Sunday, 26 February 2017

TTS: Interludes of Life

09h59 PM, Sunday, 26 February 2016
At Home

Jee. Sus.

I hate crying over movies. Especially sad ones whose messages seep through to the most sensitive, deepest crevices of the heart. The ones that make you cry... not just because the heartbreaking storyline, but because a core part of you resonates profoundly with it. I often try to downplay the severity the of trauma I experienced when my mum passed away. It's actually harder admitting it now than it was four years ago because of how far behind the closet I've tried to shove the matter. It's harder talking about it, and brutal thinking about it. But grief's a work in progress, right? It has to be. I mean, I don't think it just ends, like conversations do. Collateral Beauty starring Will Smith helped me understand this. We often put immense pressure on ourselves to "get over it" -- to resume life as normal as soon as we can.

Normal? What fucking "normal"?

My world's just died and you expect me to be normal? Fuck you.

So we play along anyway, because that's the norm, right? It's psychotic to be depressed and grief-stricken for too long, right? But nothing ever feels normal again. You simply learn to carve out a new normal that doesn't feel too foreign. But it does. It does. When you've made someone your world, it often does feel too foreign moving on without them.

Which is why we should never make people our worlds; they're prone to dying on us.

Saturday, 25 February 2017

TTS: Interludes of Life

Saturday, 20h05 PM, 25 February 2017
At home

Love: this somewhat endurable feeling, is a peculiarly fragile thing. Hold on too tightly, and you may suffocate it -- letting it wither and die before it's bloomed in your favour. Release your grip entirely, and it slips through your fingers before you've owned it.

Now what's a girl to do to keep Love present in her life? (Just this once, let's not equate love with romance...)

What I honestly think?

Don't try to own it.
Don't take possession of it.
Don't make it what it isn't because it comes in various forms.
It's not something we can lay claim to, so it's pointless even trying.
Appreciate it for the fleeting, floating transmitter it is.
If it's yours to stay, it will occupy that spare room in your heart's quarters; if not, gladly pack its suitcase and board it on the train to its next destination.
Be grateful for the difference it made for you while sharing your space.
Whatever you do, try not to make it what it isn't.

Loosen your grip. Let go.

Let go.

Monday, 19 September 2016

TTS: Interludes of Life

07:20p.m., Tuesday, 8 March 2016

Happy Precious Memories.

Been a while since I said that.

I think I'm ready to escape the rat-race. Permanently. I'm not even sure how I landed here in the first place -- being as entrepreneurially minded as I am, but it was a necessary and invaluable journey that's put me far closer to where I need to be. Closer than I would've ever been had I not taken it.

I love my job, but I don't want to be complacent. When it's time to move on, I will. There's just so much to do and see, and I'm afraid being confined behind my desk won't help much in that regard.

I'd still love to spend a year or two travelling the world before I settle down, and I doubt I'll ever get to do that on the 9-5 cycle.

I'd eventually like to buy my time back.

TTS: Interludes of Life


21:52 p.m., Thursday, 18 August 2016
Home

He crossed my mind twice these past couple of days. I still wonder if he thinks of me; if he feels like an assholed punk for doing what he did. 

But karma. HA!

Thing is, I was always confused. And for the first time today, I admitted to myself that he left me feeling disappointed. And hurt. Just when I thought I was ready to let my guard down and fall hopefully in love, he pulled the rug from under my feet and woke me to yet another awful reality. For a change, I want to write my feelings as they come without censoring myself. I don't think he's remorseful though. As shitty as it feels thinking about it, I know it's true. I pretended like the meteor never touched me. But it blow up in my face and it scarred. Maybe not necessarily because of him, but because no one wants to ever feel let down. 

It's a strange thing, this loneliness. I'm not lonely-lonely, but I often do miss male affection and companionship on an intimate level. I just never want to feel like I'm doing the settling thing. God, that's far worse than anything I know. And I'm terribly bad at it.

