Is Chivalry Dead?

Is Chivalry dead?

This comes after many discussions turned arguments between my friends & I regarding this topic.

It’s taken me ages to write this. My mind has changed so many times about whether or not it indeed is dead. I’ve been having an assortment of experiences that will pull me in different directions each time.

When I first started writing this, I was on a flight back to the mother city on Kulula and as with all Kulula flights, some sort of entertaining commentary accompanies the journey. This time the flight attendant asked us to introduce ourselves to the person beside us. Chatterbox me was reluctant & was actually contemplating ignoring his instructions.

“My name is Dougal”, shot into my left ear. Now, I had to play along. But it was less uninviting as it was before. I also introduced myself to Jani, the young lady to my right (who sat on the most envied seat of the 3 – the window seat) we proceeded to have some surface chit chat and then it evolved into full on conversation about all kinds of things – including astrology: on my list of favourite things. I opened my bag of tricks on the subject and let them read what it said about each of their signs. They were both quite fascinated by the truth the summary held. Even Dougal the sceptic was quite intrigued.

Now as I typed the title to this piece of writing (at the time it was “Chivalry is dead, rightly so?”), Dougal was about to fall asleep. He tapped me while I typed the first few sentences and asked me. “Is it really dead?” I had to stop and think. I myself didn’t have the answer. He believes it isn’t because he still practices it. On his (I think its safe to say) lucky girlfriend.

I didn’t finish writing this at that time because we got plunged into fat, phat conversation and so I had to suspend my idea of writing this piece. Here I am again in the sky, Joburg bound and dabbling with the same subject.

I think I have come to a conclusion (not much of one clearly) that chivalry does exist. It is very alive and very well. It creeps up on you when you least expect it. So it’s rather rare and maybe woman are to blame for that? That is debatable & I don’t have much to go on to challenge those who disagree with the statement that womankind have brought it upon themselves.

Nonetheless, if you’re female and you’re after that gallant man, good luck finding him – but not all hope is lost. They are out there. I promise.

And those of you we call men, if chivalry is your thing do it, if its not, try it and if it doesn’t tickle your fancy for the right reasons, then leave it behind & be comfortable in your skin. There are women who don’t expect every door to be opened.

I’m not sure I’m one of them though. I’m still finding out.

The Occasional Loneliness I Feel Is Worth The Personal Growth It Awards...

One thing I can always be thankful that I have learnt from being single is that I know I can be alone. 

 

It is an option.

I don’t need to be someone’s other half in order to be (or feel) whole.

I am whole. Already.

You too are whole. You don’t need me to reach completion.

Personal space is something that plays a pivotal role in the success rate of a relationship. You need to remember that I am me & you are you & there are things that I love & ; enjoy that you don’t. 

There too are things you love & enjoy that I despise.

But you are you and I am me.

We don’t need each other. We want each other. 

Realise the distinction.

I have my faults and I have a right to have them. They are there for a reason.

You have faults and I have a right to feel like they drive me to the brink of madness itself. But they are yours, an undeniable part of your making & they are there for a reason.

Single-hood has taught me so much about myself. Things about myself were uncovered that I myself had never ever thought were there. Ugly things. Ones I would like to, quietly, shove under the proverbial carpet. And; some phenomenal traits that I want to boast. 

I got more than I had bargained for when I took on this path of self-searching & ; discovery.

My journey is by no means over. Utter happiness in a loving relationship is a reality. But for now, until I’m ready to dive, I’m happy on this little pathway. 

Until further notice...

Playing hard to get is Foolish

So (as with many of my recent posts) this is inspired by countless conversations with the lovely miss Sara P.

Why do we play hard to get?

Take a moment (or preferably longer) to think about your answer to that question.

Surely if you like someone, even slightly, you would want them to know that. Surely?

You would act in such a way as to make it clear that you feel that way.

We are not children playing in a sand pit on some playground somewhere where we are unable to express ourselves clearly enough and so we end up kicking the girl we love – or your innocent understanding of it at least- in the shin. Or push her straight into the sand pit.

