Shiat happens…and shit happened!

 

This past month or so I had my one phone stolen, weeks later my other phone lost/disappeared, I somehow lost a substantial amount of money. Yesterday someone stole my running shoes and Adidas sneakers through my window…Shiat happens and Shit happened! I am pissed off, angry and I find myself asking the routine question…Why me?

I suppose if not me, then who? No one deserves to get their shit stolen, lost or home burgled into.

So how did this all happen? Well the first phone got stolen out of my bag while I was clubbing in Joburg with my friends, definitely no way to end a fabulous night. What a flippin cost! And a bloody mission and a half, now I had to do the whole sim swipe thing. Luckily I had another phone which had most of my contacts in it. Two weeks later, my other phone gets lost, I predict that it fell out of my bag during a scuffle at a party…where I was the Chuck in the Norris…so ya…same process…mission, sim swipe…this time I have to get peoples numbers, I am literally out of contact with all my 173 ‘friends’ or rather people that I might want to be in touch with in the distant future…Jeeezus! How I lost the money, is a mystery, I think that with the stress of losing my second phone, I lost a bit of my sanity as well! And might have lost it on the way to the hair salon, that’s what I do when I stress…I do hair and it always makes me feel better! But this time, I lost some serious cash. Anyways while getting over these great but minute losses…today someone actually bugled my apartment through my window, got away with my shoes as mentioned! This was scary actually, I woke up in the morning, it was a very hot morning, so I opened my windows to get some air (instead I got some shady ass bugler in my house) I went back upstairs to nap a bit…recovering from a hectic Saturday night…and woke up to a stranger helping himself to my belongings…this was really really frightening for me. I pulled myself together, but I guess not enough, because I could not sleep, my mind kept replaying the image of the burglar in my house, my heart was beating so fast that I could feel the pulse in my fingers trembling. It was actually very traumatising experience.

This story is not unique to many South Africans, and it’s become the norm here in Grahamstown. I realised how apathetic I was about the situation when my security company asked if I wanted them to call the police to come…I just shrugged my shoulders, what were they going to do, really? What I knew was that I would become just another statistic. The numbers of house breakings in Grahamstown are so appalling, and even worse in my apartment blog, even though security has been improved, these thugs will take any slight opportunity to make an extra buck. What’s even more daunting is the fact that most of them are underage, barely teenagers as well. I guess this shows the stark situation in the Eastern Cape, this is a very poor province. Located right next to my university are some of the poorest neighbourhoods. This is no excuse, but I think that it is an indication that something is seriously wrong. That more needs to be done!

Anyways within the last 15 hrs I have gone through the five stages of grief:

1-Denial- “this can’t be happening to me”, looking for my shoes where I left then and in familiar places. No crying. Not accepting or even acknowledging the loss.

2-Anger-”why me?”, feelings of wanting to fight back or get even with the perpetrator.. and I even also got mad at my shoes for being where they were.

3-Bargaining-bargaining with God to bring them back, I was wishing, praying for them to come back.

4-Depression- this occurred mostly while I tried to sleep…overwhelming feelings of hopelessness, frustration, bitterness, mourning the loss of my cell phones, my money and now my shoes. Feeling lack of control, feeling numb.

5-Acceptance- I have to accept the loss, not just try to tolerate it quietly. Having to realise that they are gone, they were just possessions and that I am not getting them back. The part that I found difficult was finding the good that can come out of the pain of loss, how can losing valuables and being invaded in your private space be good? But I got through it, I found the good. Learning to let go of material goods, I had my life, I was safe, and surely this is more important than all my material possessions. I found comfort in being safe and alive.

While I may have lost my material possessions, I received a great gift…Just knowing that I am alive, well and safe is enough for me…So yeah, shiat happens and shit definitely went down these past few weeks, but I declare it to the universe…Its over now! No more!

 

Upon Reflection: Love 101

After writing my blog on my parents’ divorce and how it affected me, one of the things I said about it was that it ‘thought me what love is not’. A couple of people asked me what I thought what love is? And how I have come to understand love? Well the answer is not simple. I wish it was… in fact I ask myself that very question every moment it crosses my mind.

Unlike the kids whose parents’ marriage works, or worked, they had role models for love, intimate love between two people that is. Keeping in mind that we are talking about healthy love marriages not what I (and many other people) went through and what many kids are still experiencing as love in dysfunctional marriage. What is love? Honestly, I don’t know and I know at the same time. Confused? I know so am I…But I think that knowing what love is not, has assisted in me being aware of what love is, what love can be and who I choose to love. For me love goes beyond the four letters L.O.V.E, much more. I am so much more aware of how I want to be treated, loved and I am attuned to any situation when I am not treated like I should be. I can see the signs… really they are usually so clear they make us blind!

