It’s been raining softly, ever since the light peeked through the gap between the curtains this morning. I heard it last night in bed too. Woke up, felt that rush of sound, wondered briefly what it could be, until my heart beat the word “RAIN, RAIN, RAIN” along with the sound of the falling water and then I smiled, turned over and closed my eyes once again.
So we won the Rugby World Cup huh. Who would have thought? One minute this country is in despair and devoid of hope, and the next minute we’re ecstatic. This is the dichotomy of living here. It’s why people struggle to live anywhere else, because love it or hate it, there is nowhere else that makes you feel more alive. Is this a “normal” way to live? Veering from agony towards ecstasy within a few days? I doubt it. But what is normal anyway?
London had taught her about all the shades of grey. People were not necessarily good, nor were they bad. They held both goodness and badness in them, and the people you wanted in your life were those trying to balance more of the good chips on the one side, even if the side with badness piled on to it kept looking as though it may topple over.
My dad once said that your body tries its damn hardest to make you less attractive as you age, so you’re less inclined to mate and produce offspring. Being a farmer, he saw this ageing process happening in goats. Ostriches. Cows. I get it now, Dad. You were right. The brutal truth is that nature is doing everything in its power to ensure that we are no longer attracted to each other. Thanks a bunch.
I’ve been trying to tap into my creativity more recently. I lost my way creatively a bit this year, due in large part to stopping my old blog I think. It was certainly the right decision but it’s taking me a while to find my groove creatively, which is probably normal, but no less frustrating. Anyway, so I’ve been diarising “creative dates” for myself, setting aside time to finally watch that TED talk I’ve been meaning to, or listen to that podcast. And the one I listened to today was from Alyssa Monks an artist, on how loss affected her art, and also on dealing with the death of a parent.
I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty fed up with supermarket shopping. I know I have to do it, but visiting supermarkets is not a pleasurable experience for me. I would do anything to avoid it really. In fact, it was this article I read recently which really got me thinking about the role supermarkets play in South Africa, a country where millions are malnourished because they can’t afford healthy food, where farmers are so badly paid for their produce that they cannot afford to be in business any more, and where farm workers are some of the worst off out of everyone.