There is no time to waste

It took me a long time to realise that we don’t have much time. And even less so, time to waste.

In my past four months living in The Netherlands, there has been a sense of urgency to see as much as possible in my time there. To cycle to cool places every day. To catch the bus to amazing events. To spend all night dancing. To meet as many people as I can… It’s a desire to experience anything and everything I possibly can in the limited time that I’m there.

And it has changed the way I perceive the value of time.

My one week back in South Africa for Christmas has taught me much the same thing. I only had 6 days in which to reconnect with my people. With my car. With my way of life here. With my country. I was unable to spend even just one moment doing nothing or going nowhere. I had to see my mountain. Feel my ocean. Drink my wine. Laugh with my people.

It has allowed me to see that I do not have the time to spend any of my days doing nothing. Or to spend any of them doing things that don’t allow either for growth or a sense of fulfillment. I do not have time to waste on any trivial pursuits or a life not lived with the unapologetic intention to make every moment mean something. I do not have time to sit on my ass doing nothing. There are places to see and people to meet. Music to make. Books to read. Sights to see. Memories to make. Get up and go do things that make your days worthy of crawling out of bed in the morning.

I do not have time to pine over things from the past that didn’t quite work out the way I’d hoped they would. It’s done and its effect on my present should be only to have learnt valuable lessons and to have grown stronger and more resilient to the universe and the punches it throws.

I do not have time to spend time with people who are not my kind of people. It took me a while to learn that you really can choose your friends. But it took me an even longer while to learn that your friends sometimes choose you as well. So to be yourself and the best version of who that is at all times is of vital importance in having the right people choose you as a friend.

I do not have the time to disagree with you over set opinions and dogmas. There are some things in life that are by all means worth discussing, but much less worth picking a fight over. Tolerance for the beliefs of others, for their ideas and for their choices in life is a sign of respect that not many people ever show. We’re so invested in how we live and what we believe is right that we become ignorant towards the right of others to believe their own things.

Be open. Be tolerant.

I do not have time to not be present. The past couple of months living abroad have added a freaky little twist to many of my friendships back in SA. My need to soak up every moment has pulled me away from my cellphone and my computer to such an extent that people have begun to think I have forgotten our friendship.

I really haven’t.

I see my people in everything I experience.

I see my crazy friends with their infectious laughter in every foreign smile. And I see the big blue eyes of my friends near the ocean every time the blue skies reflect in the canals of Amsterdam.

I am reminded of my family every time “o ek wil huistoe gaan na mamma toe” loops on the local bar’s speakers.

I think about all of my favourites all of the time. And it sometimes even feels like they’re right there with me experiencing every epic moment, becoming part of all the new memories I make.

So here’s to an exciting 2016 in Dutchland! Remembering all the ones I leave behind. And embracing all the ones I am yet to meet.

Tot straks, bitches!

follow the white rabbit

Follow the White Rabbit

I am not good at doing the same thing all day every day. I don’t believe it’s that I get bored or feel unsatisfied. I think it has more to do with the idea of having to do it forever and then losing myself along the way and becoming a stay-at-home mom with monster children and cats and then trying to deny my life crises by painting one of the walls in my house some shade of red.

At one point I started going into work and then I’d just Google the British Monarchy and take virtual tours of Buckingham Palace and stalk Kate and try and learn how they make her hair look so freakin’ amazing all the time. So the situation got pretty serious and I had to make a plan. I knew few people would approve and it’d be quite a mission to get this plan rolling. But I needed an adventure.

And that’s when Alice in Wonderland came into my life:

“Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, ‘and what is the use of a book,’ thought Alice, ‘without pictures or conversation?’

So she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for the hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her.”

Which was when I started planning on following this White Rabbit with such fight and joy straight into Wonderland that the world would scream at the sight of my enthusiasm.

Following this White Rabbit basically entails following an unlikely clue, an innocuous, unbelievable (but also, a bit ridiculous) sign, to find oneself in the midst of more or less extraordinary, marvellous, amazing circumstances that challenge one’s fundamental beliefs, expand one’s horizons &/or perception of realities, transform one’s perspective, and change one’s life.

