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Friday 18 October 2013
Wednesday 16 October 2013
Ke Summer Boss!Bring out those dresses,LOVE!
Ultra-femininity=beautiful dresses+the perfect summer day
Found all these lovelies online; blogs, Pinterest,Google, you name it. A dress is worth the search
Found all these lovelies online; blogs, Pinterest,Google, you name it. A dress is worth the search
Thursday 19 July 2012
Reality or conception?
Sadness overwhelms me at the the idea that self-perception is a social construct.Could our very nature be determined by society's expectation?Am I calm, gentle and nurturing because others imbued these characteristics into this vessel called my body rather than aggression, temperament and the insensitivity which is thought to be above this physical construct?Are my rhythm, flow and beat a true reflection of the puzzle termed femininity?
Looking back on childhood, memories of running wild; climbing trees and playing tricks on unsuspecting passers-by come to mind.Are these not the bread and butter of the nostalgia of "innocence" past? Where is their blue or pink tag?
What about the little rendezvous behind he house or secluded spaces around the yard where "house"; "show me yours and I'll show you mine"; "The Days of Lives" or even the giggle inducing "Blue Movie" you were not supposed to see, were those re-enactments always with the little Thabo's or Nomsa's of our dusty 'lokshins' streets?We all had best friends...
Growing up I now have to cover this naked frame so that you should not see, when just yesterday we all ran naked under summer's sprinkler valve. Is this where the whole notion of lacking self-control in the "stronger" sex stems from?Will you really unravel and violate at the exposure of this de-robed sight?
Why am not represented outside the demure, sensual and lascivious? Why can I not be allowed to suffer the same cancerous fate of shady corners by the spaza shop; the biggest piece of meat; sweat-dripping, muscle-ripping work and an expected exit when duty calls,abandon the seeds of my labour and then compose a catchy tune of these, my exploits?
Am I really living the life I want to or merely responding to the laws of living,to an all-seeing eye, moralizing and acting as a collective corrector of human behaviour?Do we ever get time to really shine or are we merely filling preconceived spaces?I laugh and resign because I think that I might have already missed the boat, right now I can only think about whether or not to have this stompie.
Looking back on childhood, memories of running wild; climbing trees and playing tricks on unsuspecting passers-by come to mind.Are these not the bread and butter of the nostalgia of "innocence" past? Where is their blue or pink tag?
What about the little rendezvous behind he house or secluded spaces around the yard where "house"; "show me yours and I'll show you mine"; "The Days of Lives" or even the giggle inducing "Blue Movie" you were not supposed to see, were those re-enactments always with the little Thabo's or Nomsa's of our dusty 'lokshins' streets?We all had best friends...
Growing up I now have to cover this naked frame so that you should not see, when just yesterday we all ran naked under summer's sprinkler valve. Is this where the whole notion of lacking self-control in the "stronger" sex stems from?Will you really unravel and violate at the exposure of this de-robed sight?
Why am not represented outside the demure, sensual and lascivious? Why can I not be allowed to suffer the same cancerous fate of shady corners by the spaza shop; the biggest piece of meat; sweat-dripping, muscle-ripping work and an expected exit when duty calls,abandon the seeds of my labour and then compose a catchy tune of these, my exploits?
Am I really living the life I want to or merely responding to the laws of living,to an all-seeing eye, moralizing and acting as a collective corrector of human behaviour?Do we ever get time to really shine or are we merely filling preconceived spaces?I laugh and resign because I think that I might have already missed the boat, right now I can only think about whether or not to have this stompie.
'Tis the season
The festive season is those simmery summery holidays which one and all look ever so forward to; family all around, delicious food, a break from the hustle and bustle of school and work and purely a time to relax and party. Unfortunately we forget the darker side of this oh so merry time; family and relationship drama. Throughout the year you miss your siblings and parents so much and romance between you and your partner is at its optimum that you just can’t wait.
