happens now? Well Kulula and Mango have already stepped up to take the brunt of it and have promised more flights at the same costs and as we speak Nandos is probably coming up with some hilarious advert that will be deemed politically incorrect and pulled soon after airing. Actually, everything is just going to continue. Life is just going to carry on and in a few months people will have forgotten about this whole fiasco, just like every other drama that hits South Africa and is pulled completely out of proportion on various social networks because that’s the trend. Those who were directly affected will get over it or find other jobs. Life will go back to normal.

Kudos to the pilots for not going on strike though because that’s what South Africans do when life gets a bit rough.

Lost In A Moment

My eyes in your eyes
Forever lost
Sinking into this storm
Of tormented longing
A breath
Even as the butterflies squirm
And with shaking hands
Upon your cheek
The first real touch
Intimately formed
Sends a jolt of panicked calm
To my quivering lips

A breath
I breathe you into me
Familiarity in a new reality
My eyes close
As I feel you near
And my craving lips are met
By tender flames
The passion
Of our first kiss

Don't Jump

As a teenager it is required of you to think and question the meaning of life. You spend your years as a teenager desperately trying to break as many rules as possible and then when you’re sitting in detention or in your room you while away the hours thinking about the true meaning of life and what exactly your purpose is. The common trend seems to be that there must be a greater purpose, although you never quite figure it out.

Some people come to their own conclusions that they are happy to live with. Others get themselves into such a tizz that they end up killing themselves or falling into the downward spiral of drugs and alcohol. Some just give up and decide that it doesn’t really matter and that they’re just going to enjoy the time that they have left.

A couple days a go another student from UCT committed suicide. Now as UCT is our greatest rival it would be easy to make some snide comment about the fact that it must be because the University is horrible or whatever. The thing is that there is nothing wrong with the University, well nothing worth killing yourself over. Yes their quota system is a complete mess and true, their rugby team isn’t as good as ours but surely it cannot be that bad?

On a more serious note though, one has to look at why a person would want to take their own life. What sort of situation do you have to be in to make death seem like a reasonable option? Some of you know that I am an atheist and therefore believe that once you die, that’s it. GAME OVER. There is nothing else and while most of you find this discomforting it has a certain level of positivity to it. If this is the only life I am to have, then damn I am going to live it till the very last second that I have.

This makes suicide seem even more absurd, because in my mind’s eye I would rather be living in a horrible life than not be living at all.

I cannot say that I will ever understand the pain or trauma that must be conflicting in your mind to make you want to jump off of the side of a building or shoot yourself, it is something I don’t ever want to understand. What I do understand is the pain that is left behind after a suicide. I know what it is like to lie up in bed at night filled with guilt because, maybe I should have done this, or what if? I know what is like to feel like it might be my fault. And I have seen what suicide can do to families, even those that seem the strongest.

All I can say is that whatever you are going through, it too shall pass. Just keep fighting.

“Hold on, when you feel like letting go. Hold on, it gets better than you know.”

Hold on - Good Charlotte

A Bottle of Red for Lunch

I can hardly call a day at Varsity stressful, but I must say there is nothing better than coming back from one whole hour of class to your two roommates who proceed to liquor you up the moment you walk in the front door.

For those of you who know me you’ll understand that I live in a two bedroom flat and will currently be wondering why I speak of two roommates. Well the truth of the matter is that I have the same problem that most people on campus have; I am the proud owner of a roommate with a live in boyfriend.

For most people this would be problematic, but I actually like it.

I suppose it helps that my roomie and I don’t cook together so he doesn’t eat my food, and he’s also really helpful around the flat, washing dishes and taking out the rubbish. Well, that and he’s actually a really nice guy and I get along with them both really well. I am their OFFICIAL third wheel.

So on Monday afternoon I was sitting in the computer centre busy  checking out how many views my blog had received when I got a message from my roommate along the lines of, “We’re opening wine, come home.”

Needless to say, I ran home.

We often spend the afternoon sitting in the flat, drinking wine, eating food and discussing our latest cravings; chocolate, cherries or cocktails. Sometimes our discussions get a little vulgar; sometimes they turn to politics (very rarely and generally initiated by yours truly) but most of the time we end up discussing my life.

My life and all its latest dramas are a great source of entertainment for the three of us and they can’t wait to walk in on a Monday morning, sit me down and get their latest fix.

