Jippie Yay Yay… ek kort hulp

Hier sit ek. Eks amper 21. Ek is besig om Supernatural te kyk. Jy weet daai reeks waar twee broers allerhande weird supernatural goed stop. En ek sien in hierdie reeks wat ek ook in ‘n oulike fliek onlangs gesien het: volwassenheid.

Daai fliek was Loser. Dit het gegaan oor ‘n goeie ou wat verlief geword het op ‘n effense eksentriese en oppervlakkige meisie. Maar sy het darem teen die einde besef hoe veel hy omgee en so. Eks mal oor sulke flieks.

Maar anyway ek dink net bymyself: in die VSA, lyk dit my, het baie mense al ‘n werk op skool deeltyds. Of hulle betaal vir hulle flat terwyl hulle studeer. En hier sit ek besig om na hierdie shit te kyk, besig om deesdae daai haatlike game te speel en te stres oor my toekoms.

Ek meen, ek is op universiteit en ek doen ‘n BA, maar gaan ek ‘n werk he? Eerlikwaar ek KAN een he. Eks net te bang vir dit. Ek weet nie of ek die persoonlikheid en volwassenheid het om in werksplek te wees nie. En dit pla my verskriklik baie.

Dit pla my al sedert ek 20 geword het. Toe ek so oud geword het, het ek besef dat ek nou in my derde dekade is. Dat ek in die volgende vyf jaar klaar gaan studeer, ‘n werk gaan kry en dalk trou! Flippen hel! Dis weird, maar weet jy wat pla my nou al? Al het ek haar nog nie ontmoet nie? My trou dag! My trou speech wat ek moet gee pla my nou al!

En ‘n kind? Of net ‘n man wees vir my vrou? Of net nie trou nie maar darem ‘n werk he? Al hierdie dinge maak my so bang.

Ek het gehoop om miskien volgende jaar honeurs te doen om uit te staan. Of om darem cum laude te graduate. Maar toe merk sy my taak op 68%. Ek het 70 MINIMUM verwag. Ek het gedink aan 80 miskien. Ek KORT 70 vir honeurs. “O alles is goed”, sy die lektor wat dit gemerk het, “bo gemiddelde biografie, goeie struktuur, unieke view”…  “behalwe dat jy net ander mense se opinies gevat het”. BULLSHIT. So as ek my opinie gee, sê jy ek het geen sources om dit te dek nie. Gebruik ek net wat my sources sê, dan sê jy ek gee nie my eie view nie! Either way is ek screwed! De hel met al daai tonne werk! Jy WOU my 70 gee, maar jy sê “Dis hoekom jy nie meer het nie”. En weet jy wat pis my af, o random leser van my blog? Dat ander mense wat in drie dae hulle taak gedoen het (hoe de hel doen jy ‘n 2000 woord derde jaar politiek taak in drie dae?) 70+ gekry het! Hoekom? Want hulle was te haastig om sources te kry so toe suig hulle duim. Nou dink die lekter “Wow, hierdie persoon het ‘n opinie, kom ons gee hom ‘n onderskeiding (al het hy net drie sources). Maar hierdie ou wat 12 sources het en moeite gedoen het, hy pleeg amper plagiaat (want hy gebruik ander bekende slim denkers se punte MET verwysings) en verdien daarom 68. Skroef sy toekoms. Jinne hierdie pla my.

En daai werk was okay. Inteendeel, dit was vrek interessant. My volgende taak en toets gaan gaan oor feminisme en kolonialisme… en die lektor is ‘n vrek subjektiewe feminis. Hoe de hel gaan ek 70 hê? Gaan sy regtig objektief wees as ek sê “marxist feminism is fallacious, the effects of colonialism is overstated (if not overrated) and African socialism is doomed (Western capitalism is the best system)”? Dis my toekoms op die spel! Ek vertrou haar nie! Ons derde jaars is nie guinnea pigs nie! Ons verdien slim professors om ons belangrikste jaar aan te bied, nie jong sopas gegradeerde (radikale) meesters studente nie.