We are fortunate enough to have collected enough information & experiences to get our emotional awareness to a level mature enough to be able to express, clearly, how we feel.

So why then do we deliberately not reply to that text requesting a meeting of some sort? When we know we would love to.

Why then do we not offer to take that someone for a drink or better yet; dinner? When we are dying to extend that offer.

Why then do we not tell that someone that they are beautiful, when we think that they look that way? Nobody would reject such flattery, especially if genuinely heartfelt.

Why settle for second best when we can get first prize? Because we can. It is an option.

There comes a time when every boy must throw out the sand pit and start building a foundation for something more worthy of their time, potential to love and pro-create.

Not necessarily with the intention solely to produce offspring. It’s not for everyone. Granted. But that closeness for a person you feel so strongly for is desirable at some point. Even if only for a season. Indefinitely. Or definitely. Whichever.

Playing hard to get plays into the fakeness that the world has come to accept. It’s not acceptable.

It’s a chip that aids the ever-evident decay of the soul and humanity as a whole.

Playing hard to get is seriously over-rated and ; I’m confident to say; foolish.

Simply foolish.

Why do we so inherently feel the need to have what we can’t get? Or relish that position of being what others (although you feel for them) can not obtain.

What is so attractive about that person who won’t return your calls? There is one out there who would gladly embrace them.

There remain many unanswered questions, but for me, right now: Playing hard to get is not an option. It does cross my mind ever so often but each time I think of the missed connections endured in our time on this journey. It’s simply not worth it.

Plain and simple.

I Didintle Sholohelang Ntsie, vow to be as truthful as I can be about my feelings towards others when those feelings are beautiful & true.

So what if I get rejected? Rejection is an undeniable & unavoidable part of life. Playing hard to get makes it even more complex than it really needs to be.

You, and you alone, know what and who you want.

Don’t deny yourself that sweetness.

The Browmwell : Its role in the gap between the have's and the have nots

I visited a place called “The Bromwell” over the weekend.

I will take some time to describe what it is and the interior of the venue.

“The Bromwell” boutique mall is a number of things:

• A Boulangerie called “Bread”, which -from my understanding- is a bakery: this one boasts efficiency that ensures that no item on the shelf is older than 2 hours old (the standard period of time is 8 hours I’m told)

• A deli, which sells exclusive high-end treats ranging from coffee flavoured fudge to tasty jams & cold meats.

• A café that sells delicious eats, cocktails & hot beverages.

• And the main attraction - a range of carefully arranged concept rooms that contain once offs created solely for this place. Gold framed mirrors, statues, jewelry, furniture, sculptures, paintings & clothing.

Opulence not very often stumbled upon.

Patrons receive a “Privilege card” which enables them to view the prices of the items on sale. The cards are inserted into a slot linked to a high tech wireless system that is touch screen operated.

When you enter this place, a man wearing a top hat and a black tuxedo greets you, outside the establishment. The treatment, if you are not accustomed to it, pushes you to the very verge of uncomfortableness.

The elite hang out spot is situated in the heart of Woodstock, Albert road to be exact.

Local mini-bus taxis constantly screeching past & honking. Across the street families reside. In houses that have existed in the fore-mentioned families for generations & generations. The population of Woodstock is infamous for alcohol abuse, poverty, substance abuse, drug trade, teenage pregnancy & gang violence.

The people of this place are nowhere near the income bracket that the Bromwell serves and aims to please.

Given the history of Woodstock and how it came about, is it fair to have an establishment as lavish as the one I speak of in this place that very obviously does not serve the community it has invaded? Is it right?

Fast forward to 2015: the families that live in the houses situated in Woodstock, particularly on streets, with growing popularity, such as Albert road are going to be bought out & shoved aside for the purpose of economic benefit & stimulation.

They might be restored and kept in their original form but the people who it truly and rightfully belongs to will be nowhere in sight.

Places like the Bromwell push the gap between the rich and the poor wider, faster, with reckless abandon.