Sometimes I speak of some outrageous Stellenbosch party that ended with me being carried to my front door by some bloke I’ve never met only to lock him out at the last minute, other times I talk of Saturday evening dates that went horrifically wrong and ended with a full on slap across some poor guys face and still other times I speak of my most recent embarrassing moment.

Our conversations are rowdy and get very out of hand, the food and wine flows freely and we just generally enjoy ourselves. The music plays softly in the background and we slowly while away the hours as the bottle slowly empties. I thoroughly enjoy our evenings and cannot wait for the next one…

Oh look, in walks Andrew with a bottle of red, chocolate and ice cream.

A Silent Death, Mourned by Strangers

I am nothing special. I don’t have extreme beauty or knowledge. I live, I breathe, I bleed; just like everyone else.

I knew a girl once; a beautiful girl with long dark hair and green eyes that burned with passion. She looked so strong, so happy. I envied her. I got lost in her eyes and wondered what it was about them that lit up my soul. I asked her one day to tell me what was behind those eyes.

I wish I had never asked.

Behind those eyes lay a truth buried deep within her soul. A concept my mind could never hope to decipher for fear of breaking. The fire that burned in her eyes was a strength way beyond what I could ever have imagined.

This girl, this beautiful girl, who I envied, was a victim. She was beaten every day from the age of six. Beaten to within an inch of her life, and completely broken. At the age of ten she went home to her new foster parents, was tied to a bed and raped by four men for three days straight. She came in and out of consciousness while she felt herself bleeding, all the while trying to figure out what she had done to deserve this.

Her body recovered with just a scar. But she was broken, forever.

She told me the story the day before her sixteenth birthday. She killed herself the next day.

I watched, crying from beside her coffin as her foster parents spoke hollow words. But in my heart there was a sense of wonderment at how she had managed to stay strong for so long. It was that fire behind her eyes that kept her going. It is her life that will keep mine going.

How many kids have to die? How many hearts have to break? How many times do I have to scream?

There are children out there; some young, some older, children who die because we turn a blind eye. We have failed. As a country, we have failed every single kid who is in a broken home or no home at all. As a community we have failed.

As a person, I have failed.

I am nothing special, but I have a cause; a cause worth fighting for. Do you?

Dragon Dove Love

My dark angel comes to rest
Calms my thoughts, ideas
Putting me to the test
Leaving me no tears

My quiet demon comes to halt
Disrupting my calm, lost
Tears of pure salt
Leaving me the cost

My black dove comes to land
Stops my disruption, found
Cost of the sand
Leaving me no sound

My white dragon comes to crash
Starting my stop, hate
Sound of the trash
Leaving me bait

My evil friend comes to chat
Reversing my start, love
Bait of the rat
Leaving me that dove

My kind enemy comes to kill
Redoing my reverse, torn
Dove of the bill
Leaving me unborn

This Woman's Work

I am a woman; a strong, caring, loving woman. I can do anything and everything. I have strength in me that would scare the darkest depths of your soul. I am honest and true to myself. I can fight and I can love. I am a woman.

I am proud to be a woman. I have mood swings and periods and I cry when I get emotional. I spend time on my hair, my make up and my dress. I pluck my eyebrows, wax my legs and paint my nails. I am feminine and beautiful. I am proud to be a woman.

I am built like a woman. I can play and be tough, but I can be tender and sweet. I have soft hands, pink lips and round breasts. I have the ability to fall pregnant; to create life and support life within me. I have the ability to give birth. I am built like a woman.

Yet, with all these blessings, I take for granted every one of them.

…

I am a woman with breast cancer; a strong, fighting woman. I am taking on a disease, more powerful than you can imagine. I will find a strength in me, I didn’t know I had. I will fight this disease with every inch of me and I will win. I am a woman with breast cancer.

I am still proud. My mood swings may be worse; the chemo makes me that way. I cry, I am emotional, I break, I need support, but I fight. I spend money on my wig and where my scarf with pride, I draw on my eyebrows and sometimes add fake lashes. I paint my nails to match my scarf. I am feminine and beautiful, even if you don’t see it. I am still proud.

I was built a woman. I play, but I am gentle. I laugh, but there is a far greater depth to it. My hands are sensitive, the chemo kills my skin, my lips are chapped in a way no lip-ice can fix and my breasts are plastic implants that painfully remind me of what I once had. I can no longer fall pregnant. Chemo is eating at my very soul, slowly poisoning every inch of my body, but I must fight. I must survive. I was once a true woman, yet now I am a plastic imitation.

