TTS: Interludes of Life

1 March 2013, 5:36AM

The best part about being a busy-bee is that I work, and work, and work, and although I don’t get to see instant results from my labour, I’ve unknowingly pollinated the path behind me, insodoing, assisted in creating some of the most splendid orchids I’ll ever get to see. Work that seemed so menial, insignificant and like a total waste of time has brought meaning to my life and the world, no matter how small the difference. Only when I look back on the journey I’ve taken to get here will I be able to appreciate the beautiful flowers that now exist were I once had the privilege of laying my feet. 

Over the years, I’ve come up with many ideas; written and rewritten a number of plans and never fully implemented any of them for fear of failure, and even success. Nonetheless, the ideas grew bigger and the plans got more defined. Little did I know at the time, but each time I wrote out these ideas and plans, I was in the process of creating something grander than my imagination could ever conceive. 

As I took a look at all this today, I was astounded by the incredible journey I’d taken to be where I am today. All the pieces are finally coming together and I’m beginning to see a glimpse of an interestingly intricate yet simply elegant puzzle. 

Nothing I’ve ever learnt, did or worked on was ever in vain. It’s all taken me one step closer to my ultimate destiny. 

Thank You God for the blessings

:)

TTS: Interludes of Life

12:34 p.m., Wednesday, 22 July 2015

[Laughs]

This made me question my relationship status...

... so did this...

[Laughs even harder]

Ah, but this... this almost made me question my sexuality:

More than eight years of knowing each other and it's still a mystery...

 I could always kill off my tomboyish persona -- you know, make it all grim and bloody like the scariest horror films -- just to make sure she's actually dead... then get well-acquainted with makeup, skirts and handbags, saunter around in stilettos everyday to show off my incredible mommy-'long'-legs while I reaffirm my sexuality. Oh! then there's making a press release each time I find someone new...

But I'll pass.

Ain't no one more comfy, happy and liberated than a single, sexually deprived female in sneakers, hoodies and jeans (don't forget; with the alleged lesbianism).

The right relationship will just have to find me when the clock strikes 'yes'.


 - Trace

TTS: Interludes of Life

17:11 p.m., Tuesday, 14 July 2015
Newtown, Jo'burg

I (used to) have a mammoth of a crush on this guy I know... until I just remembered an acquaintance said I look exactly like his ex.

Damn it. (He just had to, didn't he.)

There goes any feeling of attraction I had for this oke.

I'd love to rock my 'fro, but the admin of managing it later is a nightmare. Maybe it's time to ditch the detangling brush and get reacquainted with the toothcomb... [gulps]

...Uhm... actually, nevermind.

 -Trace

TTS: Interludes of Life

Initially posted 30 December 2012

One thing I certainly won’t do is to allow myself the luxury of living life badly; of settling for the crumbs because I’m too scared to cut myself a slice of the finest strawberry cheesecake, or worse, because I think I don’t deserve it. 

It’s insane how we as humans get to a point in life where we accept the intolerable; crime, violence, abuse, poor service delivery, rat-infested communities, poorly educated professionals, and even infidelity, passing it off as the norm. 

How on earth did we ever get to a point where having your phone robbed at gunpoint, or your sister mercilessly attacked at the hands of her spouse and not reporting it, a norm? How have we, as a society, become so comfortable with having road-kill ruin our appetites, while government officials continue to feed and accommodate their overtly plump bellies at the most exclusive and expensive establishments, unapologetically, at the account of the struggling taxpayers money? And why are women so willing to sing the world’s anthem of “Men are dogs - they all cheat,” then cry themselves into a frenzy and keep the men who’ll one day drive them into a severe nervous breakdown? 

We obviously need to reassess our principles, values and priorities. If we can’t stand the heat, we get the hell out of the kitchen or adjust the temperature; we can’t pretend that everything’s okay when it’s gradually killing us inside. We deserve so much more than mediocrity. 

Well, at least I know I do.

-Tracy Wilbon

I'm comfortable in my awkwardness, although sometimes, my comfortability makes me uncomfortable.
 - Trace 

TTS: Super Situations

20 November 2012, 12:18PM

Picture Source: majoro.deviantart.com

I pity Superman and Prince Charming. They're both overworked and underpaid. Almost every girl in the world dreams of being swept romantically off her feet by either knight in shining armour because, not only is he everything a girl would want to find in her ideal man, he bares the heartfelt promise of a man who’ll love her eternally for the rest of her life. 

Circa 2012, we discover that both Superman and Prince Charming don’t come bottled or shaped in their trademark jaw-dropping spandex costumes or debonair tuxedos. Today’s common heartthrob comes dressed in worn-out Converse All Stars, sagging jeans and a wife-beater, and although not quite as heroic (or near perfect) as Clark Kent, he drips the kind of charm that will rescue a damsel in distress high atop Mount Everest…

Then again: a girl -- in her makeup-free face, nappy hair and oversized slippers -- should always be her own SuperGirl. With or without Superman.  

-          Trace

Amidst a lot of light, we tend to lose faith in our own brightness; we think nothing more of ourselves than as a burning flame on a candle stick during the light of day; yet put us in sheer darkness, and we learn to trust ourselves enough to illuminate even the blackest of nights. We are brighter than we can ever imagine.

-          Trace

TTS: Interludes of Life

Saturday, 20 April 2013, 22:36PM

I’m in the process of nursing a broken heart. 

I’ve just ended a whirlwind romance with an inanimately distinguished figure that means a lot to me. While the affair was rather short-lived – half of a week, it was unforgettable to say the least, everything I could expect and more. 

During our time together, we shared a seemingly interesting, volatile and fragile relationship, and the more I sunk deeper into it, the more I became completely immersed into another world. Needless to say, the experience has changed my life forever. 