Ek het nog nooit, op universiteit of op skool oor my punte gemoun nie. Ja soms is ek ongelukkig en ek voel die lektor kon bietjie beter wees. Maar overall sou ek elke keer net dink “Wel, jy moes harder gewerk het”. Die keer het ek HARD gewerk; klomp sources gelees, opgesom, mooi toegepas. Jy sê self dat alles great was!

O wag en wat nog?! My abstract is nie flippen in diep genoeg nie! Ek het net gese “This discussion on neo-mercantilism is followed by a critique”, maar jy wil hê ek moet sê WAT die critique is in my abstract ook nog… asof dit nie die werk van die conclusion is om hierdie detail te gee nie. Hoe baie kan JY se in 100 woorde, vroumens?! Net hierdie bogenoemde sin is 9 woorde! ‘n Tiende van my 100 woorde cap vir die abstract! Bleddie hel. Ek was reg om in eerste jaar, toe daar twee lektore was wat die vak aangebied het, uit jou klas uit te beweeg het na die ander een toe. Nonsens!

Anyway, ek gaan nou aankyk op Supernatural. Ek wil sien watse snaakse goed daai twee broers die keer gaan aanvat. Miskien is daar weer ‘n mooi, goeie meisie wat hulle red.

On Beautiful Things – George MacDonald

From the book At the Back of the North Wind by George MacDonald

‘Well, please, North Wind, you are so beautiful, I am quite ready to go with you.’
 
‘You must not be ready to go with everything beautiful all at once, Diamond.’
 
‘But what’s beautiful can’t be bad. You’re not bad, North Wind?’
 
‘No; I’m not bad. But sometimes beautiful things grow bad by doing bad, and it takes some time for their badness to spoil their beauty. So little boys may be mistaken if they go after things because they are beautiful.’
 
‘Well, I will go with you because you are beautiful and good too.’
 
‘Ah, but there’s another thing, Diamond:- What if I should look ugly without being bad – look ugly myself because I am making ugly things beautiful? – What then?’

Waars Jy, Meisiekind?

Waar de hel is jy? Wat de hel doen jy? Hoe de hel lyk jy? Hoe de hel is jy? Wanneer kom jy? Ek sit hier en wag vir jou, man. Ek wag vir jou, ek dink aan jou, ek droom van jou, ek bid vir jou.

Maar jinne jy vat jou tyd! Hou jy daarvan om my in angs te laat sit? Dis nie baie mooi nie, jy weet. Glad nie mooi nie. Asseblief moenie my vir ewig laat wag nie.

Hou jy daarvan om jou gesig te verskuil? Eenkeer is jy blond, ‘n ander keer ‘n brunette en ‘n ander keer het jy rooi hare. Soms het jy sproete, soms is jy erenstig, soms lag jy. Sal ek jou kan maak lag?

Hou jy daarvan om nooit vir my ‘n enkele woord te sê nie? Of te wel jy het eenker darem iets gesê: jyt gesê dis “oulik” om my ver te laat ry na ‘n plek toe net sodat jy my kon kom optel. Slegte maniere, meisiekind! Glad nie mooi nie!

Aai man, maak gou.

Damn this Book!

Yes. Damn it. I have not been so angry at anything in months. While reading it I got so irritated with my friends, my mother and even the damn moths in my room! I’ve never been so sensitive, so irritable!

 

One of those books where you like the main character so you much that you feel offended for him to end up in such a state. A book where midway you feel ecstatic over what was happening… only to see that fall apart.

When I was halfway in, when everything was still positive and good and when I had no idea how the story will turn, I had a foreboding that whatever the ending is, that it will put me through the roof.

And what book is this, you wonder? A good book. A great book. It is one of those stories you read in which the end makes you so furious that you don’t know who to blame. Do I blame the prince for his decision? Do I blame that… witch? Do I blame that devil? Or do I blame the author?

