Friday, April 10, 2009

Don't Look Back In Anger

I spent last night feeling strangely pensive. Actually, that has been the case in general lately. A good pensive, though, like I am about to move into a very good place in my life, making clear decisions and formulating sound ideas as to what [or perhaps who] I want in life.
I felt the need to talk to someone, again unusual for me. Lacking the courage to phone the one person I really wanted to speak to, I found myself unable to get hold of anyone else. And then Nasha called me. Nasha and I were inseparable as kids growing up in Standerton [MP], and lost touch when she moved somewhere far away. Turns out that somewhere was Bellville, and we found one another again at the shoot for Pretty Blue Guns’ Bad Liver Blues video last year, ten years since horseriding along the Vaal River every Sunday. She is in a band herself, so expect more later...
I have the best windowsill ever, with an enormous window, green shutters, looking onto Dorp Street. No fence around the house, no burglar guards, I listened to the faraway bustle, smoking my last Marlboro, breaking our very strict no-smoking-indoors rule. Post-weekend that was so much about family, I got to thinking about Easter. I can recall one basket of chocolate eggs and –bunnies being discovered, by a far younger me, on our doorstep. And one Easter-egg hunt in highschool, when I think Jade [my dad’s ex-girlfriend’s daughter] wanted to make me feel less like my parents [and I] were in the middle of a very ugly divorce. We never really did the Easter thing, though we always attended church services on the relevant days. It’s the one where he died, and three days later he was alive again, right? And the 40 days? Oh, something about temptations, and the desert. No matter, I am sorting my head out enough of late to finally take my shift to Buddhism seriously.
Today is the start of the Easter weekend. Everyone goes away on family holiday, and there are many public messages asking people to take care on the road. Judging by the figures, they don’t. For me, it means little. At the risk of being a [very unoriginal] cynic, so much of it is annoyingly commercial and superficial, much like other holidays [Valentine’s Day and Christmas jump to mind]. My family is up in Gauteng, and Easter really has never been a big thing for me. I have never given up anything for lent, and at my school it seemed an excuse for girls to follow ridiculous diets for around six weeks, providing they did not cave. I claimed to have given up sex this year, but Stef was quick to point out that it doesn’t count; Lent is about giving up something that features prominently in your life...
I am heading to Cape Town with Melissa and Nasha for some more Long Street time, checking out Checked Zebra tonight, and rueing the fact that my “holiday” [which still entails a 4.30am wake-up call every day] is fast coming to an end. And waiting for Sunday...
I have, lately, been spending time with people from the past- ex-boyfriends, old friends, friends who were absent from my life for a while. My ex-boyfriend from highschool wrote me a CD yesterday, and it is horrible: Hinder, Secondhand Serenade, Red Jumpsuit Apparatus; the break-up was inevitable. I have been unusually people-focused for my misanthropical tendencies. I have also dipped my toes back into the wonderful world of Oasis and Smashing Pumpkins, having finally gotten some of their music back onto my laptop following my house burning down in January.
On that note, below follows some lyrics and a few more family snaps. The glare was impossible [bloody Behtlehem], so these are the best I could do.
Enjoy the weekend, and for goodness sake drive carefully!
My brother, Stefan, wanted to break my camera. I get trigger-happy. Someday, when they're old and fat they will thank me. Below is my sister-in-law-to-be, Ilana.
My father and my younger sister, Andrea.
Sitting on my own
chewing on a bone
a thousand million miles away from home.
I wanna talk tonight,
Until the morning light.

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