I'm usually overcome by this destabilising feeling of social pressure when around couples, or at malls, or banks. I tend to feel like I'm one of those manufactured human beings, being groomed into consumerism, milked for my labour and brainwashed into stupidity. I feel I'm deliberately exhausted by "life" itself and forced into a constant state of routine so that I never amount to anything more than an overrated underachiever, glorified brand whore and corporate blind sheep. 

I can't begin to express how nauseated I am at the thought of being plied with romantic garbage that wouldn't float in my waters for even a minute. As much of a romantic I am, I'm mindboggingly cynical about what relationships mean to me. I'm not sure I even know yet. I just know they should feel less like playing Mommy and Daddy, and more like living in a natural friendship. Romantic relationships often feel too orchestrated. “Do this if you want her to love you. Say that if you want him to fall head over heels in love with you. Walk on toothpick soled shoes and tie a modern noose around your neck if you want him/her to find you attractive. Be a lot less like yourself. Be more like the processed boys and girls you see online.” I can't stand it. Everything about us feels like something we were told to be, or do. It overwhelms me at times. (If I sound like one of those conspiracy theorists, or love cynics who bombard the world of social media, I'm off to a good start.) It really does scare me. And it overwhelms me just as much. It's no wonder very often, I feel saturated by information and sensory overload. I simply want to be. Just. Be. Even for one minute each day. I know I've unconsciously put myself in this position because I allow myself to be sucked further into this illusive vacuum on a daily basis, but I'm glad I have the awareness to realise when I've gone terribly wrong. 

Now back to the romantic relationship part… I don't mean to sound like a hypocrite. I love love. I love anything that seems to be associated with love. I just don't appreciate the pretentious, unnatural, predictable assumed side to it. All that romantic stuff that makes us swoon – the sweet texts, surprise gifts, handwritten letters… that's all fine. I just have issues with the way we speak about the realities of relationships in movies, TV shows, social media, magazines. It's sickening, actually. I don't buy what any of these folks are selling. Not the Insta pictures. Not the Facebook statuses. Nothing. 

But "L"... he was love. 

And Pumla and Nici are love.

And my parents are love. 

And my loved ones are love. 

And I am love. 

And life is love. 

Love is all I need. 

Saturday, 3 September 2016

TTS: Interludes of Life

12:59 p.m., Saturday, 3 September 2016
VOW

I can't remember the last time I was intimate with my bed since August commenced. I mean lazing about, with two or so books lingering some place between my comforter and pillows -- just the way I like it. Having absolutely nothing to do is a bliss. Truth be told, I haven't given my reading as much attention as I should. I seem to always be rushing through pages, and reading only on my way to, and occasionally from work. There's just so much to read, and I'm impatient to get through the best stuff. In 2014, I read 42 books. This year, I've barely finished six. It's embarrassing, really, and tarnishing to my competitive spirit. It's not too late, though, I can still catch up once things go back to normal.

I must say, I'm enjoying all the sequential outdoor activity. It's wonderful meeting new people, so is shyly ogling at a gorgeous, secretly flirtatious man before he offers to buy me a drink. And we ogle more tonight at RMBA in Newtown! I'm more excited for tomorrow's one with Black Coffee at Zone 6 in Soweto. I've never seen him live, and I'm in no way an ardent fan, but his music tends to have a strong hold over me.

Again, I gotta go. Got a braai in Greenstone to attend first.