Although I’m fairly good at letting go, I’m simply hopeless at partings, usually an emotional wreck, but I handled myself fairly well this time. Desperately holding back tears, I hesitantly turned the very last page of the 630-paged book to put the past three and a half days behind me; looking forward to new and great beginnings, inspired and motivated, grateful to have come across this determining point in my life.
You’ve got to love a great book. 

Steve Jobs by Walter Isaacson -- an incredibly well-written bio, is one that will eternally hold a dear place in my heart. 

Here’s to all passionate rebels! 

- Trace 

Every day, I feel the urge to raid someone's playlist; my hunger for new music is insatiable.

- Trace 

Between the Blank Spaces

14 March 2014, 12:59PM
Somewhere in Somewhere Land

‘I think I’m in love you.’

'No, you’re not, honey.’

'I really think I am.’

'You’re not in love, you’re deeply infatuated right now. You’ve been dazzled by the way I talk and what I say; by how I think and how much we have in common; by the kind of person you think I am and how I make you feel as a result. You might be falling, yes -- falling into the ecstasy of this moment. But not for me. Soon, you will have come back to your senses, forgotten about me and fallen for another, as it is with children and dreams. Rather you tell me you’re infatuated -- something we both can live with, without losing much of our sanity.’

Thank you for the love.

 - Trace 

TTS: Project NEXT: Photo Shoot

10:01 a.m., Wednesday, 8 July 2015

I thought I wasn't going to make this a blog for pictures -- like I did with my Tumblr blog, but sometimes, I just can't help it.

I had a shoot taken in May for Project NEXT, courtesy of my good friend and talented writer, academic, photographer-extraordinaire, Nyembezi 'Bezi' Phiri. I felt a little out of place being in front of, and not behind the camera, but it was great fun (put aside the bone-chilling weather). Bezi has a fantastic eye for detail, and she did an incredible job on all the shots (three cheers and a bottle of champagne for her!). We used three locations, but I'll give you a sneak peak of a few from the first one -- you'll have to wait a little longer to see the others. :)

Photographer: Nyembezi 'Bezi' Phiri
Location: Newton, Johannesburg
And this, friends, is the money shot. :) 

Photographer: Nyembezi 'Bezi' Phiri
Location: Newton, Johannesburg
Quite a few people have asked me about this top and where I got it; honestly, I inherited it from my aunt years ago, and I doubt she remembers.

Photographer: Nyembezi 'Bezi' Phiri
Location: Newton, Johannesburg
I'm always smiling in pictures, so I find this picture -- along with the beautiful use of colour and location -- refreshingly different. 

Photographer: Nyembezi 'Bezi' Phiri

Location: Newton, Johannesburg

I like how my shadow complements me in this one.

Photographer: Nyembezi 'Bezi' Phiri

Location: Newton, Johannesburg

Photographer: Nyembezi 'Bezi' Phiri
Location: Newton, Johannesburg
Yes... I do have a belly-button ring...

Photographer: Nyembezi 'Bezi' Phiri
Location: Newton, Johannesburg
The sun came out perfectly just as we took this shot. It had been playing hide-and-seek all morning, but finally graced us with its presence long enough to get the perfect one.

Photographer: Nyembezi 'Bezi' Phiri
Location: Newton, Johannesburg

Distinctly one of my favourites.

Compliments and a huge word of thanks to my photographer, Bezi. 

Photo Credit: Nyembezi Phiri
(saved from Whatsapp)

Late for My Own Life

3 December 2012

“It’s 07:30AM and I’m supposed to be at school in 15 - how on earth am I going to get to the other side of town in 15 bloody minutes when I’m only leaving the door now?!” 
That was school for me – being late - almost every day. Yep – late. Almost. Every. Single. Day. Besides going when I felt like it, I deliberately chose to be late. Silly me. Although I always felt a sense of urgency and remorse on my way there, I wasn’t the least bit bothered otherwise (so much for being a teacher’s pet). A lot of the times, I even did my homework on the way. Why couldn’t I get an A for multitasking?

Apart from being late for school, I was late for my own life in general. Sometime before I was 18, an age when a lot of my peers were already starting villages of their own, I missed that bus of underage drinking, awesome wild parties and steaming hot make-out sessions with some of my crushes (boy, did I have a lot of crushes back then). Bummer. If by some miracle I happened to be there, I was probably that shy, adorable, friendly kid who just had fun being the party-pooper. For the life of me, I even swapped chill-sessions, socials, the coolest concerts and danceshows to go to workshops, seminars or just stay home and read. Studying books on commerce, self-development and motivation consumed a large portion of my time since I was 12. At 16, I even passed off the opportunity to date my biggest crush because “I wasn’t ready”. Can someone say total cube…?

The first time I tasted a man’s lips I was 17. We were two weeks in and man, did I surprise the living daylights out of myself that day. I then drank alcohol for the first time a while before I turned 18, giving the cranberry juice and green tea a break each time we went to the club – swapping them for a cider or two. I never became much of a drinker though. I’ve actually put that to a complete hault, remembering my mother’s age-old philosophy, “Your body is your temple; what you put in is what you get out.” In any case, the buzz isn’t for everyone. Big deal. I never understood why people were so concerned with what was in my cup anyway – it’s MY cup. I guess it’s true; misery does love company. Drunken bastards. Then at 20, I actually mustered the chutzpah to make out with 4 guys – juice by me! (one of them actually became my boyfriend though – so much for giving the no-strings-attached thing a chance at life), and a few months shy of turning 21, I lost my virginity. Ouch.

