a new address for new beginnings

hey reader,

having finally made peace with the fact the name for this blog was quiet a mouthful and realizing i wasn't getting all i wanted from blogspot.com, i have made a decision to move this blog to a new address...i am now on http://randomwithlaone.wordpress.com/
see u there.

NOT SO BLACK AND WHITE

I am sitting here, trying to contemplate the delicate tapestry that is life. In a country that has swept so many issues under the rug and hidden behind phrases like, “gase segarona”, “dilo tseo ke botlhodi”or some other variation of the same basic theme – “don’t ask me questions that I have no answers to”. The past few weeks have been very interesting for me, having just come into my new job, where part of the daily duty is going through a load of newspapers- I have come to realize a truth that I long suspected. We seem to have grown our own ‘don’t ask don’t tell’ policy here in Botswana. We have hidden for so long from so many issues in our country that we can barely recognize one another with our masks off. Botswana’s constitution remains rather ‘vague’ on a number of issues, homosexuality, abortion and prostitution, to name just a few, and a lot people always react rather fiercely whenever they are confronted with these issues.
In the past few weeks, I have seen a reflection of what echos on the streets of Botswana every day. After many years of passive existence, the gay society of Botswana is finally speaking up, and the homophobes that have hidden behind so many disguises are finally shifting about in their chairs, trying to get comfortable. I was humored and pleasantly surprised recently by responses in newspapers to a ‘hate-statement’ made by one Member of Parliament when he declared, “I hate gays!” The responses by straight, and not so straight people alike, mostly the latter, have made for very interesting newspaper foliage in recent times.
Another interesting debate has been on the legalization of prostitution in Botswana, which interestingly is NOT illegal. Not explicitly anyway. Once again the constitution is very sketchy on the matter, leaving people to the general assumption that it must be illegal simply because they say it is, their grand ma shames it, or some preacher said it was surely the gateway to hell.
So I’m sitting here, trying to sort out all my thoughts and feelings over all the excitement that has been the last couple of weeks, and I am struck by a question of whether any of it will actually matter in the long run. I mean when you meet someone in a park, or at a party and randomly strike up a conversation, at the end of the day should it even matter that your new friend is gay, or straight, or bisexual anymore than it would matter that they are fat, or black, or white, or really skinny? When you honestly come to think of it, does it take away anything from what was obviously a great night, during which you made some great friends? Are our lives really all black and white like that? I doubt that anyone can ever honestly say they are any one, single thing, and that thing only. You are a Christian, but also a sinner. You can be an alcoholic and still be a great father, why does it seem unfathomable that one would be anything more than just ‘the gay’, or ‘the prostitute’? And who has been given the mandate to judge?
Anyway, here is a poem by Bessie Head, a Motswana author who hailed from humble beginnings to world-wide celebrity status despite a continuous struggle with schizophrenia.

SELF PORTRAIT – Bessie Head

Idealist
And, low down,
Apathetic,
Indifferent, earth worm;
Plunging, leaping,
Flickering, wavering,
Stammering, hesitating,
Bold, reckless, impatient;
Static, placid,
Of no certain direction,
Of no certain direction;
Isolated, like driftwood
On the tossing, heaving ocean-
Flung to the top of a high-sounding,
Dazzling wave,
Engulfed in the anonymous depths;
Oh contradiction
That is I.

vanity, procrastination, lazy

Those are the three words a friend recently chose when asked for three words that best describe me- I don't disagree. lol.

I don't know if this is true for all bloggers, but I find it very true to my case. I am a constant procrastinator of the severest kind, and will almost always keep putting away stuff til the very last minute. when I finally get round to getting started with a new blog post, I always find it weird that i have so much to say coz i've put if off for so long. i always put off so many things as 'insignificant' or 'uninteresting' or even when I do think they are, i keep putting them off, hoping to find the right words with which to capture them. Then finally, when chance will have me, i look back to suddenly find that so much has happened, and life in itself seems to have flown by rather quickly- the laugh of a child, the hug from a friend and how peaceful your lover looks when they are asleep (yes, i stare at you even when your are sleeping, lol). i now have waaay to much to write and even more to get round to doing, but I've spared a few mins to post a poem I jus finished very recently.