South Africa officially has the widest gap between the rich and the poor. That is quite an achievement. What are we doing to undo that embarrassing, sad & painfully hard, harsh reality?

There should be a legal body that is erected specifically for the purpose of protecting and defending whole communities that are being excluded from the goings ons in their community.

The residents should benefit in some way or form from all the shenanigans that take place. They should be part of the plan. They should reap the rewards that are employment, royalties or simply the right to decide who can come and take a spot in their community.

We as a nation need to bring operations like this a screeching halt. The alternative - to watch the gap widen and worsen. And to let more and more starve and suffer while others have more than they could ever need in one lifetime.

Which side of the line do you stand on?

Avatar (3D) makes my life feel so tame

Original Post Monday, January 11, 2010 at 11:01am

So my amazing sister got some free tickets for any movie at a Ster Kinekor cinema; we couldn’t go while she was here so she left them for me. Sweet deal.

I asked Miss Sara P to join me.

We went and we loved it.

I’m going to give you a few options to substitute that annoyingly badly written and barely expressive sentence right there; simply because “We loved it” doesn’t do the actual emotion we felt any justice at all.

We had overwhelmingly Deep affection for it, we were totally besotted with it, we were enthralled by it, we were absolutely absorbed by it, we had an insatiable appetite for more. In short it was fantastic and we came close to worshipping the director.

Not only were the graphics and special effects out of this world (literally). It was a beautifully woven story. So delicately and well put together.

So very relevant.

The message was powerful beyond measure.

That we destroy priceless natural beauty & existence of any kind for a cheap man made commodity. Money.

It’s embarrassingly disgusting that those men & women who were all for the killing of tribes for the “precious stone” that would earn someone uncountable amounts of money are us. Us. We are those people.

Our population worships money, so much so, that we will push anything out of the way to obtain it. To clutch it only to inevitably let it go.

We apparently need it for survival. Funny that. A time existed when there was no money - only vast stretches of untouched land, fruit in abundance, vegetables for Africa, livestock, pure uncontaminated water & whatever form of shelter. And so you’re trying to tell me that a piece of paper with some supposedly important print on it with a pre-determined imaginary value is a worthy substitute?

Surely not?
Definitely not.

I came across this quote at the beginning of the year. It sums up what I’m getting at here:

`Only when the last tree has died & the last river has been poisoned & the last fish has been caught will we realise that we can not eat money.` 19th Century Cree India

Image found here

The man on the train

Original Post: Thursday, January 7, 2010 at 2:51pm

I met a man on the train today (maybe met is the incorrect word to use, came across is more like it). I’ll call him Willem.

He had hazy green eyes, was around his early to late 40’s and looked like he was really one of those charming handsome men in his time.

I almost sat next to him, but the sun was on that side of the train and I had been walking so I didn’t feel like roasting further and feeling even stickier when I got to work. So I sat opposite him. As we waited for the train to pull off, he began mumbling. At first I couldn’t quite catch what he was saying. Then I caught “Ek verander waneer die wereld verander” that (according to my slighted inner Afrikaans-speaking voice) means “I change when the world changes” or “I change along with the world”.

He went on to mumble some other inaudible and (I think its safe to say) nonsensically charged waffle.

He planted a thought in my mind. Life can slip through our fingers slowly.
Not necessarily quickly.

Willem probably made a few wrong turns, a couple of wrong decisions. Maybe he decided to experiment with drugs, or maybe when he was younger he saw them as “recreational” (they sure as hell are – they recreate your mind, personality, reasoning ability, brain function & entire life there after), maybe he fought with someone at home and never came back, he could have swallowed his pride & returned to make amends. Who knows what went wrong?

Willem did not smell like alcohol at all. He wasn’t drunk nor tipsy. We made eye contact several times and when he saw me kind of paying attention to his ramblings. He stared right back & directed his words to me.

A part of me wishes I could tap into what he was saying. The part I caught earlier seemed rather profound given his state.

He got up and disembarked at the same station as me. He had a small bottle of water to hydrate him in this heat I guess. Quite sensible.