During my late-teen years, apart from hitchhiking but only a million times, sleeping at someone’s gate during winter with a group of friends, attending almost every Pens Down party (when it was still very much relevant) and some other wacky stuff I did with tons more awesome people, I skidded through onto my adulthood years barely scarred, proudly hoisting and flaunting my flag of “Best Freaken Childhood Ever, Anyway!”

Still though, I think I must’ve missed the memo: “Been there, done that, got the T-Shirt… when it mattered.” In other words, Live Fast, Die Young. In that case, my breakthrough stage was nothing short of passé, in social terms, void of real adventure and too much on the safe side. I half-past missed that main bus.

But that doesn’t matter. I was more than happy to catch the next one. It arrived just on time for me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with being a late-bloomer. Okay, I still look 15, and yes, I don’t have a degree (yet), but all that time of self-taught learning -- inspired by my incredible parents, is finally paying off, and life seems to have given the cool-kids of my time one helluva slap of a wake up call. They’re in the doldrums wondering, “Whatever happened to the good ol’ days?” Others are desperately still painting the town red, hoping to relive that hometown glory feeling with under-18s-gone-wild who wonder why they have to party with grandpa and his friends. I’ll call it “Nerds Revenge”. Good God, you have such a great sense of humour! We all do get some action in the end -- all in moderation and at the best time. So don’t sweat under pressure; keep your own cuppa-cool flowing.

As for the next bus? It’s actually a plane… It should be landing any moment now -- ready to take my loved ones and I to a pretty island-like oasis overseas where I intend to live out the rest of my destiny. No worries, I won’t be late for this one; I’ll be early by at least 15 minutes.

-Tracy Wilbon

I love you forever and a day more.
 - M.I Abaga 

TTS :Interludes of Life

14:20 p.m., Tuesday, 7 July 2015

Someone (we'll refer to 'someone' as Cute Guy) recently asked me why I don't keep up with basketball anymore, and I can't remember exactly what my response was, but it was something along the lines of, 'I lost interest in it'.

I lied.

Truth is, like a lot of other things, I suppressed my interest in it. I could have explained why, but it's a lot easier to say I lost interest.

Well, here's what happened:
After 'the apocalypse', I pushed a lot of people away, did fewer things and cut out anything that reminded me of her. No Celine Dion or Mariah Carey. Or certain foods. Or certain movies. Or certain places. Or certain things. Or even basketball. Even to this day, I haven't had the courage to face some of these things again -- they honestly always bring me to tears as I'm forcefully reminded of what life was like with her and I don't want that. I have -- to a great deal -- abandoned that life. While I've addressed certain things, I've been running for almost four years; I haven't yet mustered the courage to manage the aftermath just yet.

My love for the game is still there, I'm just not ready to welcome it back yet. To be honest, the nostalgia of thinking about it as I write this nauseates me.

I'm ending this post.

Maybe one day I'll sing a different tune, folks. But today, I'm just not ready. 

PS: Still not over you, stranger.

TTS: Interludes of Life

Thursday, 20 March 2014, 4:16AM

Okay, I need to stop thinking about this oke. It's as fun and entertaining as a daydream can possibly be, but I need to forget him. We connected, shared great chemistry and that was it; now I want more. I mean, where did this treasure fall from? Where on earth has he been? I'm doing what I always do: holding on to, and indirectly marrying an idea for as long as I can, hoping something will happen one day. I know very well I don't actually want him, or his type anymore -- at least not in a long term or serious way. But I do it, anyway. As nice, interesting and charming as he is, he has 'Trouble' written all over him and I've got to keep away... then again... Arg, forget it.

Okay, I've snapped out of it. No more.

So, goodbye charming-guy-who-knows-he's-charming-and-is-a-little-arrogant-but-the-sweetest-when-he-can't-help-it. I haven't forgotten that charismatic smile of yours. I've hoped for ages now we'd serendipitously cross paths or meet again (strange how you never run into someone you desperately want to see, eh), but then maybe you'd lose the appeal you have over me since I've probably been wooed by your shadow. Wherever you are, I'm bidding you farewell. You made for a nice wonderwall while it lasted, and I'm sure a thing with you would've been karmically awesome! (If only I had the guts to do this over Whatsapp.)

Brand whore obesity isn't a sexy thing, and how successful you think you become from it is just an illusion.

Brand Whores And The Commercial Beast

Picture Credit: thecoolhunter.net

We all need to eat.

Everyone who's up-and-coming seems to say this all the time. “We need to eat, because we've been hungry for so long, man. We've sat at barely filled tables and even went to bed hungry, maybe even starved.” Then voilà: An advert here, a sponsorship there, and endorsement deals everywhere... you're now fed. When that money comes – whichever way it comes, we'll take it; we'll take it because we all need to eat. But when does eating turn into a feast for greed? When we get to the point when we're well fed, why can't we say no; why are we so dependent on corporate assistance to keep us afloat?

It's Just Business

We all need a push in the right direction when we're kick-starting projects or careers in our chosen industries, and creatives or artists seem to be the party that need the encouragement a little more than others. It certainly is a very fickle industry; headliners can be at the top of their game one year, then hit rock bottom in no time. While it might be far easier being the face or brand ambassador of an already well-established sporting, makeup, luxury, or alcoholic beverage company than it is to start your own business, but the chances of yielding long term investments as 'a face' are so slim, they're anorexic. Corporates will ride your bandwagon for as long as you're worth the return on investment, otherwise, they're quick chuck you out like an old pair of tennis shoes. It's nothing personal, it's just business.

