This Kak

So I’m pretty sure you’ve all seen the video on Facebook. The one circulating with the 2, I presume, High Schoolers moering each other over a berk. I watched it and besides the many obscenities that were coming from the mouth of what should be talented, respectable ladies ; I just couldn’t fathom the excitement or jeering of the “director”. Openly provoking and jeering her friend to fight, knowing the implications. Now, is it only a coloured tendency (I’m from the Plain so I can say coloured #noracism) or are we all subjected to being bis? Like it’s ok that this is happening and that, excuse my french, that they are essentially fighting over a piel. Ya get what I’m saying? Yes, I get it. Young love and what not but in reality. At the end of the day. I can and will guarantee you that said bra will not fight over you like that. In most cases, he can get kinnes wherever he goes. Seriously, ladies and gents. Society is not warped. It is the way in which we allow our children to speak to us. It is the way we speak to each other. Granted,I was in my last year of high school 10 years ago and most probably used close to that amount of language but thank goodness there were no digital cameras and chances of us getting caught, expelled and tainted were minimal. Now? Yoh! You’re lucky if that pussy pic you sent your oke last night doesn’t end up on Tumblr tomorrow. We have so much more access to life. To people. We abuse it. Instead of getting frantic and bedoered over a penis, why not get that oke to calm you down. Why do you care? What does it even matter that she thinks your berk is ugly or whatever? Is she vrying his lippe? Is she sending him naughty WhatsApp messages late at night? No! Yor! Then don’t be bothered.

You’ve just implicated yourself for life. Not just school but beyond that. Seriously. Kids. Just grow the fuck up and see the damn truth for what it is.

It Always Feels So Long

I blogged 8 days ago and yet it always feels like I am neglecting you guys. Ya know, all 20 followers and 5 readers. On a whole other note, I am reaching a full year at my current company and I have gone through so many changes. I went from one desk to another. Got demotivated and then promoted. It’s been a good year and I have no intentions to resign from this company. I thoroughly enjoy what I do and the people I work with. My boss is an eclectic Australian and my manager is an hilarious German. It’s a definite adventure. My daughter is also going to be going to “big school” soon (Pre Grade R) and I have found myself back on Tinder. It’s all an adventure. I am just wanting to soak up all that my life is at this moment in time. Enjoy every single moment. Wanna join?

Where's The Vulnerability In Blogging

I had to think that out in my head, vul-ne-ra-bility; like Wed-nes-day. We’ve all done that right?

I don’t follow many blogs but the few I do follow, I actually do make a point of reading their posts. I know many people follow blogs just for the comps or the racy posts but I follow you endearingly. I might not read all your posts but I can promise to always skim. The reason for this post is because I have noticed that many bloggers don’t blog about feeling sad or vulnerable. Yes, blogging is vulnerable but it’s funny vulnerable. Relatable vulnerable. Hardly ever sad vulnerable. You’d be hardpressed to find a blogger blogging about feeling sad. Just because. That is why I blog. Not because I don’t enjoy it but rather because I do. It’s like my own not so personal online journal. It’s easier for me to type this on my WordPress phone app than to type this out on my laptop because then there would be opportunity for me to dumb down how fuckin sad I am. My best friend / non biological sister passed away 4 years ago, when my daughter was about 6 months old. Yesterday, 17 August 2016, was the first time since then that I stepped into the church where her funeral service was held. It was a memorial service. For her dad. It was hard man. A flood of emotions. I could not contain myself but I had to. I could not allow myself to mourn for her or her dad when her mom was sitting just a few feet away from me. Steel faced. Not a tear escaping her ducts. Now, she most probably cries her eyes out at home. In private. That’s ok. We all deal in our own way but I could not allow myself to break down, there in that church, when everyone else (brothers and aunts) were on the surface ok. I could not be the one. I would not be the one. I needed to be the one though. To just cry. Snot and trane. Sobbing heavily. Heaving. Trying to catch my breath. The thing is. I am sad. Heartbroken. I need a hug. A hug where I just collapse. A safe hug. A non judgemental comforting tissue ready hug. The thing is. I miss her. I miss him. I miss out. On chances to show people I care. To connect. To be apart of something. Truth is. I don’t mourn. I move on.