Chocolate bunnies are delicious

Today happens to be Easter. As I write this I have a giant chocolate bunny for company. Unfortunately she is not a very good listener due to her ears having been eaten off by yours truly earlier today. Nonetheless what she lacks in ears she makes up for it by being very delicious.

I love Easter. It is my second favourite holiday of the year. I don’t see it much as the day Jesus was rose from the grave but rather as the one day where I get to stuff my face with chocolate and not feel guilty about it. I have had a very pleasant day doing just that. It was also the first Easter where, after the traditional, yet brutally competitive Easter egg hunt, I had no plans, no family braais or dinners to get dressed for. It was a day for pyjamas, chocolate, a warm bath and multiple episodes of Downton Abbey. I also had to fix my sisters trophy which had fallen to the floor in a struggle for a candy-coated egg. All is fair in love and war... and Easter egg hunts too.

I should have some kind of excuse for or meaning behind spending a day doing absolutely nothing, let alone breaking a trophy and consuming copious amounts of calories. Easter does have some reason for it, right? The rising of Jesus Christ is one of them but after a few weeks of church when I was seventeen, I decided that neither God nor Jesus was the root of anything that went on in my life, including me gnawing on rabbit-shaped chocolate.

There are, however, other meanings behind Easter. The Easter egg was originally a Pagan symbol of new life. The egg illustrated the end of winter and beginning of spring in the Northern hemisphere. It was the end of one cycle and the promising beginning of another. My mother, who grew up in Scotland, remembers rolling painted Easter eggs down grassy hills as the warm rays of spring sunshine touched her winter-paled shoulders. Easter is a promise of the things that are to come. It is New Year’s Eve with eggs and hot-cross buns instead of fireworks.

 

I therefore propose a toast. I raise my half-eaten Easter egg to the beginning of a new cycle. It is a slightly colder one but it is still new. May you have a lovely Easter, become sick from too much chocolate and have a fantabulous new cycle, or at least a better one than my chocolate bunny. She has now lost her face.  Cheers.

Sand, waves and sun on blinded eyes.

They say that some blind people swear they can see the light of the sun, but in reality all it is is the warmth of the sun on their face. This is how I felt as I woke today, the sun was warming my face, but I swear I saw the light at the end of the tunnel of my unsettled sleep.  I had not slept well. Mosquitos sang when they were not busy biting. I have some beautiful pieces of red, itchy artwork courtesy of le mosquito all over my ankles, legs and, regrettably, face. I must say I do not appreciate the mosquito’s art or singing, especially at all hours of the night.

 

When I eventually booed (or swatted) le mosquito off the stage, my own bad dreams took their cue. The result was circles under the eyes and resentment at my dad for waking me up before ten to go to the beach, something I had actually asked him to do.

Wait. Hold on. When did Grahamstown have a beach? Well, I wish it did, but I am on holiday in Plettenberg Bay which, much to my delight, does have a beach. My grandparents own a house there. My dad happens to be there on business so I saw an opportunity to catch some salty water in my face and beach sand in my toes as the shades of summer begin to fade.

Plettenberg Bay is the place of childhood memories. It has been my holiday destination since I was a tiny baby. It was where, many years ago, my father attempted to get my pregnant mother to the point where stormy waves meet sun-baked rocks. When she refused he took her to a smaller set of rocks. Once there he asked her to marry him. It was where I celebrated my new-found freedom after the last day of high school was over. It was where I bravely ran into ice-cold ocean at four o’clock in the morning last year. It was where I usually welcome the New Year, face glowing from the reflection of fireworks across the sky. It is no surprise that I love this place.

I am not the first one to have a holiday home I love like no other place in the world. All my friends fortunate enough to leave reality for sand, waves and natural beauty love their holiday homes too. When I show them Plett most of them say their holiday hideout is better. I have sometimes visited theirs but I remain unconvinced. I suppose everyone thinks their childhood holiday is the best, but I remain convinced that Plett is the bees-knees.

The most obvious attraction is the beach. Duh! I am what is known as an inland city-slash-hovel-they-call-a-town dweller, crying for some salty air and sand between my toes. As I stare across the blue-green expanse of sea, staining the beach like paint off a paintbrush, I am reminded just how small my problems and issues really are.

This term has been the most challenging first-term encounter at Rhodes so far. It started with my most valued friendship, one I used to think of more as a sisterhood, falling to pieces. A little discouraged, I still was determined not to let this ruin my term. I fought the urge to cry, determined instead to show myself that I could handle it. I over-committed myself to other activities and other friends, determined to not let this affect my life. The result was me falling behind in everything. I forgot to pitch at my waitressing job twice, my journalism marks started to tumble and I rocked up at meetings late. My best efforts of going to gym were thwarted by me stuffing my face with pizza after a shift where someone who I could always count on proceeded to ignore me through hours of working together.