Most artists and celebrities (regardless of whatever they're famed for), don't just treat endorsement deals like they're next meal, they treat them like their actual oxygen supply; they make their lives depend on it, and that's where they go wrong. They get comfortable, and barely spend their good chunk of change wisely – certain that that supply of healthy endorsement income will always be there. And trust, it will; just not for them. When they're irrelevant, they'll always be a newer, cooler, prettier, maybe even more talented kid on the block, and that's who it's going to go to next.

Brand Whore Obesity Isn't A Sexy Thing 

I'm not bashing anyone who has succeeded in acquiring sponsorship or endorsement – in fact, I think that's a wonderful accomplishment, however, my issue stems from the fact that a lot of these young guys spend their careers so dependent on corporates, that they're convinced it's the only means to an end, so much so they end up accepting advertising gigs that have absolutely nothing to do with their brands, their interests or what they stand for, simply because it's easier to get paid. When guys who've 'made it' have the luxury to turn down big brands but don't just for the money, I get worried. And you see it everyday: people with 100 endorsement deals who know absolutely nothing about the products except for its basic use. I mean, what's an artist who doesn't drink doing endorsing an alcohol beverage? And a rugby player endorsing cat food when he has a dog? What about the vegetarian endorsing that fast food restaurant? She's allergic to perfume, so why is she endorsing it? And sanitary pads – what's he doing endorsing them? Okay, the last one was a bit of a stretch, but you get my point…These are the things that make me want to bash my head into a wall. Brand whore obesity isn't a sexy thing, and how successful you think you become from it is just an illusion.

People are selling themselves off to the highest bidder every day, and don't realise they're just another meal that's feeding the commercial beast that doesn't give two shits about them. Then again, they choose to be blind because they're greedy.

But we've all gotta eat, right?

07:21 a.m, Wednesday, 24 June 2015

Better to be prepared and not have an opportunity, than to have an opportunity and not be prepared.

TTS: Interludes of Life

23:25 p.m., Saturday, 27 June 2015

I should be writing.

I've got a trial for a promising opportunity, and I should be compiling sample articles and whatever, but I'm not. I'm exhausted, actually. And slightly tipsy from an occasional bottle of rosé.

I have tons of research from the past three days, and a plentitude of ideas to execute; guess I'll do that first thing tomorrow morning. Or later before I turn in for the night. Truth be told, it's flipping exciting, but I'm quite nervous. I'm stumped because opportunities like these are usually only open to people with the right degree or qualification, and all I have is autodidactation... but I guess that's more than enough -- I mean, look where I stand now. I just hope I can deliver at the writing standards of this prestigious company. Why I always feel incompetent whenever I think something's far too good for me, I have no idea. But I believe this opportunity was given to me for a reason, and I'm taking it -- even if my hands are trembling.

My awesome meeting with J and M today gave me the silent inspiration I needed to realise no dream is too big; even for someone like me, who tends to second guess her talent at every turn.

Ain't no time for that though, honey, you've got work to do.

I'll let you know how it goes...

The importance of having a proper and well thought-out career plan cannot be emphasised enough.

Don’t Get Cocky Too Quick

Picture Credit: tattly.com
Tina Roth Eisenberg

Humble Yourself While You Step Your Hustle Game Up

Remember that really promising and talented rapper who had that dope track that became a top club banger at every party you went to for months on end, but suddenly disappeared when his music lost its hold over everyone? Or that guy who confidently cleaned up music award ceremonies year after year – however did he become so irrelevant?  One thing’s for certain: very few people remember those okes, apart from their families, of course. At times, they’re lucky you still remember their names.

All talk, all fraction

Every now and again, I usually ask myself questions like those, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s thought about it. At some point in your life, you’ve probably come across a promising performer with lots of potential– heard his music just about everywhere, even caught his interviews on all the top television and radio channels, then like a light switch that goes off, you never saw or heard from him again. He may have tried to launch a few comebacks, but they all probably flopped worse than a birthday cake baked without baking powder. I like to say people of that sort let their egos grow far bigger than their careers ever did.

People love to talk about how great they are and often tend to buy into their own hype, but they never really have anything to show for it. They walk into a room like they own the place and everyone in it, and look at you as if you’re nuts for expecting them to take off their shades in respect when they speak to you. Funny thing is, they know they need your support, but these ninjas aren’t willing to get off their high horses to look desperate for anything – even when they actually are. 

Quite frankly, I’m one of those people that can smell a two-minute-act from miles away. I can tell from the minute a person launches a new single or video whether they’re potentially a legendary class act or if they’re simply a future flop story. And what I can tell you without mentioning any names is that most (yes, I said most) of the big names on local TV right now are definitely tomorrow’s leftovers. They’ve become more like ‘Here today – gone tomorrow!’ gimmicks.

All a part of the of the plan

Apart from being cockier than real noteworthy successful celebrities, what they lack is substance and a sustainable long-term plan for themselves. Like the Big Dogs of entertainment, they may like to see themselves as businesses, but guess what? Actual businesses succeed because they have business plans. Duh. The importance of having a proper and well thought-out career plan cannot be emphasised enough. This serves as your guide and tracks your milestones so that you know when you’ve arrived where you set out to be one day and tells you what steps you need to take from there on. Regardless of how ‘successful’ you become at what you do, your success will be short-lived if you don’t write and constantly revisit this crucial plan. The days of blindly doing something and crossing your fingers hoping for a perfect ending are long gone. Sadly, not all artists are willing to put in the amount of work required to make it, or lose interest when they realise how hard holding your own in the industry really is. Irrespective of what industry you’re in, you need to stay focused, humble and dedicate yourself if you really want to make it in today’s ever-changing world.          

