Self-image is not an easy topic for me to discuss, but it is one that I have been faced with a lot recently. I have been bombarded with news articles about it and faced with it whenever I look in the mirror.
I have always had weight problems. At first, when I was young, I was significantly underweight. I was accused by classmates and teachers of being anorexic, and my parents seemed to feel the same way to some extent. I had no appetite, and the small amount of food that I did eat they tended to encourage. Nevermind the fact that it was terribly bad for me, as long as I was eating, it was fine.
Then, when I hit my teenage years and my appetite started to grow along with my figure, at first it was a relief. The change happened to come at the same time as a change in school, and the feeling was that the weight-gain came from somewhere in between happiness at my new surroundings and just growing up in general. My metabolism was changing, and at first it was seen as a good thing. A great thing in fact! I remember bragging to my sister that I had finally put on weight, and she didn't believe me! And putting on weight was something to brag about at that stage. It meant that I was getting healthy. It meant, in my mind, no more mocking and no more accusations.
What I didn't realise at that point was that the weight gain was not all going to be good. While eating whatever I wanted was fine when I was eating hardly anything at all, the weight gain meant that eating whatever I wanted whenever I wanted should have been off the cards. And yet, I had grown so used to eating whatever I pleased that dieting was not something that formed a part of my vocabulary. I had grown used to eating meals that were not necessarily good for me, and succumbing to any cravings that I had. I would not let my body hold me back from what I wanted, under the impression that I would rather be over-weight and happy than under-weight and unhappy.
And I think this is where the biggest problem came in. I had started associating my weight with my emotions. The times in my life when I had been at my lowest weight were also the times when I was at my lowest emotionally. I wanted to avoid that at all costs, and food became a means of reaching this end.
It is now many years later, and my weight is a rollercoaster. I have hypo-thyroidism, which does not help (and nor does my phobia of needles for getting my thyroid checked regularly), but my diet is still all over the place. I am a stress-eater, and I consider my job to be stressful. I am not a smoker, I am not a huge coffee drinker, and this means that when I stress, I use food to cope, and I eat badly.
I look in the mirror and I often wonder how I got to be this way. I try to lose weight, but as soon as an obstacle comes along, I tend to falter in its path. I think part of the problem is that I have a low self-image. While Grant can look at me and say that I am sexy, I look at myself and do not feel it. And I don't think that is something that is going to be shed with weight-loss. When I was overseas and had lost over 10kg in weight over a matter of months, I still felt over-weight, I still felt like it was not good enough. And when you have that mindset, no amount of weight is ever going to be good enough. At that point, you have to take a deeper look at yourself and wonder whether your weight-loss or -gain is the real aim, or is there something else about yourself that needs to change - whether it be your attitude, your lifestyle or your way of coping with things.
To me, I think that I could do with a change in all aspects. I have a very negative way of looking at the world, I live a lazy lifestyle and I do not cope with stress well (screaming and eating being only two of the signs that I am having a bad day) and those are things that are not going to fix themselves with weight-loss. Those are things that may lead to me being happier as a person and happier with myself, and I think that is a good start on the way to having both a healthy body and a healthy mind.
Friday, July 20, 2012
Monday, July 9, 2012
Accident Prone
I took a tumble over the weekend. Not a big one, not one that would normally have featured on my blog, except that it really got me thinking. I took a tumble, and it wasn't the first in recent months.
The first happened a good four months back when I was walking with Grant and Jono to quiz. We were walking and chatting and singing along to Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah, and it was beautiful and poetic and helluvah lucky. There I was, belting it out, "And it goes like this, the fourth the fifth, the minor..." And there I went. Plummeting to earth in a most graceful manner, camera in hand and face forward. I don't know how I did it. I turned in mid-air and instead of landing face-first and camera first in the gravel, I landed back down, head slightly raised and the camera an inch from the ground. It was miraculous. I was bruised in more ways than one, but I was in one piece and I stood up, dusted myself off and was on my way again.