Then comes the big “F” and suddenly you realize that life alone in the city might not be so bad. The first week or so are absolute bliss, it’s late nights of “Did you know...?” in the kitchen and sniggers all-round. You wonder how you will manage ripping yourself from your sisters, brothers and cousins, life is so much better when the family is all together. Not to mention the pain at your side and abundant “I love you’s” at missing your partner. You can’t get enough of each other on the phone, you talk about all the things you plan on doing when you’re together again and lah de lah.
All is well on planet holiday until week three comes up. Suddenly everything that grated your nipples about your family comes waltzing to your doorstep. Your spoilt and lazy younger brother is still the same old prick who gets his way, all day. The chores start piling up on your side when there’s a house full of people, it becomes your duty to cook, clean, feed everyone else’s children while their mothers are around simply because you belong to the group labelled the “youngest”, which in African culture means the bunch that should do everything. On top of that, the fight you had with your sister during the year lies await in the ice bucket, tucked snuggly with the crisp bottle of Sauvignon Blanc you're having. Then, boom, when the happy fairy from the winery whizzes merrily in your system, you hear a subtle but catty remark about what you “did to me!”.
The love of your life suddenly stops answering your calls on weekends, calls you at awkward hours of the morning with anything but a straight voice, can’t seem to fully account for his whereabouts while music blares in the background. Every issue you worked on during the year and beautiful tear-wrenching make up session you had comes crumbling down on you as you see that nothing has changed! Then square one is right back where you are. Need I say more?
Now you are stuck in drama land and your feet and luggage just can’t wait to board that bus back to Joburg. You wonder how you will survive the next few weeks with your sanity still intact and how booking a therapy session at the nearest practice might not be such a bad idea. The extra roll you’ve developed around a now abundant waist-line starts telling you that gym, which you will probably only go to for the first three weeks of January, is now fully due. You swim and weave through this never-ending miasma of iFesteeve , emotions running high. The 1st of January is on the horizon and now you have to leave in a few days.
Then, like a light bulb moment, it dawns on you how much you are going to miss the squealing of your nieces, your demanding and neurotic aged grandmother, the laughter in the kitchen fuelled by umgosi and dramatic stories about the line of dogs your sisters dated, your mother’s voice as she nags you about the wrong way you’ve closed the curtains, the wonder at the copious amounts of tea that one household can consume and most importantly the love that has kept you all together. You are already counting down the months till you get to do it all over again
Then comes the big “F” and suddenly you realize that life alone in the city might not be so bad. The first week or so are absolute bliss, it’s late nights of “Did you know...?” in the kitchen and sniggers all-round. You wonder how you will manage ripping yourself from your sisters, brothers and cousins, life is so much better when the family is all together. Not to mention the pain at your side and abundant “I love you’s” at missing your partner. You can’t get enough of each other on the phone, you talk about all the things you plan on doing when you’re together again and lah de lah.
All is well on planet holiday until week three comes up. Suddenly everything that grated your nipples about your family comes waltzing to your doorstep. Your spoilt and lazy younger brother is still the same old prick who gets his way, all day. The chores start piling up on your side when there’s a house full of people, it becomes your duty to cook, clean, feed everyone else’s children while their mothers are around simply because you belong to the group labelled the “youngest”, which in African culture means the bunch that should do everything. On top of that, the fight you had with your sister during the year lies await in the ice bucket, tucked snuggly with the crisp bottle of Sauvignon Blanc you're having. Then, boom, when the happy fairy from the winery whizzes merrily in your system, you hear a subtle but catty remark about what you “did to me!”.
The love of your life suddenly stops answering your calls on weekends, calls you at awkward hours of the morning with anything but a straight voice, can’t seem to fully account for his whereabouts while music blares in the background. Every issue you worked on during the year and beautiful tear-wrenching make up session you had comes crumbling down on you as you see that nothing has changed! Then square one is right back where you are. Need I say more?