One might imagine that I have pent up resentment about love and issues with men and relationships… I do not.  What I have learnt from my parents’ marriage or lack thereof, is to love myself. I do not depend on anyone to make me feel worthy of me. I make myself feel worthy of me. I love me… no, I am hopelessly in love with myself. Not in the egotistic kind of way, but in a nurturing kind of way. Anyone that really knows me will tell you how well I take care of myself, I do not wait for anyone to take care of Shazz. I do that. So that’s how I have learnt, taught myself to love. It is this immense love that I have for myself that allows me to have normal, loving relationships. I think for me the trick is not depending on something/ someone external to fill me up. But rather to seek within myself, to make myself happy first, to take care of myself first, to love myself first. I have been blessed with loving relationships in the past and present and I look forward to a future filled with unimaginable love.                                                                   

The way I look at it, that was my parents experience. I suffered as a result. I made a decision that when my parents got divorced… it did not mean that it would scar me for the rest of my life. I was not going to carry that around with me and I do not. It was a life situation and it does not define my life or who I am today. Instead of running away from love, I chose to run towards it.

For me, love is personal, relative and universal at the same time.  Love is personal in the sense that it is what you believe it to be, you should define it for yourself what it means for you. I do not get stuck on other peoples, or the media and film industries ideas on what love is. Love is real and personal for me. I cannot and no one can tell anyone what love is. Love is relative, it depends on the situation, each individual situation has its own unique kind of love, and for me the trick is not to expect or try making it the same. Be different let the experience of love suit the context and the present occasion and person. Love is universal; the fact that we can laugh and cry from looking at the same images proves this.                                                                                       

The thing is I could have been miserable for the most part of my life, wake up at 40 and realise that life and love had just passed me by because I had focused on that one life situation. My parents divorce does not define me or who I will become. So I say…bring on the Love.

 

My Parents Divorce: The Best thing that ever happened to me!

“Shazzie baby, sit down with me we need to talk. Today I received a letter from the lawyers, your dad…he has filed for divorce, do you know what that means?”

There was an awkward silence… “I just want you to know that, we are not going to live together anymore, your dad and I will be living in different places. I also want you to know that it is not your fault and that both your dad and I love you very much. Okay hunny?”

I saw my mom wipe her tears, all these words stabbed through me, as I watched my mother trying very hard to maintain composure trying very hard to be strong for me.

I remember feeling all sorts of emotions, it felt weird… a good kind of weird. I actually wanted to leap for joy; I had to contain this ecstatic feeling. I remember thinking…’why are you not sad?’

 

According to many sociologists and researchers, divorce is an intensely stressful experience for all children, regardless of age or developmental level; many children are inadequately prepared for the impending divorce by their parents. The pain experienced by children at the beginning of a divorce is composed of: a sense of vulnerability as the family disintegrates, a grief reaction to the loss of the intact family (many children do not realize their parents’ marriage is troubled), loss of the non-custodial parent, a feeling of intense anger as the disruption of the family, and strong feelings of powerlessness.

When I read reports such as these which are readily available on line, I thought, well, perhaps these feeling will come at some point…about eleven years later, I am doing just fine…I did not experience a sense of vulnerability, grief, anger or feelings of powerlessness. I knew that my parent’s marriage was over before it was over, in fact sometimes I prayed to God for them to get divorced. I often asked my mother why she did not file for divorce, but she was afraid of being a failure, and she deeply wanted me to have a ‘normal’ upbringing with both parents. I was miserable, we were a miserable family, and a divorce was the only way out. What I feared the most was that one of my parents (my mother) would leave the house in a coffin. So yeah when I heard of the divorce I knew that this was the best thing for all of us.

 

Even before I understood how relationships worked, I knew that that my parent’s marriage was in the gutter. It was poisonous slowly pecking away at my mother and my dad probably.