There’s something that changes in us when we travel for extended periods of time. It’s different when you’re taking a quick trip with a friend and seeing new sights and eating weird food and walking through strange cities. You see new things and I guess you also experience something different but it doesn’t necessarily affect you. It doesn’t cause for a switch to flip on the inside. It’s just a trip. It’s a holiday. And you can take it again whenever you want.

What’s different is immersing yourself in that world. In a different culture and language and way of life. Everything you’re used to falls away and everything you’ve learnt for survival disappears because it’s all so vastly different where you’ve travelled to.

“After weeks on the road, listening to a language you don’t understand, using a currency whose value you don’t comprehend, walking down streets you’ve never walked down before, you discover that your old “I,” along with everything you ever learned, is absolutely no use at all in the face of those new challenges, and you begin to realise that buried deep in your unconscious mind there is someone much more interesting and adventurous and more open to the world and to new experiences.”

I cannot explain how this changes you. How it changes your view of life and your priorities and your appreciation for things.

When we stay in one place I like to imagine we fall asleep a little. When we’re asleep, we dream and we relax but at some point we wake up and realise that we’ve been dreaming. And what we’ve been dreaming is just that – dreams. But when we get up and go out and live, we wake up and the things we discover and experience wake up parts of us that have been asleep for a really long time.

This is why I’m choosing to travel

I need adventure

I know this now. It took me a while to get to know the part of myself with the inability to stay in one scenario for too long.

Though I love Cape Town and am mesmerised by the mountains I drive into view of every morning, this just is not enough. There are many more mountains to see. And climb. And I mean that both literally and figuratively.

We’re only young until we’re old.

I have people to meet and languages to learn and lives to change. I am not quite done.

I need to not be ordinary

I still pray for help at times when the world doesn’t seem to be enough. Maybe I get too philosophical and fail to wrap my head around the idea that life is this:

eternal emptiness

Which makes the idea of settling in one place right now… for the rest of my life… having children and working so I can raise them, and then going through the same routines for the rest of ever, kind of seriously depressing to me.

The idea of exploring at least the speck of the universe I’m forced to live a life on – that makes my existential crisis a bit easier to deal with.

I imagine most people yearn for a sense of freedom within a world in which time just constantly ticks us closer to death, after which we’re still unsure what happens. Maybe we just dissolve into eternal emptiness. Maybe we get to live a similar life in a different realm. Maybe we’re sent to another universe where we get to try all over again.

But with this one little life given to me, I can’t imagine not living it with an eagerness stronger than the rays of the sun. I am not the girl who could ever stand for being the moon that doesn’t have its own light. There have been times in my life when I have been the moon. I’ve reflected the light of others and now it’s my turn to go out and be the sun.

So I’m taking the plunge.

I’m following the White Rabbit.

In Defense of my Arts Degree

I have a Bachelor’s Degree in the Arts.

In my first year of studying this, I spoke briefly with a guy at a social and the first question we automatically asked each other was, quite unoriginally, what do you study?

His answer was Engineering.

Mine was Humanities.

He laughed. And then he said “Oh, so you’re one of the dumb ones.”

I learnt a lot of things about people through studying Languages and Psychology and Philosophy.

It’s not that it infuriates me that some look down condescendingly on the Arts Degree. It’s that I don’t understand what they believe sets them at a higher level with their Science or Commerce or Accounting Degrees.

I respect the knowledge they have built. I respect how they can create and how they can make sense of a mess by using their logical mind, mathematical skill and analytical brain.

Maybe that’s why I also gave a go at Engineering when I first started my studies. I also wanted to use numbers to create and build systems that would make life easier through analysing and improving on existing theories and appliances and infrastructure. Why, though, are my Arts-related abilities to create, analyse and build believed to be of a lesser calibre than theirs?

I grew up in a family of achievers. There’s the one with the Masters Degree in Science. The one with the MBA.

