On Thursday 25 September (oh yes, pay day), Levi’s Strauss South Africa hosting a forum of great entrepreneurs to tell their stories and inspire a new crop of entrepreneurs.
The three Ins: Innovators. Investors. Inventors, came in in crowds to absorb or spread their wealth of knowledge.
Unfortunately, i was only able to attend one and a three quarters of talks, but was incredibly mesmerized by the movements that young South Africans are making in their communities. People are living their dreams out there.
But here’s my issue. What is my dream? I’ve always wanted to be, and still want to dabble in everything, but I can’t. I find that I get bored incredibly fast or that I’m fascinated by something only to be disappointed by it.
How does one discover their passion before time runs out; before one has immersed oneself in something that brings them very little joy?
Sometimes I feel like Lena Dunham has written everything there is to know about ‘millenials’ and that I no longer have anything to offer to the world of multimedia. Damn! Why didn’t I think of it first?
They always say “write what you know.” I’m on to something big here. Something I know will be big.
Some of my favourite places in Joburg.
I have too many places to name. So I’ll save those for another day.
Sanelisiwe made me see a movie I never even contemplated watching. Suddenly, onions popped out of nowhere and my mascara was ruining my face. My eyes were red as a cursed whoever brought those damn onions into the cinema.
Yep, Fault In Our Stars is cracker of a tear jerker. We were all happy, and laughing at the lame jokes, until a moment in the film when suddenly what seemed like happiness was just utter doom. (I hope that was not a spoiler, yikes).
I decided that I needed to read the book. And having worked in the publishing industry when it first came out, I could have gotten it for free and I could have let the onions control my eyes then. But nonetheless, I read it after watching the movie. Sitting in Motherland Rosebank (my most favourite coffee shop) when I reached the turning point of crying, I resisted crying like I’ve never resisted anything more in my life.
Part of the film was in Amsterdam. So I decided, Amsterdam was the next destination of travel. December it is. In the blistering cold. Riding bicycles in snow in weather that would put the Castle Lite Nas concert to shame. (yeah, the concert was terribly cold).
I think I would have been able to do without the film. It’s not bad or anything, but it’s not the greatest either. However, I don’t know if I would have had the Amsterdam inspiration if I hadn’t seen it. Good book. Easy read.
It seemed that the summer or winter (depending on your hemisphere) on 2014 was the time of living the French dream. I know of five people who went to live the good life in Paris starting from Roland Garros up until last week.
I was (am) jealous. I want to go to Paris. I want to eat a “croissant” and pronounce the word properly. So I will. I have booked my holiday for July 2015 with Miss Pearlulla Jones. Oh, to be young!
I was talking vacations in Europe over wine, and gin and tonic in Great Dane (my most favourite bar) with Pearlulla when it occurred to me that we haven’t done the Paris trip that we first spoke of in 2011. So I whipped out my 12% battery iPhone, downloaded Airbnb and booked accommodation. Just. Like. That.
I woke up the next day realising what I had done - also I was now officially BROKE (thank goodness I filled up my tank before I headed to Great Dane) - Pearlulla asked if I regretted it. So then I checked out the place I had booked on TripAdvisor - R850 and 2 minute walking distance from the Eiffel Tower, I was a little suspicious - it was perfect and had super reviews.
Therefore, no ragrets.
I’m going to Paris. Oui oui. Bonjour. Comment ça va? Très bien. Monsieur. Au revoir. Je m’appelle Ayanda. Je suis fatigue. Je t’aime. (That’s about all the French I know, shameful)
Now I can book in my leave. Save up some monies as well as make up for the utterly impulsive purchase of accommodation. And practice some French.