Be bigger than local

If your name isn’t being used in the same context as Jay-Z, Eminem, Kanye West, Drake, Kendrick Lemar or some other great act along those lines, and if you’re not receiving standing ovations from countries in all corners of the world, don’t even think of letting your head grow bigger than the actual bulge in your wallet – you still have a very long way to go, buddy. Nobody cares anymore if you have a half a million pending requests over the 5 000 friends limit on your Facebook account. If you’re even one digit short of a million followers on Twitter, don’t bother bragging to everyone about how dope you are at what you do. The figures always speak for themselves.     

Personally, I don’t think we have any extremely outstanding performers or celebrities in the country – people that literally wow me out of my skull. I think we’ve just learnt to make do with what we have, and then they automatically stand out as ‘SA’s best’. If you honestly want to become a world-class act, as an artist, you have to think on a global scale: if you had to measure your craft and what you do to the standard of the world’s best, how would really measure up?  

Do what you love, and the money will follow

Another thing: find ways of getting your name out there without your main focus being on the loot. Genuinely get to know your fans and treat them like they pay your bills because they do. Perform anywhere and everywhere you to get the opportunity to be in contact with your market, whether or not you’re getting paid for it. Heck, never stop hustling until everyone’s cheerfully singing your name in chorus – until groupies and fans alike are dying to get your name permanently tattooed on their backs -- until your name is worth its weight in gold. Only when that happens, will you have earned your right to unlimited cockiness. There won’t be a need for paper chasing; you’ll be swimming in all the dough the Olympic-sized pool your 3-storey mansion’s backyard can hold, and then some. 

But until that glorious moment – when you famously have the world at your feet, put your best face on, get yourself and your act together, come up with a long-term plan for yourself, and start building your brand – one loyal fan at a time.

By: Pumzile Tracy Wilbon

Initially written in October 2011 for the Strictly Hip Hop online magazine

TTS: Project NEXT Update

20:11 p.m., Sunday, 21 June 2015

It’s back to the drawing board with Project NEXT. I feel it’s got a pretty body, but it has no soul. There’s a pulse, but something deeper is missing; something magical.

I watched a movie this afternoon that influenced me a lot, which is why I feel so strongly about reworking the project. I was a half way to finishing, but it doesn’t matter; if doing this will help put more life into it, I have no other choice.

I feel this change just might make all the difference. 

 I don't know why I do it. Maybe it's because it's worlds easier to live up to a mediocre version of me than it is to live up to the greatness that is, You.

TTS: Interludes of Life

10:14 a.m., Wednesday, 7 January 2015

Frozen.

My pen sits at the face of this of this page and I freeze.

I’m frozen.

I’m mentally leaking uncontrollably with thoughts, ideas, emotions and I can’t put a single fucking one down.

I write shit. I am shit.

Wait, I didn’t actually mean to think that; it just slipped out. Half the time, I do feel like it though. Like when I mean to write something, and I freeze. Like now – right now.

Froze.

I’m frozen again.

Why can’t I simply put one indispensable thought out there; I just might have something worth reading. Ah, here’s one:

Ever felt like you took up too much space in an empty room… Or breathed in too much free oxygen… Or were the accidental elephant in the room? Ever felt like you’d much rather be invisible? Not in an I-should-die-right-now-and-cease-to-exist-any-longer kind of way, but in an (… there I go, thinking too hard again)… in an I-want-to-be-seen-and-heard-only-when-it’s-necessary type of way. Like acknowledging the intriguing painting on the wall that’s gone a little skew and needs your attention just to be corrected. But I don’t always feel that way, which is strange for a Leo, I know. Sometimes, I feign to busk as the centre of attention in many a public area. I feel the need to make it known that there’s more to this isolated damsel than the paralysing shyness that usually plagues her. I want to be acknowledged without being seen and invisible without being ignored. Makes sense? Sure it does – at least in my mind’s part of the world.

My love and fear of people has always shared a strange and complex relationship. As much as they intrigue me and easily win my adoration and empathy, I fear their need for constant social interaction, consistent support and undivided attention. Don’t misinterpret what I am saying; what I mean is, as much as I am a loving, caring, friendly, affectionate human being who enjoys the company of people, all their differences and entertaining them, for the most part, I enjoy being alone. In my own space. With my own thoughts. Yes, this largely contributes to my usually overbearingly obvious social inadequacies when I am in small, and dreadfully large groups of people. It’s something I try to change and conceal every now and then, but I’m not convinced I have to anymore. How much of a tsunami is it if I consciously choose to love people wholeheartedly, from a distance? Am I being ridiculous for wanting to keep me to myself and a select few? Could I be obnoxious for not letting ‘my true self’ shine through for everyone, every day, instead of just a select few close companions? But then, what if my true self is a quiet person who prefers to have her talents and skills do all the talking; what if she naturally doesn’t feel the need to voice her opinions verbally ever so often? What if at times – if not in most instances, she’d rather not have an opinion? What if she doesn’t want to feel the need to care, or feel guilty, or responsible for ‘holding back?' I don’t want to always feel this obsessively compulsive in my life, but what if it works for me? What if, to a certain extent, my paranoia is a cure for the imputed reality I try desperately hard to escape daily? As much as I try to keep ‘normal’, I’m pathetic at reality – boy, if you could see the reality distortion field I’ve managed to get myself caught in… It’s insane.

But I love it. 

Apart from addressing the daily struggles of who I am, what fulfills me and where I want to be, I struggle to accept my assigned place in the world. Maybe these are just the not-so-important challenges of being young. Maybe I could be more at ease if I stopped insisting on trying to change the axis of the world; on being an irregular inconsistency in society's book. But that's as foreign to me as flying dicks. Oh, excuse me, have I not introduced you to the vulgarities of my complex personality? Well, grab a chair and a beer and feel free to make use of the melting ice that's left me unfozen. It's good to know there's working in this pen; I've come undone.