Now you are stuck in drama land and your feet and luggage just can’t wait to board that bus back to Joburg. You wonder how you will survive the next few weeks with your sanity still intact and how booking a therapy session at the nearest practice might not be such a bad idea. The extra roll you’ve developed around a now abundant waist-line starts telling you that gym, which you will probably only go to for the first three weeks of January, is now fully due. You swim and weave through this never-ending miasma of iFesteeve , emotions running high. The 1st of January is on the horizon and now you have to leave in a few days.
Then, like a light bulb moment, it dawns on you how much you are going to miss the squealing of your nieces, your demanding and neurotic aged grandmother, the laughter in the kitchen fuelled by umgosi and dramatic stories about the line of dogs your sisters dated, your mother’s voice as she nags you about the wrong way you’ve closed the curtains, the wonder at the copious amounts of tea that one household can consume and most importantly the love that has kept you all together. You are already counting down the months till you get to do it all over again
The Journey everywhere
Growing pains seem to dominate our everyday existence; loss, hurt, struggle, acceptance, you name it. If it isn’t coming to terms with the dreadful fact that you will be back to repeat a semester at varsity, it is that the people you considered your friends no longer are. At every turn all you see is change, even the cockroaches, which magically appear when visitors are around seem to have their seasons, they come and they go.
It isn’t that change was never noticeable before, it just never used to have such negative implication as before. With it comes terms such failure, inadequacy, loneliness and rejection_ to name just a few. This comes at the thought that perhaps, just perhaps, life is not fair. Why do we have to experience constant inconsistencies? It’s as though God just woke up in a grumpy mood and suddenly decided that He didn’t like you anymore, let alone love you. The act of standing still is a challenge in itself as thoughts of; “I’ll I get left behind. No, forgotten. I will cease to exist.” race through your mind.
Left and right you look, everyone else is moving forward. Your schoolmates are working now, some even have cars. Don’t get me started on how others have your dream job or internship. You wonder why it is that you gain a jean size every year and yet your best friend since childhood has stayed the same; perfectly rounded ass and hips that will make you lie. Heck, the long-term relationship you long for; all blurry with white smoke at the edges, running in slow motion towards each other through a field of daisies, wedding bells chiming away in the background and finally the ‘legs in the air’ while swirling around embrace, is but an intangible dream. Your own life falls short.
Does it really though?
Have you ever taken a step back and taken a look at things for what they really are? Is the road you walk on to be judged in comparison to that of others? Think about it: is it not a blessing to be given a second chance at school instead of being excluded; is it not better to be rid of people whose only value was taking from you instead giving in return; is it not better to specialize in your desired career field than to leave with a general qualification; is that car worth it when you have resort to expecting petrol money from friends you give lifts to, whilst going to the same place; are you not destined to find your own path to that dream; are your bountiful curves not the mark of womanhood compared to those of a ‘shorty’ or mabhebeza, and is the image of love portrayed on the outside a true reflection of that ‘perfect’ relationship behind closed doors?
Growing pains are a beautiful thing; loss, hurt, struggle, acceptance, you name it, are just a mere tip of the iceberg. These are the vehicles that lead us to the true grasp of gratitude, wisdom, resilience and courage. These constant inconsistencies constantly evolving us into better human beings, if and only if we welcome them. Life gives us the metamorphosis that moths and butterflies only experience once in a lifetime, yet we are privileged to experience throughout our lifetime.
On attending a Women in Leadership Conference during Women’s Month, the ever vibrant MC, Cecilia Ravele illuminatingly said; “God puts pressure on your potential.” The upper-cuts and fly-kicks we feel God gives us are simply the loving touch of refinement, a push in the right direction and the foundation of priceless character.
Take a look back to the person you were 1 or 2 years ago. Would you choose to be the same him or her, were you given the choice to? Sure, life is unfair, but so are the undeserved blessings God always gives, the unfailing love and loyalty of the friends and loved ones we barely speak to, let alone show our appreciation to, and the ability to live truthfully unto ourselves.
