Ready, set... wait.

''Life is a highway...''

This particular song, a song that I have heard many times on the radio, has been stuck in my head for the last couple of days. Given the nature of such things, when one repeats a phrase over and over, new meanings develop themselves within the very fibre of the sound of the phrase.
And every time that I have repeated this song, mostly on my scooter on my way somewhere, the phrase has developed into something more.

Driving in the CBD of Cape Town, to those that live here, can be frustrating. Cape Town seems to have robot after robot after robot and it seems, well, to me at least, like most of them are absolutely pointless.
The constant stop and start is a frustration to any motorist. It drives you insane to stop at a robot and wait for the invisible oncoming traffic to cross.

And it got me thinking about that highway again. When the lyricist wrote that song, he obviously envisioned life as a never-ending highway that can lead you anywhere and that offers you the chance to cruise. Let's explore this metaphor some more.
If life is a highway, then I suppose trials and tribulations that come our way are the flat tires or the overheated engine or the shortage of gas in the fuel tank. Once the problem is fixed, one moves on and the cruise continues. The destination is some far-off, desolate place that only the driver knows of and will never share.
A highway is also (I am imagining the stretch of desert on Route 66) a passage that passes you through places to get to where you want to be.
But, for me, this is where the metaphor ends.

Lately, I've been thinking that it would be improbable to say that ''life is a highway'' and only a highway.
It seems that life can more accurately be described as a network of roads, all interjecting, all crossing one another at some stage.

And at the moment, I am driving in that CBD.

My life has had it's ups and it's downs and it's had it's flat tires and it's overheated engines and it has most certainly had it's shortages of fuel, but at the moment, I am not facing anything so dire. Nothing is preventing me from getting to where I want to be, well, nothing major at least.
It just seems like my life is an endless array of waiting for the light to turn green. I know the light will turn green sometime, but when? That is the question that I am plagued with daily.
Every day that I feel like I'm finally cruising, I face yet another robot, another pointless waiting period.
And sometimes, I wish that life was like a highway, with it's major obstacles that stop a destination right in it's tracks, because at least then I could be sure of the fact that that was the end, or the temporary end. Or then at least, I could fix the problem and move on, and learn from it. Now, I'm constantly faced with short, momentary lapses in my cruising, that stops the vehicle from ever being pushed to full throttle.

It feels like every time that I plan on something, I have to yield or I have to wait for something to come through, or some incident to blow over, or some friendship to rekindle it's former glory.
It seems as if everything that I want is a couple of blocks away and I can't get there yet, because I'm stuck in traffic.

Everyone has their dreams a couple of blocks away.

And yet, it frustrates me to think that I cannot physically do anything to help this. I believe this has to do with my lack of patience in achieving what it is I want to do. And I also believe that the fact that I cannot do something about these lapses, if they can be so aptly called, is playing again on the fact that I hate being helpless. I pity helpless people, resent them even, since I always believe that where there is a way there is, almost always, a way.
Yet, I have the will, I am on my way and I still cannot do anything about the fact that I am stuck – until whoever decides that I can now move on.

Thinking about all of these frustrations made me think a little about the reason we have robots. They are there to regulate traffic, to slow down the speed that driver's are driving and to make sure that chaos doesn't ensue because everyone wants their turn.
So, are robots a good thing, then?

I have come to the conclusion, within my limited frame of reference, that they are.

I have come to realize that: just because I want to get to my destination now, does not mean that someone else, perhaps someone who has been on the road longer than I have, does not have the same ambition.
If we all drove without the regulatory codes and the restrictive rules, chaos would definitely ensue, because we live in an age where waiting is not an option. Where everyone wants everything they want now. And to be honest, it would be selfish of me to think that my dreams and goals are any more important than that of my fellow road-user.

So, I have decided to enjoy the 'lapses'.