Friday, 2 September 2016

TTS: Interludes of Life

21h02 p.m., Friday, 2 September 2016
VOW fm

I feel obliged to send a special shout out to The Perfect Stranger. I had 36 page views today, and I feel he may be responsible for all of them. Hi, there! Thanks again for the incredible gift. I'm prepping myself (in other words, procrastinating) for a short story writing competition I'm entering this month, and the gift, The Paris Reviews: Object Lessons, couldn't have come at a better time. Here's the thing about getting books as gifts that blows me away: there are millions of books in the world. A few hundred thousands at a warehouse. Thousands at a library. Hundreds at a bookstore. And that one precious gem -- seemingly by magic, ends up in your hands. Of course, a party-pooper will come from somewhere and add that CDs and clothing are manufactured the same way, but someone can know your favourite artist or your favourite print and remember that forever. You could argue that people could know your favourite author, too, but the arduous task of going through a bookstore -- considering taste, genre and readability, looking for the right book, can't be compared to picking the perfect pair of earrings. It's a carefully thought out gift, and the person probably considered a lot (most likely eve stalked you) to get it right. That's why I treasure all my books.


My sister's complaining that I'm writing this instead of partying the night away, so I gotta go...

Goodnight, folks!

Tuesday, 16 August 2016

TTS: Interludes of Life

12:19 p.m., Tuesday, 16 August 2016

I left Half of a Yellow Sun behind at work yesterday.

Damn it.

So heartbreaking. I was on my way home when I realised I hadn’t taken it off of the shelf next to my desk. (That anxiety creeps in when I'm engrossed in a good book.) I contemplated getting out of my usual ride home to go back for it, but didn’t for lack of a better reason. It kept me unsettled for most of the night. My poor book, all alone, with no one to peruse and embrace it. I should’ve put it in my bag. I should’ve left it on my desk where it would’ve jumped out at me before leaving. I should’ve… But I didn’t. I’ll admit that I may be a tad too attached to my books. Even the not-so-good ones. This might be the perfect time to exercise my detachment, non-judgement and inner-nonresistance. I think I’ve done a pretty OK job so far, but there’s always room for improvement.

On that note: I meditated again this Sunday after eons. For about 20 minutes. It was a brief but nourishing taste of serenity. My mind was typically restless, but I was able to maintain a certain level of focus throughout. It still helped. A lot. Very often, when I feel I’ve neglected myself, going within myself is the best fix. It’s a cure for any disease really: Failure, disaster, sickness. Men. I’m asking myself why I don’t do it regularly since it works.

Don’t have an answer.

I just overthink it, I guess.


- Trace

Friday, 12 August 2016

TTS: Interludes of Life

09:41 p.m., Friday, 12 August 2016

So...

As much as I enjoy telephonically speaking with strangers who constantly urge me to buy things from them I probably don't need, I understand that the caller shares my excitement for his job and prefers not to have the phone slammed down on him occasionally. I also understand the odd new Facebook friend's insistence on getting my cell number and home address. There are many bogus and bad people on the web -- he needs surety that I'm one of the good ones, and what better way to earn his trust than to let him drop by or call me at will.

 Talk about the "perfect stranger". What a catch...

When I see him, he'll get the password to my phone.




- Trace


Thursday, 11 August 2016

TTS: Interludes fo Life


16:00 p.m., Thursday, 11 August 2016


It's on it's way! Just as I was dreadfully counting the minutes to Monday. 

Tuesday, 9 August 2016

TTS: Interludes of Life

08:53 a.m., Tuesday, 10 August 2016

I'm very impatient this morning.

Last night, I bought myself a Berkeley Case Logic backpack online and the delivery's scheduled for Monday. (Jee. Sus.) I'm itching to get my hands on it now. If you don't know, backpacks are to me what red bottoms are to most women: the holy grail of fashionable perfection. I love them. I first saw it at Checkers in Eastgate Mall and was ready to buy it for R750, but the penny pincher in me was decidedly reluctant, so I compared the price to what's online. And what do you know: Takealot has it for R250 less. Obviously, I placed my order.

But waiting's the devil. 

I guess I'm used to instant gratification -- when I see something I like, I often buy it same time. I'm not so fond of this waiting game. It's exhausting. (And a bitch.)

Good mental exercise though. 



-Trace
A well deserved Happy Women's Day to every woman who appreciates the luxury of making up her own mind, and who deems herself worthy of her own respect.

