Kill me. Kill me now. Kill me dead.
I can’t move. So much of pain.
Sweat 1000 is pure evil.
I have to cover 20 kilometres at the Discovery/702 Walk the Talk on Sunday. I don’t think I can make it feeling like this.
Why do people torture themselves like this? I should stick to runs and cycling, right?
I’ve booked another class.
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.
(This is book isn’t that book, though, lol)
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.
Every once in a while I remember that I have a blog with a domain that I purchased, and so the opportunity mustn’t be wasted. However, I haven’t felt inspired to write anything meaningful. (This post isn’t meaningful)
But I’ll try. In the mean time, you need to get your ass to 95 Commissioner Street on Friday from 18:30.
In my quest to become a film snob, I’ve trawled the web to look for ideas and films to watch - specifically documentaries and indies. Is this a hipster thing to do? Probably. Am I a hipster? Not even close. Am I trying to become a hipster? I’m not sure. But I digress.
This is about great films and filmmaking. So I must now venture to the Sundance Film Festival in my lifetime so solidify the film snob status. Next year, hopefully. However, I am two months late with this post. Not a good start, but a start nonetheless.
I came across this project that was partially funded by a Kickstarter campaign. The Measure of All Things looks to me to be a story about humans. Their struggles. Their celebrations. Their beauties. And their insecurities.
I love people. And I love people watching (I swear I’m not a stalker). And I love imagining what their lives would be like. Their dreams and aspirations. What they do when their alone. The conversations they have with one another.
The only problem with The Measure of All Things is that it’s what Sam Green - the director and narrator of the film - calls a live documentary film. What this means is that he attends the screening of the movie, sits on stage as the audience watch the moving pictures and narrates it with a live band or orchestra playing the score. Sounds amazing, doesn’t it? A live theatre production in a sense. But I’ll never get to see it.
But back to the live documentary filmmaking. What an incredible idea. I wonder if there’s anything like this in South Africa.
So I came across something on the internet concerning an article that Mama Mo wrote for Mail & Guardian. Such an inspiration to me and many other young women. Have a look at what she said about women and gender empowerment three years ago.
A decade into the 21st century and humanity is confronted by many unsolved problems of staggering complexity: global warming, the HIV/Aids pandemic, water shortages, extreme poverty and many others. As we grapple with these, the 2015 deadline for reaching the millennium development goals draws ever closer. Can we reach inside ourselves and discover shared values that will allow us to find sustainable solutions in the four short years that remain?
One of the development goals is to promote gender equality and empower women, a goal that speaks to the creation of gender-equitable societies. In this regard, the outlook is bleak. It is not for nothing that gender equality is referred to as the 21st century’s unfinished agenda.
More worrying, the problem goes much deeper than equal opportunities. Yes, it’s true that women are subjected to less favourable employment conditions and remuneration. Yes, it’s true that women are still socialised towards non-technical careers, and that the allocation of education and training resources often favours boys and men.
Although such discrimination is of great concern, it almost pales into insignificance when one considers the horrific abuse women and girls across the globe have to suffer for no other reason than that they were born female.
Women and girls across the globe have to suffer horrific abuse for no other reason than that they were born female.
Women are sold into prostitution and slavery. They are forced into underage marriage. Women endure genital mutilation. And yet the Universal Declaration of Human Rights states that all human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights.
Many women experience childbirth not as a very special moment, but as something to be feared because of a lack of proper care. It is estimated that half a million women and girls die each year as a result of pregnancy or childbirth. For many women home is not a place of safety but of oppression and danger. Domestic violence is a killer, so much so that studies have found it kills more women than diseases such as malaria and tuberculosis.
When one considers these gross abuses, Hilary Clinton’s remark, “for many women, it is an act of courage to get through the day”, takes on a new, ominous significance.
There is neither a simple explanation nor a solution, not when one considers the elaborate maze of culture and ideology. What is clear is that we must not remain silent or stand idly by. The women of South Africa have a proud history of speaking up, of resisting the wrongs of this world and enforcing change. Is our Constitution not acknowledged as among the most progressive in the world? Do we not share in the pride of this accomplishment?
It is not only the big, bold gestures that change the world. Change happens because of many small acts. It is the hourly, daily, weekly awareness of the injustices around us and the willingness to act, and not just think about acting, that shift perceptions and behaviour.
In every arena of human endeavour there is a woman with the ability and influence to shape new ways of thinking and doing, be it in information and communication technology, education or mining. Such women have the power to demonstrate that limiting women’s options is a missed opportunity.
Above all, we have to use the characteristics that make us women to open a door on to a more enlightened consciousness, one that will allow humanity to invent a future that promotes the wellbeing of women.
— Nombulelo “Pinky” Moholi
I love coffee. I wouldn’t say I’m addicted to it.
I can’t say I remember when I first had a taste of such joy. It started with Ricoffi and moved on to Frisco. But now, the only instant coffee I can really stomach is Jacobs Kronung.
I’m also a book lover. The marriage of Seattle Coffee and Exclusive Books was one of the greatest things that ever happened in my life. Suddenly, there was a Vida e Caffe in Cape Town and I dreamed of the day it would finally find it’s way to Johannesburg.
Now I’m spoilt for choice. There’s a barista at work who makes perfectly foamed lattes through the day. Motherland popped up in Rosebank, then Dunkeld, then Braamfontein. (Chai latte is my poison)
Braamfontein: A little buzz of Williamsburg, Brooklyn in our backyard. Doubleshot. And Father.
Again, I’m not addicted to coffee. I don’t know anything about it, either. I just appreciate it’s extraordinary aroma, it’s bitter but overpowering taste.
When I was at the Chanel counter at the Melrose Arch Edgars, the lady told me something special, something I didn’t know. When smelling different fragrances, you should take a whiff of coffee beans in between to cancel out the scent of the previous fragrance. Astounding. And I didn’t mind smelling coffee beans.
This morning, I drank rooibos tea with honey, in effort to get healthy. Oh, the sweet dreams of New Year’s resolutions. But only coffee can get my day really started. So I’ll probably have one after this post with my awesome Le Creuset mug. *airpunch*
If you know me then you know the following about me:
Put all these four ingredients together, and you get the most amazing dinner party. But that hasn’t happened yet. I’d love to host something as quaint and as beautiful as the below garden party.
Summer time. The company of six. Three course meal. Some kind of bluesy music. Clean and crisp table. And fairy lights.
However, I recently come off hosting a bunch of people, and it’s January. My pockets are dry. I’m really just liking things right now.
Also I should probably move into my own place ;)
All images courtesy of OhHappyDay
Life is a series of meaningless poses.