I am the greatest actress you will ever meet, because you will never see me break, you will never see me pity myself, and you will never see me fall. You are just a stranger and you may laugh at my bald head, I will laugh with you. You can mock my badly drawn eyebrows, hell I laughed at them too. You will never hurt me, because you are NOTHING compared to the battle I have already one. I have one this battle and chosen too fight, and I WILL win this war, whether you help me or not.

Do not pity me, for I pity you. Do not lie to me, I have seen more truth than you could ever. Do not try to shame me, you will only shame yourself.

…

No, I am just a girl. I have not experienced the pain of chemo; I have not spent three days vomiting up everything including bits of my stomach. I have all my hair. I am not addicted to sleeping tablets because I do not need them to fall asleep. I have never been asked to fight a battle that no-one believes I will win.

I have experienced first hand the true beauty of a woman who can fight cancer and carry on fighting through the chemo, and win. I have seen the torture of a woman losing her hair. I have watched as a woman fought for her very life in my home. And she won.

But not everyone is as lucky.

Think of every person you know who has fought this war, whether they won or not, think of all those who will still fight it and think of all those people who are fighting it right now. If you have seen their lives then you know, as I do, that they are heroes and I will fight for them!

Cancer: a dance composed by Tyce Diorio

Professional Racing Driver, Coming Right Up

After two years of avoiding the Traffic Department at all costs I finally decided it was time to do my drivers license because apparently it's quite important; although this is just a rumour. So I plucked up all my courage and made my way to the Traffic Department. Now, for those of you have ventured into the Stellenbosch Home Affairs buildings, you will know that it's quite a daunting task.

So when looking for the Traffic Department, I was looking for some old, ram-shackled building next to the engineering that resembled something close to the Carolina Traffic Department. Boy oh boy, was I wrong. It was clean and tidy and the buildings were well looked after. This was a good omen. So I ventured inside, but when I didn't see a queue heading out of the front door, I realized I must be in the wrong place.

I went to the enquiries desk and timidly asked if this was in fact the Traffic Department. Turns out it was. Booking my drivers test took a whole fifteen minutes. Can you believe it? And my test wasn't set to be in six months time, no, I was writing in just under a month. Suddenly I hit panic mode!

My driving skills leave a lot to be desired and any one of my family members could tell you some story about how I nearly got them killed. So I decided a driving instructor was going to be a good idea. Never have I thought it a good idea to pay R170 to drive around in some miniature Hyundai a good idea, but hey, maybe I'm going soft.

I booked my lessons and was due to start driving the next day. To say I was nervous would be a serious understatement, try 'completely terrified'. I quietly walked up to the car and the instructor got out and introduced herself. I’m pretty sure the relief was evident all over my face as I realized that she wasn’t some scary tall woman with her hair pulled back into a tight bun but rather a young woman with a friendly smile.

Well, I’m yet to kill anyone but it must be noted that the point of looking both ways before crossing a pedestrian crossing is to ensure that there are no pedestrians (for some reason I thought I could find a pedestrian and then just carry on going anyway). Also stalling right in front of that really good looking guy and then going bright red, apparently it’s not attractive.

At least I have two weeks to learn that pedestrians have right of way on a pedestrian crossing (apparently not common sense) and to learn that regardless of how good looking the pedestrians are, if I stall, I fail.

Wining and Dining

Dinner in my family is an interesting affair. It starts with mother dearest ripping my eyes away from the TV and instructing me to set the dining room table. Now, that’s generally an easy task, except we have FOUR METER’s worth dining room table (handmade sleeper wood and far more amazing than any table you will ever see).

After grumbling for ten minutes about not being able to watch the end of my series (or whatever I may have been watching) and about how horrible my mom is and how much I hate dinner times at the table, I finally start setting the table; side plates, silver wear and some strange looking placemats that we started using a couple years ago that still freak me out. Which is my left again?

When I eventually make my way into the kitchen to find out what spices I need to set out on the table I IMMIDIATELY retract all statements previously made as the waft of home cooked sheep tails and pap filters through the air. My stomach does a little dance for joy and before I know it I’m standing at the pot hoping for a little taster.

Mom is NOT impressed. I guess she overheard me then. Oops.

