"Memories ~ they can sometimes become vague and foggy and there are times when they disappear altogether.
Therefore, because there are many things I don’t want to lose track of, I will record everything in here for the sake of those moments that should not be forgotten." -Haruka's Diary
Dear Nobody,
I have lately been contemplating certain habits. One habit that I am unable to shake is that of obsessively journalling. I do believe I have a fear if forgetting. Some part of me seems to believe that if I forget something,it will be as though that piece of life was never lived. This ridiculous belief is also the reason I am becoming increasingly interested in photography and film making. Both provide the tools to eternally capture a moment and keep it there. And yet...
What is memory really? What makes a moment pause in time. While I can record each detail on paper, or capture a moment on film, I cannot save the way a day smelt or how the felt in a certain moment. And that's what life is, isn't it? It's feeling and smelling and tasting and seeing and hearing.
One day, some one might find my journals. Perhaps you, darling Nobody. To date, about ten lined notebooks of roughly 192 pages in each. Some written in beautiful penmanship, some scrawled all over in different coloured pens, each filled with notes about my day and those who filled it. That person,however good their imagination, will never live what I have lived. They can read details, hear things from my point of view, but they will never know how I really felt that day.
People can look at my photos, but not see what I saw. No one will really ever understand why I took twenty photos of the same brick in the wall or just what fascinates me about dandelions.
I think, dearest Nobody, what I am trying to tell you in amongst the ramblings of my mind, that the best thing to do is to live each moment so intensely, that even if I were to forget the exact details of the moment, I would always be 100 percent certain that I HAVE indeed lived each moment that has passed. Perhaps it is alright to let some things become foggy and vague in the vault of my min, as long as they were bright and brilliant as they occurred.
So here's to living each moment fully up,to being memorable even if unremembered,to memories,the forgotten and the remembered,the recorded and the unwritten. And to you Dear Nobody,for reading the confused jumble of my mind.
So,till my next letter, I will be here,making memories worth telling you about. And you will be out there,wherever you are,being you. Goodbye Nobody.
Me
Monday, June 11, 2012
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Never Never Land
"Forget them, Wendy. Forget them all. Come with me where you'll never, never have to worry about grown up things again."-Peter Pan
Growing up has never been at the top of my to-do-list. As one nameless character in a book once stated,"All I really want to do is take photos,make art and find some one who love me enough to kiss my nose."
As my Matric year came to an end I went into a silent panic;I was on the brink of falling face-down into the adult world. And I wasn't ready. I took a gap-year serving at a church in Pinetown,where 12 young adults came together and pretended to be mature for six days a week. We grew older,but not up.
At the start of 2012 I was determined to face the process head-on. Then I got a call from a camp in Zinkwazi. And my whole perspective changed. There was a place where you didn't have to grow up,didn't have to face the real world. In amongst the sugar cane farms in a small coastal village,there is a timeless bubble that exists apart from reality,a never never land filled with people who refuse to join the rest of the human race in being ordinary and growing up. There is a place where the sea is a short walk away,where everyone is family and you can stay just as you are.
In a somewhat commune like environment,our meals are cooked for us,everyone lives together and we are given new names. Add some tamborines and orange robes and you have a cult. Just kidding. While I have never been an extremely social person,I find myself longing for the constant noise and banter of the infamous counselors cabin,Cabin Nine. I miss tripping over surfboards on my way up the stairs and sleeping in a hammock because some one stole my bed. I miss going around barefoot and never quite being able to get rid of the sea sand in my pockets. I miss swimming in the sea before the sun comes up and hearing the ocean as I fall asleep.
I miss the place where people breathe fire and no one knows my name. I miss the world of magic and constant creativity. I miss the people who constantly annoy and challenge me. I miss my ridiculous boss and aggravating co-workers. I miss Never Never Land. I miss home.