There are choices each day, opportunities each day, crystal clear good & even more shiny clear bad decisions, good people we take for granted, horrible energy suckers we latch onto for Lord knows what.

We have (hopefully) a fairly long life to lead. Take care of your soul & nourish it the way you know is best for you.

Don’t be that man on the train - Aging, alone & seemingly senile.

Some Lemonade from life's lemons

This post was originally for a competition but it's over & I didn't get chosen, so these are some pictures of me.

All white Surprise Party for a friend

Barefoot Interview with Goldfish at Synergy Live :) So much fun!

HHP at Zula Bar on Long Street -I respect that promotes Our language - Setswana!

Me drawing my heart out on Table Mountain for 1000 drawings initiative

Me trying something fascinating at Synergy Live in Franschoek on Boschendal Wine Farm

Surprise party for friend - what a good time we had

Me at home - my mom was baking biscuits this day and each time I see that kitchen I can smell them! Yummmmy!

Visiting a friend of mine to see his little pups before they were all sold :(

I love dressing up :)

Triomf - The Movie

*Original Post – Monday, June 08 2009, 11:20pm

So I rounded up a couple of friends that were willing to watch the South African made movie based on a South African novel written by Marlene Van Niekerk - Triomf tells a tale of a poor white Afrikaner family that lives in the placed formally known as Sophiatown.

The time is 1994. And the political landscape is about to undergo a dramatic change. They are uncertain, yet certain of doom. The movie was surprisingly well directed and executed. There were a lot of uncomfortable scenes that make us all cringe. Like the incestuous scene involving the mentally retarded 20-year-old boy and his mother. How uncomfortable and highly disturbing! The movie touches on a lot of sensitive hush hush topics regarding Afrikaner families and the grim truth that the walls would tell if they could.

The story is one that didn’t focus too much on politics but gave a good indication of how things were back then for poor white South Africans. An angle I had personally never seen but have always been curios to explore.

Countless laugh out loud scenes made the teeth grindingly uncomfortable one a teeny bit easier to sit through.

I’m proud that South Africans are becoming more willing to uncover the real truth about our horrible past.

The stories need to be told. Only then can we heal as a nation.

We’re so infatuated with covering up our unbalanced and unfair past and equally obsessed with moving forward without addressing the emotions experienced that undoubtedly prevail to this day, that we can’t simply (ok, maybe not so simple) stop and look back and dissect.

The level of horror violent crimes endured by citizens of this country is a sure sign of the kind of deep-seated anger burdening men and women of this land.

I’d be interested in seeing how many Saffies actually knew about if let alone went out to watch it.

Reminds me of a movie released a few years ago “Catch a fire” that uncovered the truth we all read about in history books. I wonder how many bums warmed seats in the theaters during its duration.

I’m convinced we’re a nation scared to stare our past in the face and work through our faults.

It’s needed.

Desperately so.

Triomf was screened in the smallest theatre at the Labia Theatre - an independent movie theatre in Cape Town.

Indicative of the kind of people we are.

Seeds have been planted and are expected not to flourish into something. Trees are sprouting all over the place, those of anger, frustration, self-hatred and intolerance. They need to be pruned and healed.

*Once again due to my undeniable attachment to procrastination (this was written a hefty 6 months ago, but only getting shared now)

Will the real SA please stand up!

This article is inspired by the intense feeling in my heart that wells up each time I tune in to the reality of the inequalities in this Country. It’s my home and I’m supposed to love it unconditionally. But I don’t. Right now I detest it.        

It’s now an official fact. South Africa is the country with the biggest gap between rich and poor. How have we let this happen?      

15 years since democracy I would have hoped that we would be united enough to begin creating channels that allow those at the bottom of the pile the opportunity to dust themselves off and feed themselves. The efforts have no doubt been made, but they are clearly not effective enough. Changing our education system ever so often does more harm than good to the recipients of it.      

I’ve struggled for a long time to pin point what needs to be fixed first in order for everything else to fall into place. I have now, after many a dinner party conversation, many a braai time discussion, decided that EDUCATION is the key. You can not make informed decisions with the lack there of. It is impossible to even be aware of what you are actually entitled to without it, you can never even know when you are being cheated without it.         