TTS: Interludes of Life

20:33 p.m., Tuesday, 9 August 2016

I'm probably one of the biggest fools on the planet. 

Were it not for my stupidity, today, I could've been Mrs So-and-So – the esteemed concubine of a multi-millionaire polygamist. Never having to work another day in my life. Instead, I choose to run for the 07h00 bus to work on most mornings. I could've still been in a relationship with a man who insists on buying me anything my heart desires, but I'm hung up on handwritten letters and impossible gifts – like books, and time. I could've lived by that other one's rules to keep him happy, but my abstract way of thinking would never let me. I could be less complex for the men who claim to love me, but I don't know any better.

I'm a fool.

A hopelessly simple girl.

And simple girls usually aren't easily tamed.


- Trace

Monday, 8 August 2016

12:28 p.m., Monday, 8 August 2016

I feel horrible.

I hate disappointing the most important people in my life.

I'm sorry, dad.

Friday, 5 August 2016






Being "nice" to Tracy doesn't come easy to Mafa -- he prefers the Tough-Tove express, lol... I going to treasure this. :)

TTS: Interludes of Life

03:51 p.m., Friday, 5 August 2016

This old gal is a year older now.

I'm 25!

And, man, it feels... 24-ish. But better.

I've been having these small realisations that I'm actually 10 years older than the kid I usually feel like I still am. (Well, before I have to pay the bills each month and wake up for work each morning. Then I feel 50.) I still see that 15-year-old in the mirror every day. She hasn't changed much. And I'm glad. As much as life's toughened her in many ways, I'm grateful  she hasn't been hardened by the difficult times.

I still love like a puppy and blush like a school girl.

No drama. (Yet.)
No little ones. (Yet.)
No bee. Boo. Bae... whatever he's called. (Yet.)

Even my biological clock ticking away hasn't scared me into shacking up with anyone. (Yet.) I know many great guys and have went on some great dates. But... I don't know... maybe I'm "too comfortable" being single? Or maybe it feels fugging awesome keeping myself to myself? There are definitely worthy suitors... I guess I'm that selfish, maybe?

I made out with a guy I dated back in college last week Friday. (Ha!) Can't remember the last time that happened, so I must've thought, "Maybe he's got Lindt Cookies and Cream chocolate in his mouth." (Clearly, I'd do anything for Lindt Cookies and Cream chocolate.) He called me the next morning wanting to see me and "my phone died".

Sorry, guy. It was just a kiss, not a love-back.

Had a party on Saturday. Cute guys and gals everywhere.

A birthday dinner on Monday with my twin sister, her boyfriend, his brother and his girlfriend. (Couples, basically.) The candle didn't burn much though.

Now back to the point of this post -- before I drift further into the chambers of my non-existent romantic life...

Pumla and me received loved from all directions this week, and I'm proud to say I'm becoming slightly less awkward at being on the receiving end of it. 

So, here's to life, and to me for finally getting rid the training wheels!


- Trace


Sunday, 19 June 2016

TTS: Interludes of Life

22:10 p.m., Sunday, 19 June 2016

My soulmate's found someone else. Someone who can love him better than I was capable of loving, given the circumstances.

I can't tell you how happy I am for him.

I know it might seem a little questionable and weird that I'd say this, but I truly am. He's one of the most beautiful souls I've known, and he deserves just as much beauty in his life. We made an 'instinctual agreement' that it would be selfish of either of us to prevent each other from being with other people if necessary. It was a love so pure, so genuinely vested in the other's happiness, that possession would've ruined it.

I've never felt a love like that -- a love free of obligations and attachment. It was as natural as it gets. And he loved me dearly.

I hope he knows how happy he made me.

I still love him and wish him well.

Wednesday, 15 June 2016

TTS: Interludes of Life

22:54 p.m., Wednesday, 15 June 2016

Thank the Universe it's a holiday tomorrow! Normally I don't touch wine (or any alcoholic beverage, sadly) on a weekday, but it's a mid-week Friday... so, to hell with rules.

