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