It’s the powerful torch that’s necessary to brighten the paths of generations to come.     

We have been fortunate and blessed enough to have a peaceful transition during the change of power. No bloodshed. Just deep gashes, wounds and scars in the memories of all that had to endure that horrible past. (Which did consist of that).  

And now the remnants of a past so heinous it never leaves us and threatens to rip the wounds open on a daily basis.      

Townships. Squatter Camps. The intense clarity of entering Surburbia after visiting a town ship. All constant reminders of what was.         

When people come to South Africa they may have read about our history, some not. You may never understand the full extent of what Apartheid stood for unless you experience it first hand. Or come as close as possible to experiencing what the reality post-apartheid is like.

The tourism industry does not do this (massive) part of our reality any justice.      

Too many times I have had friends coming to visit Cape Town and seeing the post card view of it all - The mountain, the sea, the restaurants, the pristine beaches, the party & club scene, the surf sub-culture, Long street, the museums - and not having their eyes opened to the harsh (but very real & enriching) reality of South Africa: the poverty, the lack of service delivery to the parts of South Africa that are described as “previously disadvantaged”, the cultures from the people who’s culture it is. Once you have a peak into this so very interesting world you will realise that there is absolutely nothing “Previously” about those that live in these areas. They are still disadvantaged.         

It’s very evident.      

I'm fortunate enough to have the opportunity to go home once a month (to a Township/location called Ga-Rankuwa) and this grounds me and reminds me of where I’m from. It’s very easy to forget what the realities are although I grew up in that environment & have been immersed in it for the greater portion of my life (19 out of 22 years).

Its so easy; when I return to Cape Town; to this luxury I now call a home - with a pool, high walls, armed security system, electric fencing and a bird song infested garden; to lose touch & to stop caring about the masses that struggle.         

Something drastic has to change if we intend to be truly united. More arms need to be stretched out over the proverbial fence if we want to see this country flourish. If we want to keep the title of “Rainbow nation” bestowed upon us after the incredible Madiba saved an entire nation.      

We need to get a grip of reality & participate in active unity. We owe it to ourselves, those before us & those that are yet to come.

Hair defines Us - wait read on..

So a couple of weeks ago (when I wrote this it was weeks, now its months due to my attachment to procrastination) I was invited to watch a dance performance at the UCT dance school. The performance was on hair.

Hair?

Yup, hair.

I was awfully interested in hearing this notion out. We were all seated and it began -The journey to understanding why on earth anyone would base an entire performance on hair.

I must admit I smiled a little when I went to the bathroom just before it began and looked at mine. What an absolute mess!

The show began with an explanation of how the initiative started. It was a collaboration between UCT students and Jikeleza dance school (based in an underprivileged area and therefore the students were from the same background)

The lady who trained them got them to speak about their feelings related to hair and got them to get in touch with the way they felt about hair.

When they began dancing I was, naturally, trying to understand what they were trying to say about how they felt or what they were trying to portray. It was more difficult than anticipated. To penetrate one’s thoughts is hard enough and to try and make sense of what their movement meant; more so.

There was a question and answer session at the end of it all where all the girls got to answer questions from the audience. I love this concept. It made me feel closer to the dancers and made me feel like a part of the goings on which I really liked.

This decision revealed other things about the girls. Most of the girls from the townships had a very difficult time expressing themselves. It was almost as though they wanted to be invisible so said as little as possible.

There were a handful of girls that had a chance to speak as part of the performance and one of the girls was blonde. She explained how irritating it was that people would sum up her level of intelligence based merely on her hair colour. I was astonished to learn this as I had previously walked around with the thought that “blond girls have it easy” when in fact it was the opposite when it came to the professional environment. So my question was what advantages she gained from her hair colour (There had to be some). This young lady I posed the question to was very opinionated and intelligent and didn’t actually get to a point where she said that she benefits until the very end where she said sometimes she uses her femininity.

Her femininity.

I have that too.