I'm home alone, with the TV off. I can't tell you what joy having the tube off all night brings me. I'll listen to music or read all day, but, Lord have mercy, that device is the only devil I know (...but it's ok to dance with the devil occasionally when he has your favourite TV shows on).

If there's something I must tell you, it's that nailing quirkiness and irreverence in advertising hasn't been my strongest suit lately, folks, but I'm still working on it. It's. Fugging. Hard. Harder than landing on the moon, I tell ya. (I've actually gotten to the point where I enjoy getting criticism on my copy because I know She's on her way, anyway. Like, "Hi babe! I've been expecting you. Here's your favourite seat; can I get your coat? You need coffee or tea? Was it my tone or my angle this time? You can talk to me, baby.")

But I prefer that over empty praises any day.

I'll own that cow and its milk before you know it. Her tail is mine.

Enough about work.

 Goodnight

Saturday, 20 February 2016

Being Ms Difficult

If I laid a brick for each time someone called me difficult, I'd have built myself a version of my own union buildings by now. My inherited gentle smile and kind persona have misled many men into thinking I'm an oversized marshmallow, a full-time pushover (admittedly, which I can be), and some putty you can mold or convert into your "dream gal". But ask anyone who knows me well "What's Tracy like?", and they're bound to paint a strikingly vivid picture of how stubborn as a mule I actually am. It's not that I'm difficult for the sake of being difficult; I'm just not afraid to say when something (or someone) isn't quite for me. As complex as my personality may be, I like to think I'm quite simple to please and decipher; as I've come to understand it though, simplicity is often misconstrued for being complicated. 

When it comes to dating, I think one of the interesting things I've heard someone say about me (by exes, family and friends), is that I have a no-nonsense approach to it. Which is to say, I don't don't give a person enough room to screw up before moving on to my next prey. "Your standards are too high, and you can be too much," is what one of my male friends (we'll call him M) usually says to me each time after I fill him in on the brief details of my latest, deflated and short-lived squeeze. But by what standards are my standards, "impossible standards"?

Let's break down my most common reasons for swopping settling for single:

Your Time is Up
I feel bad for even putting this out there, but the rate at which I lose interest in a guy is almost as fast as your quickest fibre internet connection. Ok, I'm lying. It's more like snail-mail -- give or take, two- to four-weeks -- and that's if I like the oke mildly. If I'm madly in like with him, oh, then Houston, we have a problem... but that's a rare phenomenon. There's only so long a girl can linger about waiting for sparks to catch on where there's no "magic". I'm not dying to be with someone, so I cut my loses and return to Singledom. I really enjoy the process of getting to know someone on actual dates, and yes, I do get bummed out when he's not "the one" -- I may even try to convince myself to settle, but until the time I pick up a strong enough connection with that special guy, this sailor keeps fishing.

He's Just Not That Into Me
I'll tell you one thing: Women are terrible at rejection. We can have ten guys slobbering over us at the same time, and we'll remain hung up on that one guy who's least (or not) interested. Usually I tend to question the obvious, overthink situations and read too much into his actions, all in the effort to avoid the obvious: He's just not that into me. It's a devastating fact I'll probably have to face more times than I'd like to, but men experience it every day, and they seem to move on just fine. If he cancels on plans at last minute, acts too busy, can't give straight answers, always has an excuse for not doing something, brings up his ex at every turn... forgerrabourit. In the past couple of years, I've realised dating's meant to be fun -- not some gruelling interview that my desired marital status depends on as my biological clock draws closer to its expiration date. During that time, I'm feeling out for genuine compatibility (it's got to be as natural as possible), and honesty is key here -- even if that honesty comes from him first. Becuase I'm not one to try and prove that my milkshake is better than any other She, I keep it moving. If I don't score a relationship, at least I got to make out with a cute guy before signing up for rejection therapy. If he hasn't heard from me within a month, consider the therapy very successful.