Well, hello there, goodlooking.

Yes. You.

TTS: Interludes of Life

11:27a.m., Thursday, 18 June 2015
At The Workplace

Just. Great.

Our power's gone out. And I have noodles for lunch. Just my luck...

I'm not starving, so I guess I'll make it to the end of the day -- well, if it comes down to it. What I'm battling now is trying to keep awake and sane on less than 3 hours of sleep. Yes: now I understand why I've never bought into the idea of going out on a week day.

Ah, but I hold no regrets; I had a fantastic night out with B. What should've just been a little catch-up session over wine at The Smokehouse and Grill in Braam between two old friends (I don't like the feel of that last sentence -- besides the fact that I dislike making any public reference to Braam (aka Cool Kid Central), it feels snotty, although it's true), turned into dinner, a night of chatting and a debate party of three. We spoke about a lot: Artists and the commercialisation of their work, 'unethical' brand endorsements, culture, magic, spirit, interesting writers, fascinating docu-films on YouTube, skin tone, urban to rural  migration, social castes, being frugal... and we didn't realise we were there way after closing time; those poor waiters... we barely noticed people had started leaving ages ago. Of course, it would've been great if Twin was with us, but our meeting was so last minute and on the spur of the moment, we didn't actually plan anything.

After we had such a good time, we decided we couldn't leave things high and dry, so B and I said our goodbyes to our male companion and hopped off to Kitchener's (a place I'm -- to put it lightly -- not particularly fond of for political and personal reasons. Yes, I'm a shrewd; bite me.) Little did I know, we'd remain there until  about 02:50a.m., then head home to indulge in more conversation before hitting the sack. I swear; there's never a dull moment with B.

I needed that.

And now that the electricity's back, I need to make me some noodles.

TTS: The Perfect Stranger: Le Sensual Belle

18:67 p.m., Saturday, 13 September 2014
Springfield, Massachusetts, USA
(From the diary of Le Sensual Belle)

Contrary to popular belief, there's nothing sinister about my work. I simply have sex in front of a camera and get paid for it, and a lot of the time, I enjoy it.

You can say it: Jee. Sus. She's a pornstar.

Yes; I am a pornstar. An erotic actress, if you will. Even though I'm a pornstar, it's disappointing to say that I've made myself cum more times than all the guys I've screwed in my lifetime, put together, times two. That's why I find it comically hilarious when I hear a man brag about what a beast he is in bed. These imbeciles tend to confuse physical attributes with technique. Really -- most of these men have penises the size of fucking tree trunks, but very few of them even know what to do with them. Their performance can be on a minus one, but they're often lied to by women about it, so each time a woman tells them how 'effing amazing' they are,  they make real beasts in bed look like Godzilla. I plead with these unnecessarily sympathetic women: Stop lying to these pathetic airheads. They're already convinced they rule the world, and now you want to assure them they're sexual gods? Unbelievable.

Sex -- you'd probably be surprised to hear this, doesn't run my life. It's my job to have these men bonk me, but my every day lifestyle isn't as rogue as most people probably assume; I live a pretty normal life beyond that. One of the perks of being a pornstar is that most conservative men (and women) would be reluctant to point me out to friends and family if they ever saw me in public (with the exception that he or she's a proud perv), because they're more concerned with not revealing their carefully hidden perversity. So I head out to the store in my conservative neighbourhood, buy my eggs, milk and whipped cream like every else, smile as I take note of the silent and shamed stares people give me, before heading home to make dinner and fantasize about the man of my dreams. We pornstars still believe in love, as strange as it sounds. We might sleep with plenty of men, but it's not like we've given our hearts to any of them. That part of our lives is quite sacred, and regardless of what I do for a living, even just as sacred as you uphold love in your life. I still get hurt like anyone else when I'm fucked around (pun intended), but it hasn't stopped me believing that there's someone, somewhere out there, looking for a girl just like me.

*This is a fictional piece. Any direct resemblance to anyone is mere coincidence.

I get the feeling I might stoke the fire a little with a string of my new intended entries. But that's alright. I don't think I mind. Or care, for that matter.

I write what I like.

The Perfect Stranger: Unbeauty

19:25 p.m., Wednesday, 3 June 2015
Turffontein, Johannesburg
(From the diary of Abiola Madi)

I've been in this physical form for 33 years of my existence, and I'm still searching for it. I've looked just about everywhere -- even under my eye bags, but it's just not there, or anywhere else. I might notice something that hints at a small possibility every now and then that I have it, but for the most part, I've accepted that I'm far plainer than Jane; my looks are as average as they come. Quite honestly, I don't think I'm that bad, but based on today's standards of beauty, clearly I'm a lost cause.

It's frustrating because everyone treats beauty as though it's a rite of passage for women -- a prerequisite for acceptance from the world and for validation from the male species; that without it, you're reduced to nothing. All of us can think of an instance when someone was treated advantageously because of their perceived good looks -- and it happens all the time in court as well: Goodlooking suspects usually gain more sympathy and empathy from the court than their unattractive counterparts. I guess people figure ugly people have it a lot easier in jail. And that's the way it is in the normal world, too. Call it stupidity if you will, but it's a universal law we all unconsciously seem to agree to.

An aunt once told me if I was at least three shades lighter, I might've stood a good chance at being pretty, and she's done her best to 'help' by buying me bottles and tubs of various skin lightening creams and washes. But I never use them. There's tons of this stuff tucked away in my wardrobe. Come to think of it, I might actually get away with selling them on the black-market, that's if I never succumb to the social pressure of bleaching; but I'm quite used to being the black sheep of the family anyway, so to speak, so I doubt that would happen. My dear aunt even suggested that I marry a  lightskinned black, or even white man in order to save my kids from the burden of being born dark. Yes; it's quite sad that well into the 21st century, mindsets like these haven't changed. But I can't blame her: With constant brainwashing by the media at large about what's beautiful and what's not, it can be very hard to accept anything else.