Then, a few months later, there I was feeling sorry for myself, having just failed at diving not for the first time, walking out of the changing room carrying all of my belongings and poof! Down a small flight of stairs. This time I was not so lucky. This time I didn't manage to walk away without a scratch. Instead, I walked away with a bandaged up foot and a sprained ankle that reminded me of my failure for days and weeks on end. There went any thoughts of playing sport. There went any chance of finishing my diving course. There went practically all of my dignity as this fall was not graceful in the slightest, nor was my response. I was a ball of tears and weeping, and let me tell you I am not a pretty sight when I am upset. Trying to make me feel better, the assistant at the dive shop tried to take my mind off the pain by asking how my diving course went. I burst into tears on the spot.
And now, having regained my stride and having finally stopped feeling pangs of pain when I put too much strain on my foot, I have gone and done it again. After the (most amazing) Mango Groove concert on Saturday, we were walking back to the car. Grant had cleverly decided to park off to the side to avoid the rush of festival ongoers and to ensure that he got a parking fairly close to the entrance. It would have been genius, if it hadn't been so dark. On our way into the concert I stumbled over rocks and stones, but made my way in unscathed. On the way out on the other hand... Once again, it was quite beautiful timing. Grant was racing ahead as I tried to find my way between rocks. "Baby," I called out, "Please walk a little slower. I don't want to..." And there I went. Plummeting to earth once again. Only not so graceful this time. Possibly worse than the second fall even. This time it was into a puddle and, once again, I was not unscathed. Not only was I wet and embarrassed, but my ankle was aching in an all-too familiar way. Panic struck. Literally. I started having a panic attack. I have only had 3 in my lifetime, but I know them all-too well as well. The numbing sensation of your whole body that stops you from being able to move even an inch. I had to be carried to the car (not a small feat) and once in, I was dead to the world. Forget shaking. Forget crying. I was utterly gone.
And so, as I lie here in bed, my foot pounding just a little more than is normal for a sprained ankle, I think to myself that it turns out I am accident prone. I don't know when it started. Come to think of it, I have always been one to watch my feet when I walk, so perhaps I have always known. But what I know for certain is that I am going to be watching them a lot closer from now on. Feet, you have been warned, as have all people coming into close proximity to me. I am not to be trusted on my own two feet.
The first happened a good four months back when I was walking with Grant and Jono to quiz. We were walking and chatting and singing along to Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah, and it was beautiful and poetic and helluvah lucky. There I was, belting it out, "And it goes like this, the fourth the fifth, the minor..." And there I went. Plummeting to earth in a most graceful manner, camera in hand and face forward. I don't know how I did it. I turned in mid-air and instead of landing face-first and camera first in the gravel, I landed back down, head slightly raised and the camera an inch from the ground. It was miraculous. I was bruised in more ways than one, but I was in one piece and I stood up, dusted myself off and was on my way again.
Then, a few months later, there I was feeling sorry for myself, having just failed at diving not for the first time, walking out of the changing room carrying all of my belongings and poof! Down a small flight of stairs. This time I was not so lucky. This time I didn't manage to walk away without a scratch. Instead, I walked away with a bandaged up foot and a sprained ankle that reminded me of my failure for days and weeks on end. There went any thoughts of playing sport. There went any chance of finishing my diving course. There went practically all of my dignity as this fall was not graceful in the slightest, nor was my response. I was a ball of tears and weeping, and let me tell you I am not a pretty sight when I am upset. Trying to make me feel better, the assistant at the dive shop tried to take my mind off the pain by asking how my diving course went. I burst into tears on the spot.
And now, having regained my stride and having finally stopped feeling pangs of pain when I put too much strain on my foot, I have gone and done it again. After the (most amazing) Mango Groove concert on Saturday, we were walking back to the car. Grant had cleverly decided to park off to the side to avoid the rush of festival ongoers and to ensure that he got a parking fairly close to the entrance. It would have been genius, if it hadn't been so dark. On our way into the concert I stumbled over rocks and stones, but made my way in unscathed. On the way out on the other hand... Once again, it was quite beautiful timing. Grant was racing ahead as I tried to find my way between rocks. "Baby," I called out, "Please walk a little slower. I don't want to..." And there I went. Plummeting to earth once again. Only not so graceful this time. Possibly worse than the second fall even. This time it was into a puddle and, once again, I was not unscathed. Not only was I wet and embarrassed, but my ankle was aching in an all-too familiar way. Panic struck. Literally. I started having a panic attack. I have only had 3 in my lifetime, but I know them all-too well as well. The numbing sensation of your whole body that stops you from being able to move even an inch. I had to be carried to the car (not a small feat) and once in, I was dead to the world. Forget shaking. Forget crying. I was utterly gone.