Growing up has never been at the top of my to-do-list. As one nameless character in a book once stated,"All I really want to do is take photos,make art and find some one who love me enough to kiss my nose."
As my Matric year came to an end I went into a silent panic;I was on the brink of falling face-down into the adult world. And I wasn't ready. I took a gap-year serving at a church in Pinetown,where 12 young adults came together and pretended to be mature for six days a week. We grew older,but not up.
At the start of 2012 I was determined to face the process head-on. Then I got a call from a camp in Zinkwazi. And my whole perspective changed. There was a place where you didn't have to grow up,didn't have to face the real world. In amongst the sugar cane farms in a small coastal village,there is a timeless bubble that exists apart from reality,a never never land filled with people who refuse to join the rest of the human race in being ordinary and growing up. There is a place where the sea is a short walk away,where everyone is family and you can stay just as you are.
In a somewhat commune like environment,our meals are cooked for us,everyone lives together and we are given new names. Add some tamborines and orange robes and you have a cult. Just kidding. While I have never been an extremely social person,I find myself longing for the constant noise and banter of the infamous counselors cabin,Cabin Nine. I miss tripping over surfboards on my way up the stairs and sleeping in a hammock because some one stole my bed. I miss going around barefoot and never quite being able to get rid of the sea sand in my pockets. I miss swimming in the sea before the sun comes up and hearing the ocean as I fall asleep.I miss the place where people breathe fire and no one knows my name. I miss the world of magic and constant creativity. I miss the people who constantly annoy and challenge me. I miss my ridiculous boss and aggravating co-workers. I miss Never Never Land. I miss home.
Friday, March 9, 2012
The Life That Was
"Remember,as far as anyone knows,we are a nice,normal family"-Button
Some days I still think I'm going to wake up in bed at 26 Austral Rd with Sophie tapping my face,wanting to come lie under the blanket. She had an annoying,darling habit of jumping onto my bed just as I was about to get out of it. Feeling her little footsteps across my blankets was one of my favourite feelings ever.When I'd cuddled with Sophie,I'd have my quiet time in the green,bowl shaped couch with the knife lost inside it. the couch was old,hardly green anymore,really. More of a mouldy grey with an occasional yellow fleck where the sponge was starting to show.
We would all do school in the outside classroom,sometimes getting caught up in pointless debates for hours. We even declared our classroom a country,wrote a history and a charter and gained amazing red indian names. My mother was Chief Mother Moose,Rebekah was lame Duck,on account of her extreme laziness and inability to fetch anything of her own. I was Ugly Bird and Jesse was Little Swaying Antelope. Zoe,poor thing,was dubbed Poop Scoop,for reasons that cannot be disclosed to the public.
During tea break,the duty fell upon me to make tea and popcorn for the hungry masses. During lunch break,my dad and I would get our daily dose of justice by giving Judge Mathis our impeccable advice.The library would be graced with our critical presence every other Monday,dancing was,at one time,nearly every day. On Friday afternoons before youth we would all endure 45 minutes of music lessons. While the classes never produced any great enjoyment,I am eternally grateful for the skills I have developed on the flute.
On odd rainy days (and non rainy days) I would watch New Moon and eat chocolate custard with Rebekah,squashed up on my little bed,under a pile of blankets. In between yanking the duvet,readjusting the lap top so that it was exactly in the middle,sometimes falling off the bed or getting knocked into the shelves and repeating certain scenes,we managed to create an excellent sisterly bonding time.
During the afternoons I would swing and journal with Zoe. Sometimes we would just lie on a blanket and look at clouds,talking till there was nothing left to say. So many "What Ifs" and "Imagine You Could" conversations took place during those short moments. There was always something to laugh about and an endless supply of tea.
Once a week,or more if we found a surprise rerun,I'd watch Law and Order with my mom,racing to the kitchen during ad breaks to make tea and scrounge around for a piece of I-KNOW-I-saved-some-somewhere chocolate.