Yes, it can be frustrating and yes, sometimes we do wish that we were on an open stretch of road where the only thing that limits us is the accelerator.
But, as Harold Pinter would put it, it is in the silences that life unveils itself more.
He believed that, in drama, the silences between the dialogue were just as important, if not more so, than the dialogue itself. And after three years of drama, I think that I am finally starting to understand that.
When we pause, whether it is because we have to or because we choose to, it is a moment where we can take in every little detail of where it is that we are at that moment. A moment where stories can unveil themself to us.
It's then that we notice the missing teeth of the fruit-seller on the corner of the street, the beauty of Table Mountain framing this magnificent city and the smell of exotic food being cooked in the restaurant that we would never have visited or paid any attention to.

Sometimes, it also serves to remind us that our dreams are not always as amazing as we have thought them out to be.
But, more importantly than that, it serves to remind us that: ''good things come to those who wait.''
That reaching the destination is far more worth it, if you had to wait for it.

So, as I am sitting here with my glass of Pinotage pining for a refill, I raise my half-empty glass to those stuck in traffic, to those who have reached their dreams and beyond, to those just starting out their journey, to those who are almost at the destination and to those who, like me, are stuck somewhere at a robot waiting for it to turn green.
May your destinations be worth the wait, may your ''lapses'' be short-lived and may you always have the will to start moving again, when the time comes to do so.

Everyone, except...

I have been staying in Cape Town, South Africa now for about 3 years. I have been clothing, feeding, driving myself, working and been going to college for 3 years straight now – without a proper holiday anywhere in-between.

I am tired.

There is no point in telling myself the everlasting lie that “I am fine.” I’m not.
I have come to a point where I sit on the floor of my room, looking at my work uniform – hoping that it would magically and by some strange enchantment disappear into thin air. It doesn’t – and by this time I am already late and have to scramble to get to work, only to arrive exhausted and out of breath, to go home after work, to fall asleep, to wake up tired and to reluctantly get onto that strange rollercoaster once again.
One does tire of it.

And when I think back – when I used to imagine taking care of myself, paying my own way, doing what my heart desired and never having to answer to someone – it’s so different. Not that I didn’t think it would be any different – this is a fact I have long made peace with – nothing is ever as you imagine it. That’s one of the basic rules of life.
But, I guess that I always felt as if I was some sort of exception to that rule.
I thought I was the ‘chosen child’ – the one whose life will be different than the average, the mediocre. Forgive me if I sound at all vain – but I thought I was a unique individual whose life would be one that others are jealous of.
It’s not.

And that’s because I’m not the exception to the rule.
Nobody really is.

Then why is it that I often will find myself elevating myself to such higher pedestals? Is it because I am an idealistic (see last blog) hopeless romantic who believes that life is about lazy Sunday afternoons, long walks on the beach, wine with friends and long conversations about life?
Is it because I have created in my mind this idea that life is easy?
Because I was wrong. It’s not – and as special as I thought I was – I’m really not.
Life is hard, it’s challenging, it’s exhausting and I have very often asked the question: why me?

This whole notion of being a part of the masses has been something that has been plaguing me for some time now, since I’ve devoted my entire life to standing out.
I have been feeling frustrated with the whole idea for a couple of weeks now until something incredible happened.
I was invited to a fund-raiser for Breast Cancer in SA – I was invited to sing – and a woman (who had survived breast cancer) got up to make her speech. That day, something she said struck me as profound. Life-changing, even.
She explained how she had often, during her treatments asked God: “why me?” until she got the answer one day: “why not you?”

This struck me like a bolt of lighting and suddenly the rusty gears in my head started slowly turning again.
Why is it that I feel that life should be an exception to me – when it’s not like that for everyone else?
Life may not offer every one the same problems, some differ, but we all have them at some point.
And maybe it’s this that makes us human? The fact that life is never kind.
I’ve accepted that – I think – I don’t know.

Since that day – with that speech – and that woman’s words, I’ve began looking at things differently.
I would be lying if I said that I am suddenly “loving my life and loving all the trials and tribulations” and “being grateful for the things that happen to me.”
But I have stopped asking: why me?
Baby steps, people.
And I’ve stopped believing that I should be an exception to the rule. Rather now, I have started to believe that if I wanted my life to be exception(al), I was going to have to just live through this for now. It takes a rough diamond to shape a smooth one, or something like that, right?