So before we open our mouths, minds and heart to complain, ask yourself; is it not wonder made manifest that we are simply, alive?
It isn’t that change was never noticeable before, it just never used to have such negative implication as before. With it comes terms such failure, inadequacy, loneliness and rejection_ to name just a few. This comes at the thought that perhaps, just perhaps, life is not fair. Why do we have to experience constant inconsistencies? It’s as though God just woke up in a grumpy mood and suddenly decided that He didn’t like you anymore, let alone love you. The act of standing still is a challenge in itself as thoughts of; “I’ll I get left behind. No, forgotten. I will cease to exist.” race through your mind.
Left and right you look, everyone else is moving forward. Your schoolmates are working now, some even have cars. Don’t get me started on how others have your dream job or internship. You wonder why it is that you gain a jean size every year and yet your best friend since childhood has stayed the same; perfectly rounded ass and hips that will make you lie. Heck, the long-term relationship you long for; all blurry with white smoke at the edges, running in slow motion towards each other through a field of daisies, wedding bells chiming away in the background and finally the ‘legs in the air’ while swirling around embrace, is but an intangible dream. Your own life falls short.
Does it really though?
Have you ever taken a step back and taken a look at things for what they really are? Is the road you walk on to be judged in comparison to that of others? Think about it: is it not a blessing to be given a second chance at school instead of being excluded; is it not better to be rid of people whose only value was taking from you instead giving in return; is it not better to specialize in your desired career field than to leave with a general qualification; is that car worth it when you have resort to expecting petrol money from friends you give lifts to, whilst going to the same place; are you not destined to find your own path to that dream; are your bountiful curves not the mark of womanhood compared to those of a ‘shorty’ or mabhebeza, and is the image of love portrayed on the outside a true reflection of that ‘perfect’ relationship behind closed doors?
Growing pains are a beautiful thing; loss, hurt, struggle, acceptance, you name it, are just a mere tip of the iceberg. These are the vehicles that lead us to the true grasp of gratitude, wisdom, resilience and courage. These constant inconsistencies constantly evolving us into better human beings, if and only if we welcome them. Life gives us the metamorphosis that moths and butterflies only experience once in a lifetime, yet we are privileged to experience throughout our lifetime.
On attending a Women in Leadership Conference during Women’s Month, the ever vibrant MC, Cecilia Ravele illuminatingly said; “God puts pressure on your potential.” The upper-cuts and fly-kicks we feel God gives us are simply the loving touch of refinement, a push in the right direction and the foundation of priceless character.
Take a look back to the person you were 1 or 2 years ago. Would you choose to be the same him or her, were you given the choice to? Sure, life is unfair, but so are the undeserved blessings God always gives, the unfailing love and loyalty of the friends and loved ones we barely speak to, let alone show our appreciation to, and the ability to live truthfully unto ourselves.
So before we open our mouths, minds and heart to complain, ask yourself; is it not wonder made manifest that we are simply, alive?
Accidents and Raja onions
What is it about things that sneak up on us that render us so helpless but relieved at the same time? Like a car accident; one minute all safe and oblivious, the next praising God for our safety? I had a realization; my part in the story is not over yet. By that I don’t mean a Kanye West moment of invincibility but one of a secret assurance, “Not yet.” I’m one of those people that ideally would have God do everything. Maybe it’s a secret laziness, like being the first one as a child to jump up when your parents need something done. At my house we had a code, ok, maybe not so secret, of who got to do what was asked. We shouted out a number from 1 to about 5 and whoever shouted out the last number got to do the task. The older siblings got, the cleverer they became; all of a sudden zero came into the equation, and I wonder what happened to negative numbers! I think my mom liked it, she and my dad would ring a bell (don’t ask me where they learnt this habit) whenever a cup of tea or coffee was craved.