The grandad with the Doctorate in Agriculture who basically orchestrated the invention of synchronised reproductive processes in farm animals so that all of them go into heat at the same time to provide farmers with a stable income and the industry with a stable supply of wool.

And then there’s me. The”Black Sheep”. With the Arts Degree.

At the university where I studied, they label this degree as the one you study when you’re trying to find a man. Because it’s apparently really easy and you’ll probably never find a job so best spend your time finding a husband to take care of you.

Are you fucking kidding me?!

Who let you climb on that pedestal? Because the pride clouding your judgment is making you forget that I have acquired the ability to analyse the insecurity that stepped you up there. And the facets of your societal surrounds that will eventually cause irreparable damage to your public image due to your disrespect of the supposed underdog.

There may come a time when you will meet an Arts graduate who has far surpassed your successes. Surpassing your expectations through their understanding of life. Of what makes people choose the lives they do. What makes people respect the choices and paths and mistakes of others.

They will teach you about the dynamics of society and its need to prove itself to itself.

They will teach you about the art of expression.

They will teach you about culture.

They will teach you about societal structures and its evolution over time.



The liberation of modernism.

The crisis of experience.

The evolution of space.

The philosophy of Science.


The art of logic and conversation.

The taboos around sex.

Man’s ability to love.

Man’s ability to hate.

They will open your mind to new focuses on religion and ways of life.

They will help you discover respect for agnostics who love and live honourably without the thought of divine reward. You will understand their need to do good simply because they believe the world deserves it.

They will help you externalise that which is interior and put it out there in the world. Like downloading your knowledge and your consciousness onto paper.

They will teach you how to differentiate between what is beautiful and what is ugly. In a less shallow sense.

They will teach you how to use literature to teach.

To entertain.

To escape.

To switch off minds.

To change mindsets.

They will teach you that reading that novel really is you writing that novel. Creating pictures in your mind and people in your life that only disappear long after you’ve read that last page.

They will teach you how to tap into the human unconscious.

My professor once said that “Communication is an ORGAN!” It influences everything. Without it, we’re pretty much hanging on by a thread. We lose touch with other humans. We lose control. We lose order. We lose life. It carves culture and communication carves life.

Respect the Arts, my friend.

There’s a lot beneath the surface here.

An adventure in the now

I don’t get jogging. I don’t get how putting that strain on your legs and your body and your lungs is fun. Let your lungs rip just doesn’t resonate with me. Sprinting I get. If I need to run from danger I will do the fast run. But no. I will never jog.

A place where people meet up for a jog would be a good place to hide something from me.

So I spent the past weekend drinking wine amongst vineyards in the Franschhoek Wine Valley. And while I was sipping on a glass of Grenache, and characteristically spilling it all over myself, I felt a tiny little surge of what people call happiness. Sitting in the sun. Drinking wine. Sharing thoughts with smart people. In a wannabe French town. In South Africa. Right here at home. And it was good.

But for years I’ve made myself believe that South Africa isn’t enough. It’s not enough to have a dayjob and it’s not enough to grow roots here and it’s not good enough to settle for something as simple. I should leave. I should explore. I should meet new people. I should speak new languages.

And I’ve saved and saved and saved everything I earn. Everything. I wear clothes I bought three summers ago and I never go anywhere and I restrict my budgets because I’m saving a bunch of money for an escape. In my refusal of mediocrity. But then I realised that I haven’t really been living. I’ve been holding so tightly onto a goal for my future that I’m purposely pushing aside the short-term ones that would make me happy in the meantime.

And I blame all of it on jogging. My need to sprint to the end-line is making me fly by all the little experiences I could be having in the place I’m “adventuring” in now. It’ll be quite some time before my dreams of running really far away will realise. If they ever will.

Also, jogging is hard. It’s like you’re getting somewhere but you’re getting there really slowly. And it hurts, man. Jogging is not done quietly. And it takes a really long time to get used to it. Though I’m hoping my proverbial legs and lungs will forgive me by evoking the endorphins my soul has so desperately been craving. So in the meantime, it’s a mini-venture towards making what I have and where I am exciting and memorable.

