So I’m halfway through my teeny tiny holiday in Durbs.
I’ve been sleeping in, studying during the day, and seeing close friends in the evening.
I burnt the gear box of my mom’s car, in an attempt to show her I drive well enough to be bought my own car.
I have relayed the bathtub story to some of the closest friends I have in my hometown.
I have a sore throat again, after two weeks of being healthy which were preceded by three weeks of thinking I had swine flu.
The boy of blonde hair and rather impressive scientific knowledge has been keeping in touch, and all seems pretty laid back right now.
When I say I don’t have a clue where I’m going with this, I never have meant it as much as I do now. Yoh.
I have become a cynical cow when it comes to guys, I have realised. But paradoxically so, because I still want to believe in selfless love and all that.
I’ve just finished rereading JM Coetzee’s Disgrace, and as much as I enjoyed Coetzee’s masterly writing…there’s something so disgusting about reading pages and pages about traumas – big and small – that happen right here, on my turf. In my university city, under my government, reported in my newspaper. I could lift my eyes off the pages, turn to look out the window, and see the very same thing that Coetzee has described on paper. If you are a South African, you should read this novel. It is a very intricate and complex story that ties domestic issues to the larger scale sociopolitical problems which have plagued and continue to plague our country. If I even have the right to call it my country. We’re going to be studying it in English this term, and I’m really looking forward to the lectures, to the discussions that will inevitably arise.
Now I’ve got to get back to reading Athol Fugard’s The Road to Mecca, another South African text, this one a play written in the 1980’s. I will be playing Elsa Barlow in an extract from this play next term, as part of the 3rd Year Directing shows/exams. Super nervous – in less than a week’s time I’m expected to know all my lines. Eep!