How can I forgive him for turning his back on her (he deserves that title for that decision)? How can I forgive the other “her” for tormenting him so? How can I forgive that devil for what he did? How can I forgive the author for the destiny he gave this hero? For shattering everything that noble heart put forth?

Yet despite all of the above it is, in a twisted, beautiful way (as twistedly beautiful as Natasya herself)… a great book.

It is “The Idiot” by Fyodor Dostoyevsky.

(Damn this book!)

The Prince is Sad

From the book, The Idiot, by Fyodor Dostoyevsky (translated by Garnett).

And at last she stood before him, face to face for the first time since their parting. She was saying something to him, but he looked at her in silence; his heart was too full, and ached with anguish. Oh, never could he forget that meeting with her and he always remembered it with some anguish. She sank on her knees before him on the spot, in the street, like one demented. He stepped back in horror, and she tried to catch his hand to kiss it, and just as in his dream that night, the tears glistened on her long eyelashes.

‘Stand up! Stand up!’ he said in a frightened whisper, raising her. ‘Stand up, at once!’

‘Are you happy? Happy?’ she asked. ‘Only say one word to me, are you happy now? Today, this minute? Have you been with her [Aglaia]? What did she say?’

She did not get up. She did not hear him. She questioned him hurriedly, and was in haste to speak, as though she were being pursued.

‘I’m going tomorrow as you told me. I won’t… It’s the last time I shall see you. The last time! Now it’s absolutely the last time!’

‘Calm yourself, stand up!’ he said in despair.

She looked greedily at him, clutching at his hands.

‘Goodbye,’ she said at last, she got up and went quickly away from him, almost running. Myskhin saw that Rogozhin had suddenly appeared beside her, that he had taken her arm, and was leading her away.

‘Wait a minute, prince,’ cried Rogozhin, ‘I’ll be back in five minutes.’

Five minutes later he did, in fact, return. Myshkin was waiting for him at the same place.

‘I’ve put her in the carriage,’ he said. ‘It’s been waiting there at the corner since ten o’clock. She knew you’d be at the young lady’s [Aglaia] all the evening. I told her exactly what you wrote to me today. She won’t write to the young lady again, she’s promised; and she’ll go away from here tomorrow as you wish. She wanted to see you for the last time, though you refused her. We’ve been waiting for you here, on that seat there, to catch you as you came back.’

‘Did she take you with her of her own accord?’

‘Why not?’ grinned Rogozhin. ‘I saw what I knew before. You’ve read the letters I suppose?’

‘Have you really read them?’ asked Myshkin, struck by that idea.

‘Rather! She showed me each one of them herself. About the razor too, do you remember, ha-ha!’

‘She’s mad!’ cried Myshkin, wringing his hands.

‘Who knows about that? Perhaps not,’ Rogozhin said softly, as though to himself. Myshkin did not answer.

‘Well, goodbye,’ said Rogozhin. ‘I’m going away tomorrow too: don’t remember evil against me! And I say, brother,’ he added, turning quickly, ‘why didn’t you answer her question: are you happy or not?’

‘No, no, no!’ cried Myshkin, with unspeakable sadness.

‘I should think not, indeed,’ laughed Rogozhin maliciously, and he went away without looking back.

 


 

The story is about prince Myshkin. He’s not royalty. Rather, he has the title of “prince” because of some distant ancestry. He has epileptic fits, is incredibly kind and compassionate, and as a result of these factors he is considered an idiot by everyone, even by those who love him. “She” (Natasya) is a woman of incredible beauty, but who is locked in her own maliciousness and thus thinks herself unworthy of Myshkin. Rogozhin loves Natasya. Aglaia is also beautiful (second only to Natasya), who has a good heart, though very stubborn. Natasya tried to get Aglaia and Myshkin to marry, simply so she won’t have to wonder about Myshkin. Aglaia believes Natasya will commit suicide if Myshkin and she (Aglaia) marries. Myshkin may be in love with Aglaia, though he pities (if not loves) Natasya.