 

HOUSE ARREST- Laone van Vuuren

 

The instructions were quite simple-

Stand firm.

Speak with conviction.

Laugh foolishly.

Love recklessly.

 

Now fear has constricted you,

Has you within its bounds

 

In fear to overstep boundaries, you have imprisoned yourself

Fearing to express yourself, you've been misunderstood

Not wanting to come on too strongly, you've misrepresented yourself

Now you are discriminated against, misconceived

Everything you say is misconstrued lost in translation…

Always either five steps too fast or several more behind

 

Fear has imprisoned your mind, stolen whatever resembled confidence

and now doubt has you captive.

 

Your passion is gone.

 

Where the fire that warmed your heart burned, even the ashes have flown away.

You pace across the room, biting your nails and ask, "do you think he'll be back?"

and the dark sky looks back at you in silence.

 

clutching straws, drawing blanks

for almost as long as i can remember, writing has been my thing. a constant companion that echoed celebration, numbed pain and reclaimed joy. long before puberty and acne, before love and experiments of love, before i even made perfect sense of its power, writing held out a hand and i grabbed the whole arm! intricately describing, weaving and plotting, setting scenes, rides in gondolas and ayam goreng at the mamak, words would just spew forth, and not necessarily to find logic or even meaning. this is what bore this blog, random rants with no guarantee at sense.

yet i then find that i am, especially this morning, groping in the dark for eloquent words to describe feelings in me, so turbulent, i dare say they deserve to be brought forth in a manner so elegant in description as 'eloquent'. clutching for straws and drawing blanks, i think it suffices to say it has been a very interesting time in my often mundane life. between a vulgar, obscenely hectic semester, family tragedies, rapacious love affairs and ecstatic friends- i now find the accumulation of so many emotions, there simply aren't enough words to express them all.

but i must write, i need to. even when i don't know where to start, or in what direction to go thereafter, i still must. even if for no other reason than to jerk off my own ego.

Rory Sutherland: Life lessons from an ad man | Video on TED.com

Rory Sutherland: Life lessons from an ad man | Video on TED.com

This video is from a few semesters back, in ou first FTV module with actual production work, so the assignment was to make a short-drama- everything from script to production, editing, bla bla. here's what my group mates nd i came up with:

This one, also another of our FTV assignments- a TV ad for Vollers corsets, was produced not too long ago. lol. Had some fun doin this one, nd hope we pass the darn module!

dead- Laone van Vuuren

A dream
is big
Its beautiful
Its complete
Its comforting

A dream
is fragile
Its strong
Its sweet
Its precious

A dream
is fierce
Its brave
Its alive

it conquers your brain
and resides in your heart.

But what happens
When a dream dies?

Writers' block- Laone van Vuuren

The pages are piling up
A deformed heap in the corner
Half-written poems,
Unfinished sentences
Dead-end stories.

I’m down to the fourth pack of cigs
and the third bottle of whisky is on its way.

Bear in mind,
before I came here,
I was out there.

Listening to birds chirp,
wind on my bald head.
Sun on my skin,
Sand in my feet.

I rummaged through the Masters’ works…
I burnt incense…
Clapped my hands to a drum’s beat…
and danced round the fire in the nude under a full moon

And still… nothing has ‘come’ to me,
No inspiration as yet.

as if it wasn't over- Laone van Vuuren

as if it wasn’t over
i have come back again
i have drummed on your door and bellowed out your name like a wounded bull
i have sung you songs and read you poetry

as if it wasn’t over
i have come to your side
with you to abide

and now when you stand so close
I can only see why I left in the first place