Ok, enough of childhood reminiscing now, let’s get to the almost grown up stuff. A break-up is one of those things that at times sneak up on you. Call it naiveté or a conscious decision to weather all storms, but those bastards are sneaky. It’s ironic that the label bastard came up; fatherless emotions. But do emotions really need two people to exist? I wish they did because at least there would be someone to blame. I’m just kidding, we’re all participants in a story, like it or not. It’s like attracting dysfunctional partners, call me Dr Phil. This week I discovered that I may actually be as dysfunctional as those I accuse and also heard that we’re all sick to varying degrees. Let’s not get into that for the sake of keeping the peace and ones, excuse the irony, sanity.
Back to the accident; when the side of my face hit the hand grabbing thinga-majig behind the seat in front of me in a quantum, sadly, my life did not flash in front of me. Instead the crunch of metal on metal felt like a science field trip experiment; but instead of classmates I had complete strangers beside me. I wonder what happened to the coloured guy sitting next to me; one minute he was there, the next it was just three of us with our index fingers pointed upwards in the cold Jan Smuts air signalling for Bree. Right now I have a companionable bottle of Shiraz next to me and an unending prayer of gratitude; half of me wants to break down in shock and the other is just so grateful that the tears hang in limbo, waiting to be claimed. Honestly, I think a good cry would solve everything. Thank goodness Kari Jobe is doing the crying for me, I don’t think I’d keep up. Plus the smell of frying onions and Raja in the kitchen only serve as the needed reminder of having an appetite.
Yes, where was I about things that sneak up on us like exam prayers of doing better next time in a room of hopefuls or even better, being what our parents expect us to be? I haven’t somewhat given up on that one, there’s something about people; two or one, sometimes none, expecting you to be better than they were that is the match light to paraffin or wait, another Portuguese roll to Nandos chicken served hot after an over indulgent night or isonka sombako dunked in ulusu at umcimbi.
Let me not take up too much white space waiting to be seduced with white ink and say what’s on my mind. Thank you Jesus I’m alive, by the way Microsoft Word did not automatically correct the small letters 'j' in Jesus when I typed it, just a red a red zigzag line under the name. What's the point to having a word processing programe if it doesn't recognize name? As I was saying, things that sneak up on us are a reminder of the fragility of the things we perceive to be our treasure. I’d like to say, “Store your treasures in heaven” but I’ve never been there. What I can say is that life is a testimony of purpose. I’m still waiting to find mine as that of the confidence of a motivational speaker during a conference but I unwittingly know it’s there like a lie in a line pleading for forgiveness.
I’m happy and grateful to be alive but so many of us take life to be like opening a “lucky packet”; you don’t know what you’re going to get but you’re happy if it’s better than the greenish-gray of a toy soldier that your friend got a second ago. I wish miracles were set in very apparent contrast to our everyday existence, in that way there would be assured comfort to pain, disappointment, hurt and could-have-beens. I pray God sneaks up behind me with an AK 47 (that’s the only gun variety I know besides a Baby Brown) and blows my brains out, he’s been doing it for so long that I’ve gotten so used to it and take it as a must like a sugar daddy or momma spending cash. That’s nice until you’re faced with a boep full of disappointment and waning youth.
Yes yes, there’s something about things that sneak up on us that render us so helpless but relieved at the same time.
Oh gosh, I’ve blabbered on and on, it’s time for closing comments; “Stay real, don’t do drugs.” I wish. The only realness in this room is that I’ve got fingers to press on black and white key squares and little purple secrets of making a whole lot of money even though my majors belongs in the lower echelons of reality in a salary increase. I hold onto the promise of prosperity and goodness that come from God’s own lips, I wonder how God’s lips look mara. In my head he’s always wearing a huge grin and side-burns and ever charismatic. Let me not start on God’s persona, my inbox would perhaps be full of conservative’s takes on seriousness. If I can laugh and crack jokes, surely he can too.