Now, this is make-or-break time. If I don’t get back into her good books in the next five minutes I may be going hungry tonight.

Suddenly I’m all kinds of useful; helping with serving-dishes, pouring more wine, making sure her chilli powder is on the table. I must say, mom has worked me out, if you want me to do ANYTHING give me food as an incentive.

Finally the food is on the table, the warm plates have been sworn at after being taken out of the AGA without oven-gloves and the family is seated except mom. Teddy-bear (my step dad, but another story for another day) is at the head of the table, on his right is an open chair and next to that sits Sissa and on his left is me and then Sharky.

We all sit there in deathly quiet waiting for mom to join us. Each of us eagerly waiting to attack the meal but knowing that if we do decide to start eating before mom gets here… Well, let’s not go into too much detail.

Eventually, one of us will feverishly call out, “Mom?”

“Yes, yes. I’m coming. Don’t rush me damnit.”

Now, you may be thinking that our family is ever so prim and proper for sitting at the dining table for dinner time and setting the table and all, but it is at this point where our manners stop. As mom’s bum hits the chair the three of us simultaneously launch ourselves at the food while my sister looks around the table longingly for something resembling a vegetable and mom just watches in awe as a meal that took her three hours to prepare is demolished in five minutes.

The lack of a proper dinner conversation goes completely unnoticed. The vulgarities strewn across the table are met by laughter and outrage and all the while, mom sits waiting for an inch of intelligence which never comes and so she resorts to finding the bottom of her wine glass. Needless to say my step dad has mastered the art of ensuring that her wine glass is NEVER empty.

Dinner time in our house is madness on a normal night, but every now and again a neighbour from down the road joins us and then all hell breaks loose.

Prinsloo is an Afrikaans guy, in his early thirties, originally from some backwards town near an even more backwards Hoedspruit who moved to the area a couple years ago (why anyone would move to Carolina is beyond me, but apparently some people do it willingly). He met my parents through some random event in town to do with sheep or fire fighting or some other boring farm topic and they hit it of relatively well, however I only met him on Christmas Eve last year.

We usually have our big Christmas do up on Christmas Eve so that we can do the quiet family thing on Christmas Day (not that we do ‘quiet’ in my family). Farmers from around the area were invited and mom cooked a heavenly meal. Heather and I set the table, Nicky pretended to be important and the clown that I call my step dad was in charge of drinks (whoever decided that was a good idea should be shot, multiple times).

Well, needless to say, things got very festive and pretty soon my mom was hiding her head in shame as we all shouted obscenities at each other from across the table. Mind you, you have to be quite loud to be able to get a word in, especially across a four meter long table. It came to my attention that this stranger managed to fit in at our table pretty well, which is rather unusual…

Until he started talking about his ‘rock’.

The conversation had turned to the stone kraals in our area which are a hot topic at the moment and he wished to contribute to the conversation by talking about an interesting rock on his farm. Unfortunately he never got further than “I have a huge, shiny rock standing on my farm…”

The alcohol induced giggles continued for at least an hour after that as our minds came to every sexual connotation we could possibly find while he tried desperately to get out of the hole he had just dug for himself.

Needless to say, I thought we’d never see him again.

But it seems, that in a town such as ours, people with whom you can truly get along with are hard to find and difficult to keep. And so, as he carries on coming back for more, we gladly open up another bottle of red (or white, or whiskey, or mampoer or whatever else we can find) and enjoy ourselves.

Life really is too short to miss out on good times, with good people, laughter, wine and good food.

Letter to my Father

Daddy, I met the most amazing family tonight. I felt at home with them and I wasn’t sure why until I saw a picture of the parents cuddled up close, each with a glass of wine in hand. It reminded me of a photo I once saw of you and Pat, standing behind the bar at the lodge. You two looked so happy.

It brought back so many memories. Memories of us four, memories of you and Pat walking down the beach, hand in hand.

Dad, I miss you.

I’m doing alright you know. I think you’d be proud of me. I hope so anyway. And Pat, she’s been amazing. You always gave your girls the best, but the greatest gift you could have left us with was this strong, amazing woman who cared so deeply about you and who cares so dearly about us. And she kicked the cancer. Her hair is growing back and she’s as stunning as ever.