I've come to the realisation that maybe my conventional beauty doesn't reside on my face or my skin. Or maybe it does, but I'll  probably never see it until I stop looking at it with eyes of what I hope to see instead of seeing what's really there.

If people don't feel comfortable with my skin tone or my face, they should stop looking. For the first time in my life, I can honestly say I'm learning to live in my skin; I'm at that stage where I'm gradually accepting that this is the way I'll spend the rest of my life. Saying I love it would be an exaggeration of the truth as I'm still learning to overcome the years of taunting, bullying and teasing because of it, but I'm not too far from home.

I'll get there one day.

*This is a fictional piece. Any direct resemblance to anyone is mere coincidence.

Witnessing a personal heated argument between Obligation and Procrastination: Procrastination, without doing anything, is kicking serious butt for the third night in a row.

Jee. Sus. I need to get some serious work done.

TTS: Interludes of Life: The Projext

21:16p.m., Friday, 22 May 2015

My latest project seems to be coming together promisingly. I've taken up a universal vow of silence to keep unmanifested versions of my realities (aka my dormant, procrastinated ideas and projects) to myself until they are materialised, otherwise if I don't, I've noticed I have a habit of telling anyone and everyone about what I'm planning or working on and in the process, trick myself into feeling I've completed them already. But this one's got me extremely excited; I want to be able to document my journey, so I'll simply refer to it as Project X. It's nothing original, but for the basic purpose of having a 'pseudonym' for it, it'll do for now. Or what about NEXT? Yes; let's call it Project NEXT, rather. I'm going to have to tread lightly with this one since I don't want to intentionally, or even unintentionally reveal too much; I'm giving closed transparency a shot here... Bare with me.

I'm very excited about Project NEXT! I've spent so much time planning, and re-planning, and re-re-planning (over a decade to be exact... ridiculous, I know), that I feel it's about time I just revealed whatever it is I've been crafting. But you know with perfectionists -- things never seem good enough. I've realised it doesn't have to be good though; it just needs to be done. (This will take more than a day to internalise and accept. It's a lot to take in, but not to worry -- I'm still breathing.) That's my new motto, by the way, courtesy of Eat Pray Love's literary sensation and one of my human obsessions, Elizabeth Gilbert.

I think you'll be glad to know I've sent my mental obsessive companion on an untimed vacation for this one, so while the the critical cat's away, the creative, menacing mice will play. I feel I have so much leg room to work with, I'm not sure I quite know where to begin. The starting point is usually the best place, they say: Now to actually find it...

When I'm asked to describe myself in two words: Intricate Simplicity.

TTS: Snippet

It's a no-brainer: Black people know how to dress. We know how to photograph, get the party started, know of the best and most expensive clothing brands, hang out at the most exclusive spots, drive the fanciest of cars, sought out the best neighborhoods, drink the finest alcohol, befriend the coolest of cool and use the very best in gadgets and electronics. In fact, we do all of these and more, so well, that we usually do it better than every other human race on the planet. It's undoubtedly a title that's our for the taking -- hands down. I just have a question or two: How is that winning? What legacy is there to gain from this? Sure -- we get our 30 minutes of fame and might rake in a bit of cash from being brand whores while we still matter, but what real legacy are we leaving behind about ourselves as consumers besides Best Dressed and Most Monied Up Person You Know? We cut it when it comes to endorsement deals and advertisements, but why aren't we good enough to head up at an executive level for these companies? Why are we settling simply for being the face of this or that company? For as long as we're not heading up, creating or revolutionising anything worth acknowledging, the history books will never know us. We'll simply remain a means to an end and as cash cows for companies that have no respect for us but continue to flood our shores with their franchises because they know we don't have the drive and discipline to sustainably create our own.

I think I'm in love...

TTS: Interludes of Life: Karma My Sutra

22:08p.m., Friday, 22 May 2015

Karma Sutra, Kosher Sex, Foods for Fabulous Sex... Yes -- I got it from my mama.

And no, you naughty minds, I don't mean it that way. What I mean is:

Not every parent is comfortable having the sex talk with their kids, let alone using the S word in front of them, but my mom was the rare exception. It's not that she was comfortable doing it, but the need to be open with us overrode every fear and discomfort she had. She based many of her talks and lectures with us on music videos, TV shows, movies, and other peoples' and her own personal experiences. With the increase in adolescent sexual activity and pregnancy, she wanted us to understand that our chastity was a sacred entity, and not something to lose simply to fit in. While those messages were comforting at home, reality was a little harsher in the confines of school grounds and social circles -- where virgins were colossal losers -- ranking at 100 on a scale from one to ten. But you live through it, fortunately with your self-esteem and hymen somewhat intact. Turns out my mother's messages never fell on deaf ears and I was able withhold the urge to indulge in the forbidden fruit until a few months before I turned 21. As raging as my hormones were throughout my teenagehood, somehow, I managed to shift it completely to the back of my mind and remain immune to the 'power of the penis'. But that's a chorus for another song.