Ok, enough of childhood reminiscing now, let’s get to the almost grown up stuff. A break-up is one of those things that at times sneak up on you. Call it naiveté or a conscious decision to weather all storms, but those bastards are sneaky. It’s ironic that the label bastard came up; fatherless emotions. But do emotions really need two people to exist? I wish they did because at least there would be someone to blame. I’m just kidding, we’re all participants in a story, like it or not. It’s like attracting dysfunctional partners, call me Dr Phil. This week I discovered that I may actually be as dysfunctional as those I accuse and also heard that we’re all sick to varying degrees. Let’s not get into that for the sake of keeping the peace and ones, excuse the irony, sanity.
Back to the accident; when the side of my face hit the hand grabbing thinga-majig behind the seat in front of me in a quantum, sadly, my life did not flash in front of me. Instead the crunch of metal on metal felt like a science field trip experiment; but instead of classmates I had complete strangers beside me. I wonder what happened to the coloured guy sitting next to me; one minute he was there, the next it was just three of us with our index fingers pointed upwards in the cold Jan Smuts air signalling for Bree. Right now I have a companionable bottle of Shiraz next to me and an unending prayer of gratitude; half of me wants to break down in shock and the other is just so grateful that the tears hang in limbo, waiting to be claimed. Honestly, I think a good cry would solve everything. Thank goodness Kari Jobe is doing the crying for me, I don’t think I’d keep up. Plus the smell of frying onions and Raja in the kitchen only serve as the needed reminder of having an appetite.
Yes, where was I about things that sneak up on us like exam prayers of doing better next time in a room of hopefuls or even better, being what our parents expect us to be? I haven’t somewhat given up on that one, there’s something about people; two or one, sometimes none, expecting you to be better than they were that is the match light to paraffin or wait, another Portuguese roll to Nandos chicken served hot after an over indulgent night or isonka sombako dunked in ulusu at umcimbi.
Let me not take up too much white space waiting to be seduced with white ink and say what’s on my mind. Thank you Jesus I’m alive, by the way Microsoft Word did not automatically correct the small letters 'j' in Jesus when I typed it, just a red a red zigzag line under the name. What's the point to having a word processing programe if it doesn't recognize name? As I was saying, things that sneak up on us are a reminder of the fragility of the things we perceive to be our treasure. I’d like to say, “Store your treasures in heaven” but I’ve never been there. What I can say is that life is a testimony of purpose. I’m still waiting to find mine as that of the confidence of a motivational speaker during a conference but I unwittingly know it’s there like a lie in a line pleading for forgiveness.
I’m happy and grateful to be alive but so many of us take life to be like opening a “lucky packet”; you don’t know what you’re going to get but you’re happy if it’s better than the greenish-gray of a toy soldier that your friend got a second ago. I wish miracles were set in very apparent contrast to our everyday existence, in that way there would be assured comfort to pain, disappointment, hurt and could-have-beens. I pray God sneaks up behind me with an AK 47 (that’s the only gun variety I know besides a Baby Brown) and blows my brains out, he’s been doing it for so long that I’ve gotten so used to it and take it as a must like a sugar daddy or momma spending cash. That’s nice until you’re faced with a boep full of disappointment and waning youth.
Yes yes, there’s something about things that sneak up on us that render us so helpless but relieved at the same time.
Oh gosh, I’ve blabbered on and on, it’s time for closing comments; “Stay real, don’t do drugs.” I wish. The only realness in this room is that I’ve got fingers to press on black and white key squares and little purple secrets of making a whole lot of money even though my majors belongs in the lower echelons of reality in a salary increase. I hold onto the promise of prosperity and goodness that come from God’s own lips, I wonder how God’s lips look mara. In my head he’s always wearing a huge grin and side-burns and ever charismatic. Let me not start on God’s persona, my inbox would perhaps be full of conservative’s takes on seriousness. If I can laugh and crack jokes, surely he can too.
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