This seemingly light-hearted performance turned out to be of much more importance and dispelled some preconceptions we had about each other’s hair. (And in a strange way our cultures and backgrounds)

We should have more of such gatherings. The quicker we dispel untruths about each other the better equipped we are to fight intolerance and bridge the seemingly insurmountable differences of race, creed and culture.

If Days Had Colours

I have often thought of my life as a huge canvas with lots of different BRIGHT, sometimes dull, grey and boring colours splattered on it. This past Saturday was particularly colorful to say the least…

I believe I was made for Television. We all have something within us that is bouncing to come out (we either listen or suppress it) and that part of me has been for a while. I’m a performer and entertainer at heart. I feel it always and hear it always.

So I decided to stop being a silly, damp, chicken and go ahead & take a dive for it. It’s the least I could do for myself right? I went ahead with well hidden quivering knees to meet the producer and the host of the proposed show. We spoke about all kinds of topics close to our hearts, which made it all the more comfortable.

I then did a screen test where I had to interview a young lady I had previously met and who inspired me to the core (she almost made me cry with her music, that emotive voice and lyrical content). Thobekile.

Must add how important I felt holding the microphone. I didn’t want to let go. It was mine. I was meant for this after all. Right?

The interview I did was natural, fun & engaging (I would like to believe).

So back to the story about my Techniclour Saturday - This was the day I would hear the news that I had indeed clinched the job! I was beside myself with pure joy. I felt like I was radiating a bright pinky orange hue into the world and those around me.

Then it was off to Langa to join in the festivities of a fun day organised by one of my friends who I met on a life-changing course called the Lucca Leadership Course. He & a friend of his run the sport development aspect of a youth development program and they had put together an amazing free training session of tennis. There was live entertainment offered by the children and youth of the area. From gumboot dancing, to traditional Xhosa cultural dance.

We got taught how to play tennis. By youngsters in their twenties. I was adamant I wouldn’t grasp a thing but was proven wrong.

At the end of the day I was the last woman standing (nope; not on any kind of merit – only because I got sucked in – Hi, my name is Emily & I have an addictive personality). A few innocent –literally– bystanders fell victim to my over-zealous slamming of the ball (the oldest must have been 15). I’m still cringing.

I loved it. The tennis playing that is…

Earlier this week I won a competition (did I mention I’ve been crowned Little Miss Fortunate? It was a small ceremony I must say - me, myself & I) which allows me “+ 1” to gain entry to my favourite party hosted by Fiction on a monthly basis & get gear sponsored by one of my favourite street wear brands Butan Wear.

My choice of “+1” is a friend of mine (who shares a birthday with me – had to squeeze it in somewhere) new to Cape Town so I dragged her along and had giggles for Africa. She reminds me of myself when I was younger, plus a touch of what I imagine my lovely boss was like when she was younger (could be the English accent or the haircut) add a tasteful dose of eccentricity and you’ve got Miss Sara Pee.(She’s 18, gorgeous and so refreshing!)

Her dress strap decided to unhook in the front & we spent a good half an hour trying to fix it on the balcony using a safety pin to put it in place. She really looked like she was expressing milk. It was hilarious.

We danced & danced and danced. We then went to the corner store to get Chocolate to calm her inner Emily. I got some Ice cream. Yum.

On the walk back I saw a Lime abandoned helium balloon in the middle of Long Street. I had to have it. I could see it floating in my room in my minds eye. So I dashed for it. But things didn’t quite work out as planned and it turned into a death defying act. I got the balloon in the end (despite the taxi driver yelling “Jou Poes” out of his car door…) that’s all that matters. Ice cream in hand and floating balloon in the other.

What a day. Work the next day: bright & early.

Bubbles of Joy

I love my life so much right now.

Life has a funny way of showing you what to attract into your life
and if you listen hard enough at
the ever evident vibrations
of the direction you
should be going in
we reach our
desired
destination
and achieve that
inexplicable warm
happiness we all wish to
attain when we go to bed each night

Listen, feel, open yourself up and be ready to receive.