More often than not,and unbeknown to most of the rest of the family, my brother and I would sit up in the kitchen or in his room long after everyone had gone to bed,listening to Eminem and,again,drinking tea. We would talk about the oddest things,from how certain Linkin Park songs are a cry for Salvation,relationships,remember whens and what we thought was going to happen in the next episode of LOST. Too many inside jokes were formed during those times. Only Jesse will understand how a painting can be a Scratchy Poo and why giving some one a thumbs up is hilarious.
While my days now honestly are fairly decent,I do think of these times as our good old days,when we all lived in the same country and spoke to one another more than once a month. i miss the noise,the four cats ruling the roost,laughing at the little retard Moo,hearing the two dogs bark at thieving pigeons and not being able to go into the garden because of target practice. My family is absolutely insane,weird,loud and messy.We are all stubborn and strong willed,and like any family we fought.But when it really mattered we always stuck together like a little gang,ganging up on whoever was bullying one of us or having a heart felt funeral for a passing cat. Oh the insanity,I miss being a part of it more than ANYTHING.
Some days I still think I'm going to wake up in bed at 26 Austral Rd with Sophie tapping my face,wanting to come lie under the blanket. She had an annoying,darling habit of jumping onto my bed just as I was about to get out of it. Feeling her little footsteps across my blankets was one of my favourite feelings ever.When I'd cuddled with Sophie,I'd have my quiet time in the green,bowl shaped couch with the knife lost inside it. the couch was old,hardly green anymore,really. More of a mouldy grey with an occasional yellow fleck where the sponge was starting to show.
We would all do school in the outside classroom,sometimes getting caught up in pointless debates for hours. We even declared our classroom a country,wrote a history and a charter and gained amazing red indian names. My mother was Chief Mother Moose,Rebekah was lame Duck,on account of her extreme laziness and inability to fetch anything of her own. I was Ugly Bird and Jesse was Little Swaying Antelope. Zoe,poor thing,was dubbed Poop Scoop,for reasons that cannot be disclosed to the public. During tea break,the duty fell upon me to make tea and popcorn for the hungry masses. During lunch break,my dad and I would get our daily dose of justice by giving Judge Mathis our impeccable advice.The library would be graced with our critical presence every other Monday,dancing was,at one time,nearly every day. On Friday afternoons before youth we would all endure 45 minutes of music lessons. While the classes never produced any great enjoyment,I am eternally grateful for the skills I have developed on the flute.
On odd rainy days (and non rainy days) I would watch New Moon and eat chocolate custard with Rebekah,squashed up on my little bed,under a pile of blankets. In between yanking the duvet,readjusting the lap top so that it was exactly in the middle,sometimes falling off the bed or getting knocked into the shelves and repeating certain scenes,we managed to create an excellent sisterly bonding time.
During the afternoons I would swing and journal with Zoe. Sometimes we would just lie on a blanket and look at clouds,talking till there was nothing left to say. So many "What Ifs" and "Imagine You Could" conversations took place during those short moments. There was always something to laugh about and an endless supply of tea.
Once a week,or more if we found a surprise rerun,I'd watch Law and Order with my mom,racing to the kitchen during ad breaks to make tea and scrounge around for a piece of I-KNOW-I-saved-some-somewhere chocolate.
More often than not,and unbeknown to most of the rest of the family, my brother and I would sit up in the kitchen or in his room long after everyone had gone to bed,listening to Eminem and,again,drinking tea. We would talk about the oddest things,from how certain Linkin Park songs are a cry for Salvation,relationships,remember whens and what we thought was going to happen in the next episode of LOST. Too many inside jokes were formed during those times. Only Jesse will understand how a painting can be a Scratchy Poo and why giving some one a thumbs up is hilarious.