Going Long-Term
I've never been one to assume the length of a relationship was synonymous with its success, which is one of the reasons I'm not afraid to call it quits when I feel it's time. Being in a relationship isn't the reward for me; being with someone who I feel complements me is. How much time do you need to realise that the train you're on is running on circled tracks and not headed towards your desired destination? Never lie to yourself in an effort to kill Lonely.

When I'm Single, I Enjoy Being Single
I love my own company, and as much as it's great to have someone to share a romantic experience with, I can never have too much me-time, which is why l tend to shy away from men who hop from one relationship to the next after a breakup. I don't trust their state of mind at the time.
Their hearts may be in the right place, but I'm convinced their heads aren't.

The Idea of You
I used to have this atrocious habit of wanting to be with someone because I loved the idea of him, more than I did him. It's not that I didn't love-him love-him, but the chemistry was manufactured and anything but natural. "He's a good man. He's good-looking. He's smart. He's independent. He'll help you forget that silly ex..." that kind of stupid. But now, I'm mature enough to say no to the prospect of dating someone simply for the sake of saying, "I'm with someone." Being single isn't that much of a train-smash.

More than Materialistic
Dear Worthy Suitor
Under any circumstances, please never resort to using what you have or how much you earn to lure me into your den. It's a major eye-roller for me. I might find it impressive and genuinely feel happy for you, but that never dictates whether I choose to be in a relationship with you or not. Show me who you are -- who you really are without the personal boosters, and we could make magic.

Educate Yourself
While I could never turn someone away because they read too little or watch too much of the tube, but I'll definitely make it to the quickest exit if you walk and talk like an overly processed human being that's been plied with too much propaganda and entertainment news to think for themselves. I question everything, I learn, unlearn and relearn on a daily; the last thing I need is to come across yet another man who finds this problematic.

I'm Just Being Honest
As hard as it can be at times, I like being very honest. I'd rather tell someone how I feel or what I think, even if I have to sugar-coat it a tad. (Surprisingly, this hasn't worked out too bad for me in the past.) If I can be brutally honest about anything with you and you like me even more for it, we're headed for the moon, Sunshine.

I'm Very Ambitious
If you gave me a long enough lever, I'd attempt to change the position of the earth. Oh ya... it's that bad. I need to be with someone just as mentally unstable. One of my exes felt I was trying to change him into something he wasn't because I spoke of my dreams and goals. As much as I cared for him, I was forced to break up with him. I never want to make someone else uncomfortable because I'm being myself, and I never want to feel the need to compromise who I am to accommodate another.

No Religion
If I meet another guy who tries to convert me, exorcise me or lecture me into becoming a member of his religion, I may very well start dating women. Seriously: No religious bigots need apply.

Well, there you have it.

In summary, I'd like to iron out the creases of that misconception once again by declaring: I'm not difficult to please. I'm just impossibly patient. It's quite simple jumping into the first seemingly good thing to come by in ages, than it is to wait for something that's meant for you. If it's written, it'll happen. There's no need to try and make orange juice from lemons.

Thursday, 18 February 2016

TTS: Interludes of Life

23:08p.m., Thursday, 18 February 2016

One of the many perks of having a  40% glass-walled corner bedroom on the 11th floor of a Jo'burg high-rise apartment building, is that I get to sleep and awaken to one of the most breathtakingly beautiful views of the city. It's one of those things you could easily take for granted if you don't appreciate the splendour of simplicity. Not me, though. I'm constantly reminded how each day -- regardless of routine and its similarity to the previous day -- will never be exactly the same as any other; there's always an element of change. It's also unfathomable to think that each day is a priceless gem no one will ever own.

You can be possessed by it, but you can never possess it.

Remarkable, isn't it?

Tuesday, 16 February 2016