I shiver as my striped bikini fails to protect me from the icy waves. A cloud moves across the sky, making room for a little sunshine. It feels like the light at the end of the tunnel. I could be wrong, maybe blind and thinking I see light instead of just feeling warmth. The hope that I think I see could be mistaken for something else. All I know is, blind or not, the warmth of the sun feels good on my face.

Why I write?

My mind spins, unable to grasp on a single reason. Each piece I write brings a different reason bursting into my mind like a popcorn kernel in the microwave. Sometimes I think there are too many reasons. Other times there is not a single one in mind. Or maybe it is just hidden, a treasure chest hoping for a new piece of writing to discover it.

The one thing that has always been true is that I write because I need to. Barely tall enough to grab my colouring book off the top shelf and still believing that I was going to be a princess, I had to force myself to sit still as a kind teacher pointed to some letters on a blackboard and told me to write them. I have since used these letters to fulfil all sorts of requirements needed in my having a promising future. I write because, without it, my exam paper would be an empty page. I write so I can spell my name on an identity book application. I need to write to prove my existence and continue to exist in a world where a good existence is earned.

We all have to write. Some write more than others. Academics write papers to create theories, doctors write prescriptions to save lives, but writers write to write. Writers write not because they have to, but because they want to. There are many reasons why. Each reason makes the five minutes before putting pen to paper seem longer than the five hours spent spilling thoughts across the page.

I write as an educated person in progress, but I also write because I am human. I write because I think. I write because I feel. The spontaneous thoughts before falling asleep, the hazy musings on a long car ride would never see anything but the inside of my brain if I did not write. The knot in my stomach or the tug of my heart will remain hidden for none to know, not even myself. An introvert at the best of times, I write what I cannot say. In many ways, the empty page is my closest friend, my lover and my shrink, always ready to listen, never allowed to judge.

I do not write for a diary, clutched to my heart, locked from all eyes. Thoughts and feelings rise to my consciousness like bubbles to the surface of the water and run across the page like a river off the face of a mountain, my fingers dancing on the keyboard. I do not write just so my thoughts and feelings are on this page. I write because my thoughts, my experiences, good and bad, are in my head. Many remain in my head. I think about what I write about to find the meaning amidst all that which is cottoned in my consciousness. I write to share that meaning in a way I cannot with thoughts, or emotions, or even a diary. All in all, I write so others can read.

I write for the small chuckle in my mother’s throat as she read my first poem. I write so others can drink my bottled up ideas, thoughts and feelings. I hope to one day write in a way that makes them less thirsty. I write so that one day, my words will fulfil and enrich. I write because I choose not to speak. I write because it is both my talent and my biggest flaw. I write, not just because I have to, but because I want to.

 

 

Dessert first please!

 I stand shivering in a queue which stretched its way like a half-buried worm into a Rhodes University dining hall. Wednesday dinner has arrived promptly at five o’clock like it has every other day. You would think it is like any other dinner the dining hall serves but it is one of my personal favourites. Last year I worked at a restaurant on Wednesdays. I had the option of eating a meal that others would pay for- at a convenient discount. I still, however, left the Rat and Parrot’s pizza (a local favourite) for a res meal- something most students would not dare to think of.

 

There are many reasons why I did this. The sauce I drenched my chicken kebabs, noodles and even my peas was nothing short of delicious. What made me desire this meal so much, however, was the smooth, sweet chocolate mousse that made my tongue cling to every last mouthful like a long-lost lover. I would sit my plate down at the table and consume the chocolate mousse first before anything else.
 

 

“I could never eat my dessert first,” said one of my friends, pointedly staring at me stuffing my face. “It just feels so wrong.”

I spent the remainder of my meal explaining to her how eating dessert first is so much better than eating it last. “So what if you were busy eating and someone sneaked up behind you and shot you, and you died having eaten one less dessert because you chose to eat it last.” That was one of my arguments and I did not think it was in the least far-fetched.

                                                          

I do not know why I always eat dessert first. It could be like going on facebook or watching series before starting an essay; a bad habit which I am unfortunately very good at. It could be because I just like something sweet but then wouldn’t it be sweeter if I saved it for last?

I know the answer to that is no. Chocolate mouse is simple. It is delicious whether you have it before a meal or after. Watching series, on the other hand, is much better when your work is out of the way and I can enjoy it without stressing. Facebook, well, I just use because it is the best procrastination technique in the book.