So - tonight I will climb into bed and think on all those young people out there who still have to learn all of this – and I will be glad that I have been fortunate that life has been a fair teacher so far. I will think of the life that I dream to have and I will start making choices that will ultimately get me that life. And I will be glad for the lessons I have learned up until now.
And, to some extent, I will be glad that I am not the exception to the rule.

''It takes a moose to change a life...''

Last night I had the honour of seeing one of the most profound theatrical productions I have ever seen on a South African stage: ''Karoo Moose''. I laughed incessantly, I cried uncontrollably and I was moved and affected.
Some of my friends were unaffected – but most of the people I spoke to were stirred by this beautifully crafted production by director Lara Foot.

It was showcased using a very simple, yet effective set, simple suggestive costuming and a variety of African sounds and imagery. Some of which I am sure will stay with me for a long time to come.

I must be honest – (Rule #1 of a blog: always be honest) – I was apprehensive about seeing the show when I heard the theme and what it was exactly about.
I find South African texts and plays quite stereotypical and discriminating sometimes and I have often felt victimised when I leave a theatre space – just because I am a white Afrikaans-speaking male.

This has made me very disconnected towards many writers, directors and actors who still perform these types of productions – because how are they relevant to me today?
I am not saying at all that I don't want to hear about history or what had happened – but I think the generation that I live in now has come to a point where we are ready to move on.
And it sometimes feels to me like the arts are not yet read to step out of that box because: it works, I guess. Or maybe they are not sure if there are any stories to tell in South Africa that does not have some form of political, historical connection?
In a way – without sounding offensive - I have come to a point where I don't want to hear how bad Apartheid was for black people and how white people were all to blame. I also don't want to be faced with white guilt every time I see a sculpture or a film or a play that depicts a black person being discriminated against somewhere, somehow.
Because, it was not my fault.
I was never there, remember?
I wasn't even born yet.
And I don't think I should have to apologise.

Sometimes - and I don't think I am the only one – I feel extremely un-African. I didn't grow up in extreme poverty, my parents didn't have to struggle to be treated as equals in society, I never wear loin-cloths or goatskins and I never chant and pray to any ancestors. Is this what it means to be African? Am I not African because I speak Afrikaans and I am white?
I grew up in this land too, I have also tasted the riches of this earth, I have also walked the dusty plains of this barren soil – isn't that essentially what it means to call a country your homeland? Not how many ancestors you had living there or who was here first. Whether you are African doesn't depend on what the colour of your skin is or in which language you speak and sing – you are African if what you stand for is equality, acceptance, teamwork and a deeply rooted love for every crack and crevice this country has to offer.

Here is where I think ''Karoo Moose'' has hit the nail on the head – we have so many beautiful stories to tell, but they are not told because we focus too much on what has happened than on what is happening now.
''Karoo Moose'' tells the story of a village of people and how their lives are affected by the coming of a very strange ''wild moose'' to the village. The moose, which was supposed to be transported to a zoo – as a gift to the President – had managed to escape and is now wandering the Karoo in search of somewhere to belong. But, the story doesn't centre around the moose at all – it tells the stories of the people who have witnessed the moose's coming. Beautifully crafted stories displaying the complexities of the human spirit and our amazing ability, as Africans, to be resilient and to fight for what we believe in.
In ''Karoo Moose'', suddenly I didn't feel like a foreigner watching a South African play – I could relate to the stories, the imagery, the hurt, the brutality of life without feeling like any of it was my fault. I saw a white family living harmoniously with a black family – no victimisation, no discrimination. I saw the South Africa that I have grown up in, not the South Africa that Athol Fugard and others have created for us. Not the South Africa that was shoved in my face by older generations. And suddenly, I could relate.

I would like to thank the director, the writer and the performers for opening my eyes again to the wonderful diversity that is our country and for making me feel like an important part of that diversity.
Before last night, I used to feel like a lost white boy running aimlessly, without a home, without somewhere that I can belong in this extreme diversity that is South Africa. (a bit like the moose, I guess)

But, now, I think that that has changed.
I feel in touch, now, with every grain of soil, every mountainside rock, every drop of ocean, every African and their story.
Perhaps now... it is time to tell my own story.