Before I did the deed however, a few months before my Empress passed on (aka 'the apocalypse'), she sat me down with her in the bedroom I then shared with my sister, and we had a heartfelt discussion I didn't see coming. I had always been a highly ambitious young person growing up, and my lack of (or well-concealed, rather) interest in men concerned her (and even triggered fears of potential lesbianism). She didn't want me to be one of those hardworking women with all the money in the world and no one to share it with, and she did her best to let me know in a series of talks we had regularly. On this one particular day, she gave me a gift I didn't feel I was prepared to receive. She reached under her feet, and, stacked in a small pile were about six books she handed to me. She began to explain that now was probably not the right time for me to explore their contents (with me being a manless virgin and all), but assured me the time would come when I would find them useful. She just wanted to ensure that I was well-equipped whenever the opportunity availed itself. Naturally, I was overcome by embarrassment taking books with erotic titles like Karma Sutra, Kosher Sex and Food for Fabulous Sex from my Mom, but I'm immensely grateful she did that. It was her subtle reminder that she too had been young, clueless and in need of sexual guidance. And there wasn't anything wrong with that.

Naturally as you would imagine, I never read the books while she was around. In fact, I kept them hidden far; I didn't want to give people the wrong impression about having them in my possession. I'm already non-religious so the topic wouldn't sit too well with my religious friends; they'd be convinced this was certainly the work of the devil, and I wasn't in the mood for another failed exorcism. I continued to hide them for more than  three years after 'the apocalypse'. But earlier this year, while searching a few boxes for my old notebooks and journals, I stumbled across them. The smile I had on my face in that moment thinking about Mommy Dearest and the day she gave them to me... I realised I'm a grown young woman, and there's nothing wrong with having these books a part of my visible book collection. It's my space, and I'll do with it as I please. Just as equally, I read what I like. Excuse me while I be frank, but there's nothing wrong with someone wanting to explore the limits of their bodies and their sexual pleasure  -- whether it's  for themselves or their partners. And women are just as entitled in that regard as men are.

Who needs picture-perfect, when you have the perfect picture?
-- Tracy Wilbon

Jo'burg City: My Once Shimmering Mirage

12:37p.m., Sunday, 24 May 2015

Who needs picture-perfect when you have the perfect picture?

I had just taken a photograph of my sister who had then become a new mom when that statement occurred to me. She'd been standing about a few minutes by the large scale window in our dining room which overlooks Ponte City and Ellis Park Stadium. She simply stood there, looking out as though in deep thought, pondering her life and her next big move. Upon noticing her, I rushed off for the camera and silently captured her in time. The curtains were spread wide open with central east and south east Jo'burg in full view behind her, forming a captivating and distinct backdrop; the weather almost sympathetic with her mood. She noticed me standing there after my first few shots and I asked her to remain as she was. She acquiesced, and I continued to capture her. What beautiful pictures that moment made for. And how beautifully they concealed one of our many struggles of living here at the time. That's what a photograph in the city is supposed to do; it serves as a soughtafter mirage.

The slums of Jo'burg photograph beautifully, and so do the people. The light, the colours, the daily drama -- they tell some intricately gripping and moving stories. But the reality of living here is a far cry from glamorous.

Struggle knows no race here, and people will rest heads just about anywhere they can afford to. It's quite the norm to have up to five families of five crammed in two- and three-bedroom apartments with living areas and even bedrooms subdivided with sheets and curtains to create some form of privacy. Depending on how dire the situation, some people settle for being housed in kitchens, balconies and even bathrooms. It's not the best in accommodation, but it'll do for the time being. The upkeep of these buildings deteriorate increasingly fast as people who occupy them don't pay levies and don't understand its purpose in maintaining the upkeep of the place, which is why they don't seem bothered when it comes to filthy hallways, broken windows, stolen fire extinguishers and lifts that can remain out of service for months and years on end. They don't have a stake in the property, so it doesn't bother them. All they have to claim is that tiny roof over their heads they secure for a few hundred rands a month. Now that's their only concern. Not the streets which are rubbished with litter, or the deeply potholed roads, or the traffic lights that don't work, or the stolen fences and vandalised swings in the local park; only that few square metres of room they occupy. It's no wonder the owners and other residents are expected to pay triple and quadruple the initial amounts of levies, rates and taxes. It isn't fair, but that's the way it is.

Hearing a round of gunshots or prostitutes singing and making a raucous serve as your lullaby before you sleep, and the live band from one of the million nearby churches plays as your unsolicited alarm every Sunday morning. I guess it's better than having Sbu blaring music from his car speakers for the whole neighbourhood to hear every other day. You could call the police on him on the basis that he's disturbing the peace, but it won't work here. That behaviour only exists in the suburbs. In fact, calling the police for anything in these parts can be a game of luck or misfortune: you're lucky if they pitch -- even if they prove to be useless, or you're unlucky because they attack or rob you themselves. I don't know how many times I've seen or heard of people who've jumped or accidentally fallen to their deaths from high-rise buildings, or people who've been stabbed or shot, only to have their bodies removed many hours later or even the next day, simply because the police showed up late, or the official at the public mortuary was still asleep or off-duty. Yes -- you're working on their time here, not yours.

Let me not get started on the petty thieves, shitty franchises, road kill and crime syndicates -- it might scare off the newly relocated suburbanites.

Amidst all the chaos and drama, three things will always keep me loving this place: the bold, defined and mesmerising architectural gems; the people, who are some of the most authentic, genuine and caring individuals you'll ever know; and the fond memories I've collected during my time here. You don't have to look long and hard to realise that this place used to be for the rich and famous with its fancy façades, closed down cinemas, indoor pools, private lounges and expansive penthouses -- it used to be the 'it' place of 'it' places, and I still feel it; I still feel like an integral part of that forgotten pot of gold. I'm far too grateful just being in a place that many could only dream of, to dwell on the negatives. Although the paint has chipped and many of them remain vacant dilapidated buildings, their true grandeur and beauty have never faded. At least not to me.

Jo'burg City will always be my once shimmering mirage.