 

 

 

 

First isiZulu Attempt (short)

Ngiyakubona. Wena umuhle. Wenzani ephusheni lami? Ufike lapha nini? Angikufuni lapha. Angikufuni kodwa ngiyakudinga. Ngiyakuthanda futhi ngifuna ukukuqabula kodwa angifuni ukukubona.

If you speak isiZulu, please let me know where I should improve. 

 

*I corrected the “ephupho” to “epusheni”

Gedig vir my Vriende

Ek het hierdie geskryf op 28 Maart 2015, die jaar na ek klaar gemaak het met skool. 

 

Hoe vinnig verby is al daai dae
Van koffie, Playstation en Afrikaans.

Ek mis die eksamens – ek mis die koffie
Ek mis die “IT” – ek mis die “geleer”.

Geen meer WipeOut, LBP of Runescape
Nous dit net Tuks,
Baie werk en Inscape.

Geen meer Portal, Uncharted of Ezio
Nous dit net toetse,
My vriend – ek mis jou!

Wat het geword van ons na-toetse kuier?
Ons af-en-toe se skaak,
Ons poker en gaming?

Waar is ons Nesquik?
Die “Blou Tas”,
En die meisies?

Ai, my vriende…

Totsiens

 


 

“Koffie”: Vriend 1 het gereeld oorgekom vir koffie. Die Afrikaanse klas was ‘n pyn en tog altyd so lekker (Hy sou net iets sê van Oscar Pistorius se hofsaak, dan sou die hele klas en die onderwyseres oor dit gesels en sodoende sou ons nie werk nie).

“Ek mis die IT”: Vriend 4 sou gereeld voor ‘n eksamen toets oorkom om te leer… dan eindig ons op besig om Civilization 5 te speel.

“Geen meer wipeout”: Ek en Vriend 1 het hierdie drie games sat gespeel. Nou sit ek by Tuks en in daai jaar het hy by Inscape studeer.

“Geen meer Portal”: Ek en Vriend 2 het hierdie drie games weer sat gespeel.

“Ons af-en-toe se skaak”: Vriend 1 het gereeld oorgekom vir skaak en ligte poker.

“Waar is ons Nesquik?”: Vriend 3 het baie gehou van sy Nesquik. Net hy het geweet van die “blou tas”, wat ‘n codename was vir ‘n meisie wat ek my oë op gehad het (syt ‘n blou tas gedra).

 

 

 

When is it Just to Kill?

I understand murder to be the taking of an innocent life without just cause. Shooting down a hijacked plane which would otherwise crash into a building would classify as just cause. Aborting a baby because it has some cancer which will kill both him and his mother is just cause. Killing German soldiers to rescue Jews during WW2, even if they don’t participate in any torture, is just cause.

But what about more domestic cases? I watched two films this year which made me really consider this.

I don’t know the name of the first one, though I hope someone can tell me what it is. It concerns a husband and wife adopting two boys. They were very abusive to the children. They always viewed the older boy with suspicion, limiting his freedom, verbally and physically abusing him, downgrading him and eventually sending him off to live under other parents. In the meantime the younger one, though he loved his brother, was mostly respected, though also controlled. After the older one was sent away, they adopted a new child. Then they started treating the second child, the one who watched his brother being beaten, with the same disrespect, abuse and control as the first. Every aspect of his life was being determined by them, with constant psychological and physical abuse.

Then this boy had to make a choice: he could either leave his foster parents like the older child, or… You see if he leaves, then he leaves his now younger, innocent brother to the same curse he had: abuse and eventual replacement. He can’t just leave him. What could he do? So he murdered his foster parents.

The second film whose name I also forgot, though I think it’s something along the line of “Family Sins” concerned a mother who adopted a number of children through the years. She would abuse them, let her son and husband rape them, and teach them how to shoplift. In one case, she locked up a woman in a basement for years at night, allowing her out during the day to do chores, while psychologically convincing her that it is for her own good. That poor woman’s daughter was one of the victims of the house as well. She eventually got a child while in the house. Both she and her mother were also raped by the house woman’s husband and son. What could she do? If she leaves, no one would believe her. Everyone who wants to leave is intimidated by threats to stay. Can she leave her mother? What about her child? Eventually she took a chance, got out, and amazingly managed to convict them by getting former victims to confess in court.