And so, as I lie here in bed, my foot pounding just a little more than is normal for a sprained ankle, I think to myself that it turns out I am accident prone. I don't know when it started. Come to think of it, I have always been one to watch my feet when I walk, so perhaps I have always known. But what I know for certain is that I am going to be watching them a lot closer from now on. Feet, you have been warned, as have all people coming into close proximity to me. I am not to be trusted on my own two feet.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Imaginings in the Dark
I am a big fan of magic, and I don't mean the Disney kind or the Wiccan kind or anything along those lines. I mean sleights of hand, illusion, mentalism and tricks. I find them both fun and fascinating. and I find them to be even more so when the person performing them throws his heart and soul into them so that they are not only good, but reflect the personality of the person performing them. That is probably why I love Stuart Lightbody's shows so much.
Last year I went to see Stuperstition, which ended up winning a Standard Bank Silver Ovation Award, and absolutely loved it! So when Stuart returned to town with another show in his box of tricks, we knew that we were going to have to see it! With all of his shows booking up fast, we decided to book our tickets nice and early, and I'm glad that we did. This show was no exception and there were crowds lining up half an hour before the show even started. There could be no personal greeting upon entrance this time around as the door was stampeded with people trying to get good seats. If Stuart had tried to greet each person with a handshake as he did at the show last year, he would have been crushed by the crowds.
The show itself is a little darker in nature than Stuperstition as the name might imply. It's not that the magic itself is dark or that the humour is dark or that there is less of it, but it is a more thoughtful show and more serious in nature I found. Which, I might add, I see as a good thing. Before the show even starts, each audience member is handed an inkblot picture, and it sets the mood for the show as people discussed what it was they were seeing while waiting for the masses to settle. Throughout the show, the audience is invited and encouraged to consider what is happening before them, to question and, most of all to think.
While the theme of Stuperstition revolves around superstitions and mentalism and Stuart educating the audience on how these things can be done, Dark Imaginings makes more use of the mentalism and slights of hand and becomes less educational and more demonstrative in its nature. It makes for a great show! Stuart is hilarious as always, entertaining as always and brilliant as ever. He works his charms on the audience and enraptures them. Gasps of amazement and wonder were heard more than once and even skeptics found themselves challenging their views.
I would highly recommend seeing at least one of Stuart's shows at this year's festival, but if possible I would recommend seeing them both. There is little similarity between them and I know that I would see them both again in a heartbeat.
Last year I went to see Stuperstition, which ended up winning a Standard Bank Silver Ovation Award, and absolutely loved it! So when Stuart returned to town with another show in his box of tricks, we knew that we were going to have to see it! With all of his shows booking up fast, we decided to book our tickets nice and early, and I'm glad that we did. This show was no exception and there were crowds lining up half an hour before the show even started. There could be no personal greeting upon entrance this time around as the door was stampeded with people trying to get good seats. If Stuart had tried to greet each person with a handshake as he did at the show last year, he would have been crushed by the crowds.
The show itself is a little darker in nature than Stuperstition as the name might imply. It's not that the magic itself is dark or that the humour is dark or that there is less of it, but it is a more thoughtful show and more serious in nature I found. Which, I might add, I see as a good thing. Before the show even starts, each audience member is handed an inkblot picture, and it sets the mood for the show as people discussed what it was they were seeing while waiting for the masses to settle. Throughout the show, the audience is invited and encouraged to consider what is happening before them, to question and, most of all to think.