While my days now honestly are fairly decent,I do think of these times as our good old days,when we all lived in the same country and spoke to one another more than once a month. i miss the noise,the four cats ruling the roost,laughing at the little retard Moo,hearing the two dogs bark at thieving pigeons and not being able to go into the garden because of target practice. My family is absolutely insane,weird,loud and messy.We are all stubborn and strong willed,and like any family we fought.But when it really mattered we always stuck together like a little gang,ganging up on whoever was bullying one of us or having a heart felt funeral for a passing cat. Oh the insanity,I miss being a part of it more than ANYTHING.
Friday, March 2, 2012
Beautiful Things
"You make beautiful things out of the dust.You make beautiful things out of us"-Gungor
My amazing Ouma has taught me many wondrous things. I learnt how to make beaded bracelets in her humid living room. Under her guidance I pressed pansies to absolute perfection. I spent quite some time with stained,pink fingers after she showed me how to dye and press shredded cardboard to make paper. But the one thing I will always remember,the thing she taught me without realizing,is seeing beautiful things. I still remember her saying many years ago,"If i can see just one beautiful thing,my day is complete. And if I can't see it,I will go find it." Ever since then,I have tried,and often failed,to find something beautiful in every day. Sometimes I'm so busy feeling sorry for myself that the myriads of beauties go unnoticed,but I have been getting better at it. And once you get it right,life in general just becomes so much more lovely.
Yesterday the sun caught a green and red leaf right at its very tip and the sun rays made a little V of colour. Last night the sky was nearly black and the half-lit moon looked like a drop of light surrounded by tiny pinprick stars. Every day a sprightly little red-head comes knocking at my door to see if I want to come out and play. A great deal of beauty is found in other people's photography. dandelions are,I think,one of the most beautiful things ever. Still,as some smart person once said,true beauty is not found in that which the world sees as beautiful but that which makes the world see beauty. You,darling Ouma,are one of the most beautiful things this earth has seen. Ek is baie lief vir jou :)
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| Dandelion |
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| My Ouma and Oupa |
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Autumn
"Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns."- George Eliot
There is something rather magical about the changing of seasons. Perhaps it is only in my overly imaginative mind,but I could feel the change in the air this morning. The sky was a little bluer,the leaves slightly more yellow and wind just a tad chillier. While September 1 is greatly celebrated for the coming of Spring,I have always enjoyed the first day of Autumn more. Long fluffy socks,hot chocolate and woolly hats will soon be a part of our daily lives again.To honour this glorious occasion,I have changed my blogs background for a while. Autumn is on my list of 100 favourite things about being alive. It is just too lovely. happy Autumn Day :) :)
There is something rather magical about the changing of seasons. Perhaps it is only in my overly imaginative mind,but I could feel the change in the air this morning. The sky was a little bluer,the leaves slightly more yellow and wind just a tad chillier. While September 1 is greatly celebrated for the coming of Spring,I have always enjoyed the first day of Autumn more. Long fluffy socks,hot chocolate and woolly hats will soon be a part of our daily lives again.To honour this glorious occasion,I have changed my blogs background for a while. Autumn is on my list of 100 favourite things about being alive. It is just too lovely. happy Autumn Day :) :)
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Identity
"Be yourself.Everyone else is already taken"-Oscar Wilde
I recently spent an unexpected three weeks working at a children's camp in Zinkwazi. During my stay at Sugar Bay I came face to face with the reality of identity. I had never given much thought to my name until it was taken away. When you enter the counselor's program,you are given a nickname and no one knows what your real name is. My given name was All Stars,because of the shoes I was wearing,but I got called Snow White,Rapunzel,Ballerina,Rookie and many more. By the second day,people started to notice that,unlike the majority,I did not grab my cigarettes during free time,but my Bible. I became known as The Christian. This sparked a great deal of thought. What makes us who we are?
Is it what we wear,the colour of our skin,the length of our hair,our hobbies,our level of experience or our beliefs?