Maybe it’s not always the far-off places and culture shocks or language barriers. Sometimes it’s just making music. Or reading books. Or maybe it’s just you and your mind and your thoughts and pushing them to the limits in the meantime.

Let’s be adventurers.

If they cannot be literal and geographical,

let them be intellectual, emotional, spiritual, interpersonal,

and my very favourite 


Because: onward.

lonely trees

There’s magic in Loneliness

I guess there’s a numbing sense of despair that comes with loneliness. It’s not that sad feeling you get like when you just finished a book and lost all the friends in it or go to the supermarket and find that your favourite fruit packer doesn’t work there anymore… It’s that deep cut to your being when you have epic news to share and you realise that there really isn’t someone specific you can think of to share it with. It cuts even a little closer to the soul when you’re surrounded by friends and family who care. But they just won’t really understand. They won’t really get it. They won’t really get you.

When I was little, I used to climb the tree in our backyard and sit on a branch singing all the songs I learnt in Sunday school. I thought I was singing to the birds. Like that princess in that movie. And I believed without any doubt that the little bird that came and sat on that branch that one day flew by for a bit because he heard me sing. A part of me remains optimistic over the probability.

But what I like to think back on is that I firmly believed I was at one with nature that day. That the universe heard me. We were connected. And even if I was only five years old, those songs and that bird changed everything. I never told anyone about the bird. The neighbour came by and told me my songs were beautiful. Which I’m sure they were. But what happened between me and that little bird would be mine. It would be me and nature alone to share it. A secret connection no-one would ever believe true.

And that is why I find the most powerful magic in what they call loneliness. It’s those little secrets you share with the universe that nobody can ridicule.

It’s you laughing at your own jokes. It’s you dancing on your own under twinkle lights. It’s you driving on the highway singing to your favourite songs. It’s you being you without trying. Without apology. Without fear. Without doubt. Without judgment.

Experiences don’t attain their credibility through sharing them with others. It’s you telling your stories to yourself and it manifesting itself in real life through the coy smile on your face.

And that is pretty frickin much everything.

After a while you learn the subtle difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul.
And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning.
And company doesn’t mean security.
And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts.
And presents aren’t promises.
And you begin to accept your defeats with your head up and your eyes open with the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child.
And you learn to build all your roads on today because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans.
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while you learn that even sunshine burns if you get too much.
So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul, instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure.
That you really are strong.
And you really do have worth.

And you learn and learn
With every goodbye you learn.

                                          -Maggie Oman

girl running in mountain

Why you should run away

What is normal?

what is normalThey also don’t really tell you that the only car you’ll be able to afford will never go faster than 100km/h. And that when you use the air-con, the whole thing kind of becomes a total embarrassment of a vehicle.

They also tell you that this won’t be forever. A couple of years and you’ll have more than you bargained for. Just fight through these few years. It’ll be worth it soon.

Or maybe normal is travelling the world and meeting new people. Learning new languages and letting the rush of spontaneity fill you with epiphanies and widen your frame of reference so that you can become more than what you’d have become sitting in one place.

We live on a blue planet that circles around a ball of fire next to a moon that moves the sea. And you’ve no desire to explore it? Is that normal?

But then they never really tell you about the smells in the streets of Thailand. And they don’t tell you about how rude people can be or about the lengths you have to go to to communicate with people who don’t speak your language. They also don’t tell you about the loneliness or the assholes or the frauds.

I always contradict myselfgirl running in mountain

When I was trying to be one of those people who travel a lot, I used to write often about fighting mediocrity. About running from the chains of routine and the unfulfilling poisons of a responsible life plan and towards the prospect of an impulsive choice leading to a magnificent life. And looking past the telescope of supposed prosperity handed down by the generations before us. About trying to discover a life that is more suited to our century. One that’s less about the house and the job and one that’s more about the soul and about keeping it sane.