While the theme of Stuperstition revolves around superstitions and mentalism and Stuart educating the audience on how these things can be done, Dark Imaginings makes more use of the mentalism and slights of hand and becomes less educational and more demonstrative in its nature. It makes for a great show! Stuart is hilarious as always, entertaining as always and brilliant as ever. He works his charms on the audience and enraptures them. Gasps of amazement and wonder were heard more than once and even skeptics found themselves challenging their views.
I would highly recommend seeing at least one of Stuart's shows at this year's festival, but if possible I would recommend seeing them both. There is little similarity between them and I know that I would see them both again in a heartbeat.
Festival Localised
Just as there are advantages and disadvantages to everything in life, there are advantages and disadvantages to being a Grahamstown local during Fest. There are things that I love and there are things that I hate, and it is hard to decide whether this time of year is one of my favourites or one of my worst.
What makes this time of year amazing is the atmosphere that fills the town. It feels like a two-week celebration. All of the things that I dislike about Grahamstown the rest of the year suddenly make their way here. There is food galore. There is entertainment in the form of music, plays, shows and fairgrounds. Town becomes electric and I love it!
What makes it terrible is that the thing that I do love about Grahamstown become ruined. The peaceful quiet of a small town gets lost in the manic hubbub of festival goers. Traffic lines the streets making it nearly impossible to find a parking anywhere and, living on the outskirts of town, this makes partaking in any festival activities pretty darn difficult! Peppergrove becomes nightmarish and I find myself wanting to curl up in bed and not leave because I don't want to face the horror of it all. And yet, you can't help but want to participate in the madness!
So this weekend, Grant, Jono and I decided to brave the Fest Grounds at the Village Green. Though this is not where the magic of the shows themselves happen, this is the centre of all things Fest and may be considered by some to be utter chaos and by others to be heavenly. I tend to gravitate towards the middle of these two opinions and see it as part good, part bad and mostly pretty average. The grounds are filled with tents, and the tents are filled with shops selling odds and ends - clothing, toys, novelties and food. But, of course you have to get into the grounds to experience these!
The first problem that we had was finding parking. The parking during Fest is awful. Absolutely terrible. Last year we managed to find a spot early on, but despite arriving at what I thought was a decent time, the paid parking lot was full, as was the area surrounding it, as was campus and we finally got lucky enough to find a parking on Somerset Street a short walk away. And when I say that we got lucky, it was literally the only parking I could spot in the vicinity and we almost missed it!
I must say that the food that comes to Grahamstown during Fest is probably my favourite part of the whole experience, and the Village Green is where you can find most of the good stuff. Chinese, Indian, Greek, you name it, they've got it! And this was the main purpose of our coming to the Green. Lunch! We wandered between the food stalls before deciding on a three-course menu. First up was Chinese as our main with smoothies to wash it down with.
I am a big fan of Chinese food! I am the advocate for Chinese food in Grahamstown, and I have never been more determined that Grahamstown should have a Chinese restaurant than I was after eating the Chinese at Fest. And that is not because it is amazing. Sadly, the food itself was pretty average - way too oily, way too generic. Not bad, but not very good either. And that was kind of the point. Even though it was just average Chinese, I was still wallowing in the joy of having it! Grahamstown needs a good Chinese place so that this is not the standard for the locals.
The smoothies, on the other hand, were pretty great. I love smoothies and I am determined that Grahamstown should also have a place that makes them. It shouldn't be too difficult to do! I know that Kauai is pretty much off the cards for a small student town, and the smoothies from Fest did not compare, but they were great and were perfect and I would have one on a daily basis if they were available to me! But they are not, sadly. And so I will make do with returning at some point during the Fest and having another.
With Chinese and smoothies in our bellies, we decided to walk around for a bit and see what else was on offer. There were books, but the book stall was not nearly as exciting as last year. I found a wonderful hat stall which sold incredible, steam-punky hats... for R1,800.00. They informed me that they would be bringing in more next week for around R400.00, but even that is beyond my price range! There were beautiful clocks and kaleidoscopes and so many wonderful things that made me ooh and aah!