Nevertheless, I am not even supposed to eat dessert. Word is that it makes you fat and therefore eating it would make you unhealthy or worse, undesirable. I try to make my dessert days only Wednesdays and the occasional Saturday after a very long week. There is always room for dessert in my diet, no matter how much weight I wish to lose.

 

 

This makes me think of the Titanic. I do not quite know why chocolate mousse reminds me of a famous shipwreck, but I wonder of the mouth-watering desserts served to the upper-class ladies and gentlemen aboard the Titanic. I think of the ladies. It was the last night they would ever have the chance to eat the dessert, yet many wouldn’t for fear of their corsets becoming a notch tighter (if they weren’t already tight enough). I wonder what if the Titanic had not sunk, if all those people hadn’t died. They would have lived long lives and told of their journey aboard the Titanic to their children and maybe their grandchildren. They would have said the desserts looked simply delicious. “So did they taste as good?” one of the grandchildren might have asked.  “I am sure they did, but granny didn’t have any.”

These are all guesses. The Titanic did indeed crash and many died, and maybe the desserts on board weren’t even that great. I just think it is pointless to go to new places and not try delicious food. I am not saying that everyone should pig out every time they sit down for breakfast, but surely there is no harm eating a small bowl of chocolate mousse once a week before filling your stomach with healthier food? If it really will do so much damage is it not nothing a run, a swim or a Sunday afternoon hike could fix?

Also, why do we have to eat the main meal first? Maybe people like my friend enjoy the steady routine of it. But I really think that life is so much more exciting when we shake it up a bit. So when I finally am rich enough to board a fancy cruise ship it will come as no great surprise that I will be asking for my dessert first. It is always good to start with something sweet. Let me hope nobody shoots me while I eat it.

Ps. Sorry if all the delicious photos made your mouth water. Wednesday is tomorrow so chocolate mousse will come soon:)

 

Something is wrong with my blackberry...

Actually, my laptop is the problem, but, knowing me I will probably say that it was my blackberry by accident. Laptops and blackberries are somewhat similar, right? Or is there a difference between the two? I'm just kidding. I'm not that clueless. I hope.

In case you haven't figured it out yet, I am going to make things super-obvious and tell you. I am a complete technophobe. A lot of other people say the same thing about themselves and it might be true to some extent, but I just grin secretly knowing that the title of ultimate technophobe is ultimately mine. It is quite a surprise that I managed to get this blog up and running in a week since most technological upgrading of mine takes longer than it did for the item in question to be invented. Any great inventor of the flashy, the clickety and the giggabytey would have reached true success if I knew about it. If I'm actually using your thingymabob, then it has become timeless. Mark Zuckerburg invented Facebook (or Fashmash as it was once called) as a kind of social network for Harvard students in 2003. Thank you Google, but Google doesn't know that in January 2011 Joni Lindes filled out her name, email address and other personal data on the Facebook sign up page.. The process only took about eight years and twenty minutes. A round of applause for Mark Zuckerburg.

I wish that would be the end of the road but its not just keeping up with the latest technology that has me boggled. It is the actual using of it. Upgrading my computer, getting my resnet sorted is a one-man job for most but I seem to always be jumping up and down for assistance.

If I ever work out how to use it I still struggle to not lose or break it. In the past two years I have been through four phones of which two were, oh the horror... blackberries. They were pick pocketed, lost while on some drunken mission or fell victim to a burst bottle of coke lite in my handbag.

My most recent casualty is my laptop. It happened to be placed carelessly underneath a shelf. A shelf which I promptly knocked a container of soy sauce off. The soy sauce fell right onto the smooth and perfectly functional keyboard. Today, after taking my beloved laptop in for repairs,  I am R600 poorer because God forbid I actually try and fix it myself. After depleting my bank account by R690, it was a good thing the sushi and soy sauce was delicious. Maybe this is telling me to embrace my student identity more by buying less expensive take-aways.
 

 Soy Sauce: destroyer of my laptop.

Anyways, I have ranted and raved about my troubled relationship with the technological world sufficiently. I feel quite stupid now so I am going to give you some life lessons to make me feel smarter. Life lesson #1: never trust me with you cellphone, laptop and/or ipod. Lesson #2. If someone gives you the wrong cellphone number, bbm pin or email address know that that it is not always on purpose. Sometimes people forget their place in the vast virtual world. It is scary how much I have done this, mostly with cute guys on the receiving end. Oh and one more lesson. Never, EVER leave soy sauce in any place where it can maybe fall onto your computer because, well, it will.

PS. Here is a video. Life would be a whole lot easier if blackberries were like this...

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=aJFwVOW0Nww