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

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.

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

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 

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.’

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

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...

TTS: Interludes of Life

21 January 2014, 1:28PM 

It's been a while since I revealingly poured my heart out. I need to vent. I need to do a little more than vent actually, I need to offload; my mental cap requires a rigorous spring clean. 

My mind is stained with past hurts, fears, worries and anxiety. I've tried using every detergent and power cleaner I could get my hands on to remove the stubborn marks, but nothing works. I've scrubbed, and scratched, and rubbed, and still, nothing. Scars of failed attempts to remove them with superficial and ineffective cleaners remain visible on the surface of my psyche and no matter how hard I try, I can't hide it anymore. There's only one entity I know will work but I'm so afraid to relinquish myself to it because we haven't spoken in a while.

Well, here goes nothing: 

Hello, Higher Self. It's me, again.

I'm sorry I've neglected You, yet again. I let the outside world come between us and convince me I could do it all without You. What a blatant and inflated lie. I need you. I know I cannot separate You from me, but foolishly, I try, anyway. 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. I'm having a hard time being myself. Admittedly because I know I can't be me, without You. And that's been made clear to me countless times before yet I fail to consistently remember that. I relapse once too many times and I can't take it anymore. I apologise for my stupidity. 

Now that I've opened the channels of communication again, I feel the grey cloud has shifted a little to let in the light, and I have You to thank for that. 

I was dying inside, drowning in the deep oceans of my own insanity. It hurt to feel the life being sucked right out of me. It scared me to be losing breath knowing I couldn't do anything about it. I was petrified to realize this was it. Bystanders in a nearby passing lifeboat stared on sympathetically, and even with all my screams for help, they stared on, helplessly. I could not understand why they weren't doing anything to save me. But somewhere along the line, I stopped fighting, and surrendered. An overwhelming acceptance overrode me: no could could save me because I had to save myself. I had to die to be reborn to myself again. I was the only one who could save me from me. These bystanders had survived their own battles, and it was my turn to conquer this war.