I was not excited about the divorce for sinister reasons; in fact I was excited for my parents. What this divorce meant as far as I was concerned was that, now my parents would begin to live. I wonder if you have any idea what it feels like to live in a house with two dead people, spiritually dead, dead, dead. Being the only child it was especially hard because I had to be the bridge that held the family together. This was eating away at me; it frustrated me, and made me really sad and angry. My parent’s marriage was truly volatile, violent and abusing in every aspect of the word. I remember countless times when I had to nurse my mother’s bruises, how I despised my father for making me go through this, not only was I left to clean up the blood stains, I had to witness the name-calling and verbal abuse till all hours of the night. If anything dropped in the house I got such a fright, I could never be sure if my dad’s rage had begun again. My mom and I both feared my dad, but she somehow believed that she could make it work and that he would once again be the man that she had married all those years ago. On the other hand, I had no doubt that it would only get worse and it did. So when my mom allowed me to look at the divorce papers, I fantasized about a bright future for my mom and I. We would finally find peace and happiness.

 

I think for me as a child, the hardest thing to witness was; what love is not, what a really bad marriage was and what the definition of living in fear was. I do not wish any child to go through this, ever. The problem is that many parents, just like mine, have this delusion that they are doing their children a favour by staying in a rotten marriage, who are they kidding? “let’s stay together for the children”, how about “lets spare our children from this disaster of a marriage”. As a child no emotion escaped me, I was very aware that my parents did not love or like each other for that matter. The worst thing was having to pretend to be one small happy family. More like skitso family! When we had visitors, we all had to play the ‘happy family role’, my dad was the leading actor in this, ever so brilliant for the part. Everyone loved my dad, my family thought he was so good to my mom, and my friends thought he was the best dad. I remember thinking ‘what the hell is going on? We are not happy!’ But I kept it in, put on my best smile and entertained like the perfect little child that I was. My mother also played her role as the perfect wife and hostess. As soon as there was a knock on the door, it was like camera, lights and action! And just as we waved goodbye at the end of the evening it was, cut were done for the day! Then things were back to ‘normal’ my parents did not even talk to each other unless there were visitors, if they had to, and when there were no visitors, I was the telephone line. Oh, when they did talk to each other they were arguing or fighting. This was my normal! Totally fucked up! But I got through it, and I don’t ever wish this upon any child.

 

This is no sob story just the plain truth…My parents divorce was the best thing that ever happened to me!

 

Job hunting in New York City. Part 1: Red red wine

Now I understand why they call it “job hunting”.  That’s exactly what it is… a hunt. And yes, it is tough out there. I could not have picked a worse time to come to New York City for work prospects, not only was the weather freezing cold, so were the managers that did the   interviews.

I hit the streets of New York looking very trendy, cute but respectable and presentable. I felt pretty confident, that today was ‘the Day’, I was going to get that job! Maybe I’ll get two offers; I pumped myself up and added a bit of a swing to my hips as I stepped into the day’s first interview. As I cautiously swayed in the freezing snow filled streets of  New York City- map in hand of course- I felt comfortable and more confident with every stride. That swing came to an abrupt stop when I saw how long the line was for interviews. I thought to myself this can’t be right…it was true everyone there was waiting to be interviewed. Some people looked like they were dressed for some prestigious Donald Trump job…oh did I mention this was just a restaurant job, for waiter/waitress to be precise. I took my place at the end of the line. I waited in the long line with my resume in hand calming my nerves. This line was going pretty fast I thought- too fast in fact. When I reached close to the front, I had a better view of what was going on. I could not believe it. People literally sat for 10 seconds, a minute if lucky, but most did not even get to sit before they were heading for the door.

The nervous stuck cold. It was my turn, I sat down, good start, 1min went by, bonus I thought…the interview was going well. Then he asked me the question that I will never ever forget… because at the time I did forget…“Name five different types of red wine?”, asked the scrawny man with a dead stare, not at me but at his piece of paper in front of him- I went blank, no answer- he looked up at me…I kept thinking, I love red wine, I know my red wine, I am South African for flippin sake!!! I should know this- but nothing came to me. It was like looking through an ice window, the answers were there, but just not in view of my brain. Let me put it this way, my brain, my mouth and my words were frozen. “Thank you, we will be in touch” said the short man. As I walked away I knew they would not be in touch, and just as I was about to close the door behind me and drown in self pity, the girl who went after me, was right in my footsteps. In a weird kind of way, I felt good that I had gotten over a minute and a half…more than many that day.

I began to giggle as I walked down the streets heading to my next interview…the giggle turned into a loud laugh as I began to think of the question I just got wrong. Now the swing in my hips was even more pronounced…I could never look at red wine the same ever again.