But then there’s also that one time I wrote about how millennials think life is a ride and about how annoying it is that they think happiness is the only answer and how ridiculous it is that they fail to see the bigger picture or work hard to achieve significant things or realise that being responsible with your life and the future you’re paving is vital to achieving any form of happiness.

Maybe I’m confused because I’m constantly torn between what people tell me should happen and what I’d prefer to happen for my life. So much so that I don’t even know if I want either anymore.

But then a couple of days ago, this weird Norwegian kid with a forearm tattoo that says “sweetboat” stumbled upon my path and ripped all of those pre- and misconceptions from my brain. He’s been travelling the world hitchhiking and drinking Jäger and probably also making really bad choices.

He told me about the little mining village in Russia where they don’t really mine anymore but the people still live there. They just spend most of their time drinking. It’s also about 500km from any other civilisation. It sounds like my kind of place this Russian village of alcoholic freedom that I shockingly have not yet visited.

He also told me about the time he was in a Ukrainian bar and happy hour wasn’t called happy hour but rather brain-dead hour. Because of the bottomless vodka shots.

But the thing with him is that it doesn’t seem like he gives a shit about what anyone thinks of what he’s doing. Or where he’s going. His plan isn’t set and it’s not conventional and he couldn’t be bothered even a little bit. It’s one week at a time. And the happiness radiates from his pale face.

It’s not about what they want

What it sort of came down to then is that life’s not about telling people what to do and what not to do. Or prescribing some foolproof plan that will lead to the ultimate happiness. Working an 8 – 5 job is not everyone’s ideal. Travelling the world is also not for everyone.

“Adventure” doesn’t mean the same thing to all different kinds of people.

But what I do know is that for me, it is important to remember that this is all yours. This life. It’s not your mother’s or your friend’s or your neighbour’s. It’s yours. It’s also your own definition of adventure that counts. And it’s you chasing that adventure that matters.

So run away from their prejudgment. We need to distance ourselves from this “but what will they say” bullshit. Stop asking for permission on everything. Decide what works for you. If it’s staying in one place building on an investment, then that’s yours. If it’s running around the world escaping your comfort then that’s yours.

There’s a lot of bad in everything. There’s also a lot of good in anything. And there’s a lot to gain from both of those.

But for the love of whoever you are, do it for you. Because you’re the main person who will cringe with regret looking back on a life planned out for you by someone else.

Run dammit.

Run towards yourself.

Freedom field

Ride the wake

There are these times in life when you become overwhelmed by a feeling of near-happiness.

You don’t want to call it happiness because you’re not sure it really is happiness.

And if it is, you’re too scared to admit it because there’s always that chance that you’ll jinx everything.

But you know it in your soul.

Your toes are swifter and your hands feel more.

The things you grasp at seem more surreal somehow because they carry more significance now.

The books you read mean more to you.

You appreciate the song you’ve got stuck in your head somehow.

The people you see every day become less the people you see every day and more like interesting souls that somehow share a part of themselves with you.

And welcome you to share a part of yourself with them.

And they get your jokes and you make them smile and their laughter becomes infectious.

And for the first time since you last remembered, you’re waking up in the morning knowing things instead of trying to forget things.

Anticipating things instead of fighting your regret over things.



Moved by what you’re capable of.

Driven by what you’ve been dreaming of.

And that.

That is why people don’t give up on themselves.

That is why we don’t let go.

That is why we fight.

And cry.

And die. For what we love.

Because love for life isn’t a fad.

It’s not a trend.

It is everything.

It is in you.

It is in the person next to you.

It is in whoever you thought you were yesterday.

Stop wasting it away.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself.

Stop blaming everyone.

Stop waiting around.

Stop settling.

Turn and face yourself.

Look yourself in the eye and tell yourself what’s up.

Tell yourself how this will pan out.

And then ride that precious wake straight into the bliss of oblivion because fuck what people think.

This is yours.

It’s all you now.