And Heather, she’s doing so well. You would have been so impressed with her latest results. And she’s coming to Stellenbosch to study chemical engineering next year, daddy. I’m finally going to have my baby girl back. I’ll try look after her. She looked so pretty for her matric dance, all grown up. I wish you could have seen her.

Ollie died, daddy; our little schnoo, but puppy is still gorgeous and I think she misses you as much as we do.

Sean had a son dad. He’s named Evan Andrew McGinn, after you. He’s gorgeous and I hope that he can grow to be the man that you once were.

All I can think about is our little trip down to Stellenbosch, just the two of us. I wish I had known then what I know now. I wish I had taken advantage of our time together. I wish I had made it count.

It’s taken me so long to write this. I wish I didn’t have too. I wish that I could call you up and say hello. But I can’t and I’m dealing with it. So instead, I’m sitting here, in your Blackbeard t-shirt, glass of wine in hand, thinking about what an amazing person you were and about that damn hankie.

You were my hero daddy; I guess you always will be.

I hope it didn’t hurt. I hope you weren’t in too much pain. You looked so peaceful in the hospital bed. I tried everything to wake you; chocolate, kisses, I even tried tickling your feet, but it was too late. Just know that we’re okay, and that we miss you every day.

The service was beautiful. Francis painted the most amazing portrait of you based on a photo from your wedding night. And everyone got to say a few words. They said the most amazing things and shared some very special memories. Chuck said some very special words. But BB, he broke my heart. And his big, beautiful bear-hug afterwards was the one thing that kept me going. You’re missed by a lot of people.

We all miss you. I miss you. And I love you, daddy.

Banana Egg Flip

I learnt a couple of vital lessons this weekend about Stellenbosch. The first is that I love sleep and dearly miss it. The second is that tequila is only ever a good idea when you're trashed, at which point you are beyond the point of no return. The third is that bruises hurt the next day even if they don't hurt at the time.

But, the most important thing I learnt this weekend was that I should have phoned home for a hangover recovery ages ago. Mom is ALWAYS right.

I don't even know why I didn't think about it earlier. The answer is a Banana Egg Flip. Two glasses and a bit of sleep and I feel human again. So here's the recipe:

• Two Bananas
• One Egg
• Vanilla Essence
• 250 ml milk

Put it all in a blender and you'll be sorted in no time.

Also, my mom rocks.

Blabbering Idiot, At Your Service

There we go, I did it again. Can you believe it? How pathetic!

I saw you on campus today; blue jeans, white shirt, blond hair, tanned skin.

So, I did what every normal human being does, I ducked, behind a tree, in front of at least a hundred eyes.

It gets worse though, because once you’d walked past I called myself an idiot, out loud, then turned and walked straight into the tree. Yes, pathetic is the word, I know, but I can’t help myself. You make me stupid.

It isn’t the first time. I know it won’t be the last time. I just don’t know what to do when I see you. I’m terrified that I’ll say something stupid, or forget to speak or, God forbid, hug you for an awkwardly long length like I did last time. So, it’s probably easier if I just stay away from you, but that means never going onto campus again, which is a bit drastic.

But, I have the solution; the next time I see you I will imagine you, with no teeth, fat, a boil on your face and short. That way I won’t find you attractive and I will stop being a blabbering idiot in your presence.

Only problem is that now I’m going to sound like a cackling hyena, but at least I won’t walk into any trees.

Oh, on a totally unrelated note, next time you turn around and see me run straight into a tree and then run away, please don’t laugh out loud and then come to my rescue.

The Lonely Tears of a Drunk

She drinks herself to sleep at night

It's the only way she'll sleep sound tonight

She's lonely

But no one cares

She cries herself to sleep at night

She'll sleep alone again tonight

But

She'll dream of him again

She dreams of days

Better days

When life could smile

And pity was just a word

Yes, tonight the liqour

Will quiet her soul

And her love will cry

Until her body sleeps

But she'll wake

To deathly quiet

And a broken memory

Of a giggle

The giggle experienced by lovers

Lovers unbroken

Lovers unharmed

Lovers who lie together

An angel dying in the stench of a drunk

Do Something About It

Is it possible that South Africa is at war? Can it be that our over exposure to death has made us callous to the daily violence that threatens to rip our very country apart? Have we been blinded by our government, our hearts and our hope? Have we lost this battle?