 

My date with Former President Thabo Mbeki…

To go or not to go? Sitting I’m my book heavy office, the email confirming all the details, date, time and venue creeps up my mail box. All the information to get me prepared to meet Mr Thabo Mbeki…to go or not to go…

Three hours, just for me? Well perhaps I’ll go to the bathroom and see how I look like; I have to look perfect you know. I have to make an impression. My cheeks are a bit pink from the cold, but they certainly add a bit of personality to my blank face.

Ok, ok, I’ll  go, I’ll go see our former President, hear what he has to say for himself.         Why not, after all I will have something to write about…my date with MR Thabo Mbeki…has a nice ring to it…hope Zanele doesn’t mind…

I have always admired Mr Mbeki’s lack of charisma, here his glass is always empty. Alright alright…perhaps I’ll put on a bit of lip gloss so that the words can slide out of my mouth, “hello Mr Former President, I have been expecting you”…

The DATE!!!

Ok I change my mind…Mbeki totally bowled me over; he is a charmer of note! My rosy cheeks turned bright red when he began talking about Africanisism and how we should try finding African solutions for African problems…oh boy…that man’s got swag! No wonder he was named Gucci boy!

His prose  is very eloquent and intentional, dramatic in an alluring manner. Full of stories, I could listen to him the whole day…but I don’t have all day! So the 3hours is all I could spare for Mbeki.

So I decided to take a friend along to my date, we arrived slightly late to what seemed like thousands of people waiting to see him, were they not told that he was here to see me? Flip to make matters worse, they have locked the doors to our venue and dam it, now I can’t get in! Not to worry, VIP always gets in through the back. So my mate and I leave the masses behind and head for Mr Mbeki’s head of security person- he instantly warms up to us (not really) “Hello Ladies, were have you been?” (lol not quiet) but the point of it all is that we were escorted into the venue by the head of security. When we arrived inside, I was rather upset that  there were other people there, this almost spoilt my date…then I remembered…sharing is caring, after all what’s an ex president between friends?

 

“A SYSTEM OF CONSENT”

I got inspired to write this while sitting in the park, involuntarily eaves dropping on a conversation by two girls…“not saying no to sex does not mean yes!” said the one, “but if it’s your boyfriend then you should have a system of consent”.

This line is what caught my attention… and I began to think…what does this even mean? A system of consent…and how would it work? Would it mean creating some secret language where one partner understands that giving that signal means no or yes… what about… Maybe… what would the sign for maybe be? How would it work? And what happens if the signal was not interpreted correctly? How will the rules be negotiated?

What the hell is a SYSTEM OF CONSENT???

And who would be taking the role of consenting versus the agent seeking consent…?

While listening…rather eaves dropping… on this conversation left me very frustrated and with more questions about this whole ‘system of consent’ business. I mean since when do we need an elaborate system of consent, how about NO when I don’t want to and YES when I want to and MAYBE when I need some convincing?  Is this not a system of consent? I had so many questions I wanted to ask these girls and perhaps have a discussion with them about this… but I remembered… I was eaves dropping…so I remained invisible, lay back on the grass and pondered about my life…

so what is a system of consent to you? holla at your gurl!!!

 

 

Lauren Hill at the “Bob Marley Festival”. 2/14/98

more about "Lauren Hill at the "Bob Marley Festiv…", posted with vodpod

 

being heard!!!

Thanks to all the people who have read and commented on my first blog. I have always been intrigued by the idea of blogging, but I was a bit terrified of the idea as well. I mean I kept thinking what am I going to talk about and are people going to be interested??? Finally when I got over my own hysteria, I decided to just write…and I did just that. I am hoping that in my blog issues will be interrogated, discussed and it will serve as a platform for you all to voice your opinions. Ask me questions if you want, I am not an expert at anything but my own life so I will answer you as best I can from my own personal experiences. For now, Thanks a mil for the warm reception! Be heard…

 

Word Up!

Word Up global village!

This is my first post on my new blog. I thought I’d write a little introduction before I posted.

I got inspired to start blogging by some friends which I recently met, at Highway Africa conference for journalists all around the world. They are pro’s at this sort of thing and once we got the name for my blog page… I was super excited! I’m starting this blog, in order to just share and explore my feelings on certain subject. My friends always comment on how outspoken I am so, I hope that my out spoken-ness can reach you and the world. The idea is to just post what’s on my mind, to share my perspective and engage in a global conversation… Hope you enjoy, come back, visit often and have fun with ‘All that Shazz’.

 

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