And then there were the nuts. The greatest thing about Fest in my opinion. Of all the food, the nuts are the things that drive me mad! So, of course, these wonderful, caramelised, cinnamoned drops of goodness had to be mine. R30.00 bought me a small bag full of them, and though it is quite steep, it is also totally worth it! Another thing that I will definitely be returning for.
And finally, we ended off our trip to the Greens with a stop at Wicked Waffles. The smell was enough to bring us in, the idea of alcohol-infused cream was enough to keep us there. One bite was enough for us to know that it had probably been a bad idea and the price convinced us that it was a terrible one. The waffles themselves I found to be pretty average, nothing special. The cream was ridiculous! I am not all that good with my alcohol and find everything to be strong, but even Grant thought it was way too much, like taking a shot of Vodka with every bite. And at R35.00 each for a small waffle, it is not worth your while. I wouldn't recommend them.
And so our Village Green experience ended on a bit of a bad note. We finished our waffles and made our way back to the car, pretty keen to get out of the crowds. But I know that I will be back there next week again! As chaotic as it can be, I don't think that there is anything that can stop me. And that is the joy of Fest! It is a wonderous, terrifying time that we just cannot help but enjoy!
What do other locals think?
What makes this time of year amazing is the atmosphere that fills the town. It feels like a two-week celebration. All of the things that I dislike about Grahamstown the rest of the year suddenly make their way here. There is food galore. There is entertainment in the form of music, plays, shows and fairgrounds. Town becomes electric and I love it!
What makes it terrible is that the thing that I do love about Grahamstown become ruined. The peaceful quiet of a small town gets lost in the manic hubbub of festival goers. Traffic lines the streets making it nearly impossible to find a parking anywhere and, living on the outskirts of town, this makes partaking in any festival activities pretty darn difficult! Peppergrove becomes nightmarish and I find myself wanting to curl up in bed and not leave because I don't want to face the horror of it all. And yet, you can't help but want to participate in the madness!
So this weekend, Grant, Jono and I decided to brave the Fest Grounds at the Village Green. Though this is not where the magic of the shows themselves happen, this is the centre of all things Fest and may be considered by some to be utter chaos and by others to be heavenly. I tend to gravitate towards the middle of these two opinions and see it as part good, part bad and mostly pretty average. The grounds are filled with tents, and the tents are filled with shops selling odds and ends - clothing, toys, novelties and food. But, of course you have to get into the grounds to experience these!
The first problem that we had was finding parking. The parking during Fest is awful. Absolutely terrible. Last year we managed to find a spot early on, but despite arriving at what I thought was a decent time, the paid parking lot was full, as was the area surrounding it, as was campus and we finally got lucky enough to find a parking on Somerset Street a short walk away. And when I say that we got lucky, it was literally the only parking I could spot in the vicinity and we almost missed it!
I must say that the food that comes to Grahamstown during Fest is probably my favourite part of the whole experience, and the Village Green is where you can find most of the good stuff. Chinese, Indian, Greek, you name it, they've got it! And this was the main purpose of our coming to the Green. Lunch! We wandered between the food stalls before deciding on a three-course menu. First up was Chinese as our main with smoothies to wash it down with.
I am a big fan of Chinese food! I am the advocate for Chinese food in Grahamstown, and I have never been more determined that Grahamstown should have a Chinese restaurant than I was after eating the Chinese at Fest. And that is not because it is amazing. Sadly, the food itself was pretty average - way too oily, way too generic. Not bad, but not very good either. And that was kind of the point. Even though it was just average Chinese, I was still wallowing in the joy of having it! Grahamstown needs a good Chinese place so that this is not the standard for the locals.
The smoothies, on the other hand, were pretty great. I love smoothies and I am determined that Grahamstown should also have a place that makes them. It shouldn't be too difficult to do! I know that Kauai is pretty much off the cards for a small student town, and the smoothies from Fest did not compare, but they were great and were perfect and I would have one on a daily basis if they were available to me! But they are not, sadly. And so I will make do with returning at some point during the Fest and having another.