South Africa has been tormented by farm murders for many years now and yet, they are more brutal and more plentiful than ever. Farmers are being tortured, beaten and killed by farm workers who feel they have been treated unjustly. Yet who is at fault in this scenario? Does looking after your own families needs take preference over another man’s life? Well, the truth is that we shouldn’t even have to ask that question.

Children growing up in townships are being raped and killed by gangs of huge men. Men who have so much power in the community that these rapes go unnoticed, unreported and these beautiful children have their dignity shredded apart as each day they cross paths with their attackers and as they pluck up the courage to meet his gaze they notice the horrible smirk of a man who has broken and got away with it.

Yet, here I sit at one of the best universities in the world, in a fancy room with fancy computers and the luxury of the fastest internet in South Africa. I wear jewellery, shoes and warm clothes. I spent money on extras; accessories, belts and scarves. My nails are painted, my skin is moist and a spent still more to have a facial the other day. Am I not a South African? I do not suffer. I do not bleed. I am not broken.

The police force is a mess, the government is a joke, and our army is a laughing stock. Our departments of Home Affairs, Traffic and Licensing and the like are overworked and underpaid and in those seats behind the glass screen sit woman who, for the first time ever, are in a position of power and they will NOT let you forget it. Petty crimes are policed regularly and yet rape and murder case dockets disappear.

What am I doing about it? Well I’m complaining to my friends over a cup of tea and cake; I’m phoning home to tell mom how long it took to get my passport sorted and I’m not reporting my stolen wallet because I have assumed that they will not do anything about it, not that I have ever stepped into the Stellenbosch police department to see what it’s like. Yes, I am doing what every other South African is doing, NOTHING!

I am assuming that because I am not in power, I have no say. I am assuming that if I wrote a letter to the president it would go unnoticed. I am assuming that I am just some spoilt white girl who has no right to complain. So why did we fight for a democracy, if we only use it once every five years to vote?

Yes, we have failed ourselves, we have failed our country, our peers, our friends, and it is high time that we got up and fought for what we believe in! The leading party cannot possibly know that there is a problem, regardless of which party it is, if we do not report the problem.

We have been childish and stupid and I’ve had enough. If you want something done, do something about it. Next time someone asks you to sign a petition, sign it. Next time you have a problem, phone someone who can fix it. These structures are in place, they just need to be used.

Concrete Angel

I promised myself not to touch this topic, because I know that nothing I could ever say, no words could ever put onto paper the raw pain I experience at the thought of this, but I needed to share this song with all of you.

There are children, little kids, beautiful innocent children whose biggest crime is being born into a broken home who are hit, bruised and broken. Their souls are shattered along with their bones and the only thing that gets them from day to another is their dreams; fantasies that depict worlds far better than their own.

Do me a favour and listen to this song: Concrete Angel

Think Big but Gradual

Every year on my birthday I wake up expecting to feel different. Surely I should feel a little older, a bit more mature and I must have gained a wrinkle. And yet, when I look in the mirror I see the same person staring back at me; the person who has been staring at me for as long as I can remember.

I still laugh at the same jokes, I still make the same stupid mistakes and I still can’t survive a birthday without presents, cake, sweets and a jumping castle.

This morning I realized what the problem was. It is not on these celebratory days that we age, it’s the years in between that age us. We age when no one is watching and we do it without even noticing it.

Yesterday I sorted out my passport, all by myself, like a real grown up. Mommy didn’t even have to hold my hand. And this morning, I not only booked my driver’s license test and driving lessons but I also opened my own bank account; and all this before ten o’clock in the morning.

I have been slowly growing up with each passing day and it is only in hindsight that I realize just how much I have changed. Aging is a slow process and yet old age is cruel and sudden. 

Change therefore, is not immediate, but a lifelong decision. Therefore, if you’re trying to lose weight, don’t stop eating immediately on one Monday morning; slowly start making healthier decisions and cutting down on how much you eat. If you want to buy something, don’t spend a whole months pay and then wake up the next morning regretting it; rather save a smaller amount every month until your savings can afford it, if you still want it at this point then it’s worthwhile.

Gradually make changes in your life that will ultimately make you the type of person you want to be. No one will wake up one morning as a normal functional person in society and the next as a skinny, friendly, wealthy woman with perfect nails and a job that allows her to have a facial, mani and pedi once a week. Set goals, and achieve them; but don’t over burden yourself with ridiculous ideas as you will only be disappointed and disheartened.