At one point in the film her brother was tied up and beaten by the woman and her son, with the intention of killing him, because he wanted to leave. The girl who got out eventually saw this and managed to convince them to leave him alone. At that moment I thought: “I would not hesitate to take a blunt object, knock out the son and kill the woman right there and then. They can lock me up, at least we’re free”. Would that have been fair? Would that have been just? Later in the movie while the woman is sitting in jail before the court case, they show how she already controlled a number of inmates whom she allowed to beat up her daughter locked up with her. If this woman was sent to prison, wouldn’t she be a bad influence in there as well? What, then? Solitary confinement?

She was eventually sentenced to thirty years. Her son and husband were sentenced for less. Is that just? Wouldn’t it have been just to kill those three? Or to execute them? Would that have been just?

That Feeling of Being Left Out

I’m writing this while I’m feeling this feeling, though, strangely, in a slightly happy feeling. Feelings…

The version of the “feeling left out” feeling I get is the one where you feel anxious. Where you feel as though you are wasting your time if you are not there. As though all those people are living a life, while you were planning on reading about International Mercantilism or watching the newest PewDiePie video.

Sure I get the other one as well: the “Why didn’t you invite me?” feeling. That is darker and I’ll talk about this as well.

I never had this problem. It started two years ago when I was going through a tough time with my friends. On one occasion, my best friend who lived a kilometer away – and whom I’d not seen in weeks, along with my other best friends, who I’ve tried to see for weeks… met up with the girl I was in love with, going to the mall without me.

Since then I’ve had this problem. A shitty problem. If those two friends just meet normally without me I get this feeling. I immediately analyze it as an irrational feeling and then I move on… but I do get it.

Besides the two friends mentioned who live at home, I have two or three other friends at varsity. Two guys and a girl, though I’m only close to one of the guys. A few minutes ago I saw a Facebook post of the girl posting something about a Varsity Rugby match being held at a stadium nearby – just one block away. I could go! But alone? Why didn’t she invite me?

I thought this year, being the first year I have a car, I will drive around a lot and visit numerous places. But now I’m wondering, with whom? I don’t want to go alone, so now I don’t go out at all.

A year or so ago I told that girl that I’m not a fan of Rugby. What I meant is that I’m not the kind of guy to watch it on my own time and talk about it as though it actually matters (it doesn’t, global nuclear war does, though). Yet don’t confuse me! I’ll never say no to an opportunity to watch a match with my friends! The whole outing with my friends is what I want.

But people always misunderstand me, in more than one sense.

But for those in the same or worse position, take courage! Either your feeling is irrational, in which case just realising this will help, or your friendship is faulty. Either you need to mend it by spending time with them, or you need to forget them and wait for the right ones. Don’t lose heart. Let me know if you need support.

You and Your Friends

You know, the part of me that cares for you want you to have many friends. But another part of me that cares for you don’t want you to have so many friends.

“Ah, she’s going through a hard time. Maybe I should cheer her up.”

Then later:

“No, look at all those damn friends she’s got! Hundreds of nominal ones on Facebook, tagging people left, right and center. She knows everybody at her residence, being always active there. Each time I walk her there, she greets tonnes of people. She doesn’t need me.”

Do you know how much it bothered me a while ago how everyone has got so many friends, while I’m mostly stuck on my own? I got two or three great ones at home, but not here. Yet I’ve seen what people like you do. You have all those friends, yet when the shit hits the fan it seems as though I’m one of those few whom you actually rely on.

Why do people do this? Everybody seems so friendly and outgoing, yet eventually I always find them to be lonelier than I.

This happened before: someone with so many friends asking me for my help when things get difficult. I’m not prideful. Like I said, to a degree I’m glad they have so many. Yet why do you come to me? Can’t any of your hundreds of friends help you? Why me?