With Chinese and smoothies in our bellies, we decided to walk around for a bit and see what else was on offer. There were books, but the book stall was not nearly as exciting as last year. I found a wonderful hat stall which sold incredible, steam-punky hats... for R1,800.00. They informed me that they would be bringing in more next week for around R400.00, but even that is beyond my price range! There were beautiful clocks and kaleidoscopes and so many wonderful things that made me ooh and aah!
And then there were the nuts. The greatest thing about Fest in my opinion. Of all the food, the nuts are the things that drive me mad! So, of course, these wonderful, caramelised, cinnamoned drops of goodness had to be mine. R30.00 bought me a small bag full of them, and though it is quite steep, it is also totally worth it! Another thing that I will definitely be returning for.
And finally, we ended off our trip to the Greens with a stop at Wicked Waffles. The smell was enough to bring us in, the idea of alcohol-infused cream was enough to keep us there. One bite was enough for us to know that it had probably been a bad idea and the price convinced us that it was a terrible one. The waffles themselves I found to be pretty average, nothing special. The cream was ridiculous! I am not all that good with my alcohol and find everything to be strong, but even Grant thought it was way too much, like taking a shot of Vodka with every bite. And at R35.00 each for a small waffle, it is not worth your while. I wouldn't recommend them.
And so our Village Green experience ended on a bit of a bad note. We finished our waffles and made our way back to the car, pretty keen to get out of the crowds. But I know that I will be back there next week again! As chaotic as it can be, I don't think that there is anything that can stop me. And that is the joy of Fest! It is a wonderous, terrifying time that we just cannot help but enjoy!
What do other locals think?
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Memory of Water
Tonight came close to being a good night. And, in fact for awhile it was! I got to go to an amazing show, I got to spend time with Grant and I had a nice dinner. And then it failed.
But let me start from the beginning. I got to go to an amazing show! It is one of the few shows that I am going to this fest (unlike last year when I had a plan practically every night). And I will admit from the outset that I may be a little biased about it - it was directed by a good friend after all. But that is no reason to let the awesomeness slide. I didn't know what to expect from The Memory of Water. I had read the summary of course, but you know summaries - they don't tell you very much. I even convinced Grant that he had to come along. It took a little persuading, but he relented, especially after I bought him his ticket.
And so, at 17:45 we made our way to NG Kerk Saal to go and see The Memory of Water, directed by Deborah Robertson. I had a little trouble getting in (booking through Computicket and collecting the tickets at the door is not a good plan) but we managed with some time to spare and took our seats towards the middle of the room. Two of the actors stayed on stage while people found their seats, one sleeping while the other smoked to add to the atmosphere that the play was to provide. And then it started.
From the first few lines, I was intrigued. And I stayed that way throughout the play. There wasn't a moment of boredom, there wasn't a moment where I thought that it might have been running to long, there wasn't a moment where I regretted going to the show. The acting was superb, the timing was perfect and, even when things went wrong like the set falling over halfway during the show, they didn't skip a beat as the eldest sister exclaimed "Old house!" and they continued with the script. It was funny, it was poignant, it was heartwrenching and it was amazing. I left smiling and filled with warmth, and I would recommend that everyone snatch up the opportunity to see the show before it finishes on Saturday.
Once the play was over, it was time to grab some dinner. Grant wanted to catch the football, so there was no chance of heading home to cook. So we decided to go to the Albany Club. We tend to go there occasionally for lunch and we knew that they would be open for dinner during fest, they are usually quick and make decent meals, so we decided that would be the place to go. We arrived and quickly found a seat. We had been hoping for a table in the bar area since it is warmer and more lively, but no such luck. Nonetheless, we got a table and settled down for a nice meal. The menu was pretty much the same as it always is - typical pub meals of burgers, calamari, chops, etc. with a few Fest additions like Kudu steaks and Butter Chicken. Grant decided to take advantage of the festival and go for the kudu, while I decided on the calamari. The food was decent and came fairly quickly and I was looking forward to dessert when Grant saw the time out of the corner of his eye and realised that he had to run. Which was fine. I ordered the bill as he ran out of the door and waited for it to come. And waited. And waited some more. A table came in and sat down next to me, ordered, got their food and I was still waiting. The other table finished their meal, got the bill and left and I waited. Finally my waiter came in and asked if I wanted the bill because it seemed that my partner wasn't coming back. To which I responded, with frustration. "Yes, I want that bill. That's why I asked for it 25 minutes ago!" Five minutes later he came back with it, and then left. I waited five more minutes before deciding that it was enough and walking through to the kitchen to pay. My waiter found me there and brought over the card machine. Only to say, "I don't know how to do this". It is not rocket science. Once one of the managers had rung it up, he then handed me both the slip for the restaurant and the one that I am supposed to keep. It boggles my mind.