I was named after each of these things but none of them ever seemed to capture all of ME. For a few moments I realized I did not know what makes me ME. Yes,I was the rookie in the group,but that wasn't all of me. Compared to the tanned Durbanites',my skin was snow white and my hair was by far the closest to Rapunzel's they had ever seen,but I am far more than my looks. Being called The Christian was meant as an offense,but I was quite happy with finding my identity in Christ. Still,I think we are all made up of layers. I am pale and skinny on the outside. On the inside I have a love for dancing and drawing and I am a little bit behind everyone else. I like to write and take photos. On another level,some Eminem songs make me cry,I am obsessed with chinese babies and I love my little sister with all my heart. At the very core of me,I know that I am God's princess and I am captivated by His love for me. All of me is wrapped up into a small,sometimes sarcastic,sometimes annoying bundle of thoughts and ideas named Helen. My perception of all this is just as jumbled and unorganized as this post is. That is me. Oh well :)
I recently spent an unexpected three weeks working at a children's camp in Zinkwazi. During my stay at Sugar Bay I came face to face with the reality of identity. I had never given much thought to my name until it was taken away. When you enter the counselor's program,you are given a nickname and no one knows what your real name is. My given name was All Stars,because of the shoes I was wearing,but I got called Snow White,Rapunzel,Ballerina,Rookie and many more. By the second day,people started to notice that,unlike the majority,I did not grab my cigarettes during free time,but my Bible. I became known as The Christian. This sparked a great deal of thought. What makes us who we are?
Is it what we wear,the colour of our skin,the length of our hair,our hobbies,our level of experience or our beliefs?
I was named after each of these things but none of them ever seemed to capture all of ME. For a few moments I realized I did not know what makes me ME. Yes,I was the rookie in the group,but that wasn't all of me. Compared to the tanned Durbanites',my skin was snow white and my hair was by far the closest to Rapunzel's they had ever seen,but I am far more than my looks. Being called The Christian was meant as an offense,but I was quite happy with finding my identity in Christ. Still,I think we are all made up of layers. I am pale and skinny on the outside. On the inside I have a love for dancing and drawing and I am a little bit behind everyone else. I like to write and take photos. On another level,some Eminem songs make me cry,I am obsessed with chinese babies and I love my little sister with all my heart. At the very core of me,I know that I am God's princess and I am captivated by His love for me. All of me is wrapped up into a small,sometimes sarcastic,sometimes annoying bundle of thoughts and ideas named Helen. My perception of all this is just as jumbled and unorganized as this post is. That is me. Oh well :)
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Kevin Whataman
“Dying would be rather inconvenient at this moment in time”-Kevin Loubser the Great
One of the many doubts I have about owning a blog is whether anyone ever reads my posts. This doubt led me to a brief pause in literary excursions in the middle of last year. I was convinced that the only person who ever read anything was my 12 year old sister. While I love her dearly and hold her opinion of my writing far above anyone else,this fact did make my blog somewhat pointless,as I could e-mail her the content and save the trouble.
I was,however,wrong. A week or so after what I thought was my last post,one Kevin Loubser of Pinetown approached me and demanded an explanation on the absence of posts. I wrote one post,Tumbling Along, to appease him and thought that was that. But Kevin was relentless. I soon got back into writing,not only to make him happy but also because I had rediscovered the joys of creating with words. I will forever be grateful to this man. This blog post was not merely posted to thank him for his influence on my writing,but to wish him.
Today is Kevin’s birthday. The world has been graced with his marvelous presence for 23 years. This universe would be dull indeed without his amazingly unique sense of humour,his inconceivable intelligence and his unsurpassed knowledge of all things technological. Besides being,I like to think,my biggest fan and most avid reader,Kevin has extraordinary tastes in books,music and friends. He laughs at my jokes and makes endless comments on my caffeine intake. Yes,Kevin,I AM drinking a cup of coffee as i type these words.
Happy,happy birthday Kevin!!! To Kevin Loubser,ladies and gentlemen...what a man!
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