Anyway, I was more than a little annoyed after this, and I made my way to PnP only to park in front of someone who appeared to be taking some coke in front of my car, not wanting to move out of the way which, though not directly affecting me, still pissed me off even further.
So no, despite a wonderful play and a decent dinner, I am sad to say that it has not been a good night. Here's hoping that tomorrow will be better!
But let me start from the beginning. I got to go to an amazing show! It is one of the few shows that I am going to this fest (unlike last year when I had a plan practically every night). And I will admit from the outset that I may be a little biased about it - it was directed by a good friend after all. But that is no reason to let the awesomeness slide. I didn't know what to expect from The Memory of Water. I had read the summary of course, but you know summaries - they don't tell you very much. I even convinced Grant that he had to come along. It took a little persuading, but he relented, especially after I bought him his ticket.
And so, at 17:45 we made our way to NG Kerk Saal to go and see The Memory of Water, directed by Deborah Robertson. I had a little trouble getting in (booking through Computicket and collecting the tickets at the door is not a good plan) but we managed with some time to spare and took our seats towards the middle of the room. Two of the actors stayed on stage while people found their seats, one sleeping while the other smoked to add to the atmosphere that the play was to provide. And then it started.
From the first few lines, I was intrigued. And I stayed that way throughout the play. There wasn't a moment of boredom, there wasn't a moment where I thought that it might have been running to long, there wasn't a moment where I regretted going to the show. The acting was superb, the timing was perfect and, even when things went wrong like the set falling over halfway during the show, they didn't skip a beat as the eldest sister exclaimed "Old house!" and they continued with the script. It was funny, it was poignant, it was heartwrenching and it was amazing. I left smiling and filled with warmth, and I would recommend that everyone snatch up the opportunity to see the show before it finishes on Saturday.
Once the play was over, it was time to grab some dinner. Grant wanted to catch the football, so there was no chance of heading home to cook. So we decided to go to the Albany Club. We tend to go there occasionally for lunch and we knew that they would be open for dinner during fest, they are usually quick and make decent meals, so we decided that would be the place to go. We arrived and quickly found a seat. We had been hoping for a table in the bar area since it is warmer and more lively, but no such luck. Nonetheless, we got a table and settled down for a nice meal. The menu was pretty much the same as it always is - typical pub meals of burgers, calamari, chops, etc. with a few Fest additions like Kudu steaks and Butter Chicken. Grant decided to take advantage of the festival and go for the kudu, while I decided on the calamari. The food was decent and came fairly quickly and I was looking forward to dessert when Grant saw the time out of the corner of his eye and realised that he had to run. Which was fine. I ordered the bill as he ran out of the door and waited for it to come. And waited. And waited some more. A table came in and sat down next to me, ordered, got their food and I was still waiting. The other table finished their meal, got the bill and left and I waited. Finally my waiter came in and asked if I wanted the bill because it seemed that my partner wasn't coming back. To which I responded, with frustration. "Yes, I want that bill. That's why I asked for it 25 minutes ago!" Five minutes later he came back with it, and then left. I waited five more minutes before deciding that it was enough and walking through to the kitchen to pay. My waiter found me there and brought over the card machine. Only to say, "I don't know how to do this". It is not rocket science. Once one of the managers had rung it up, he then handed me both the slip for the restaurant and the one that I am supposed to keep. It boggles my mind.
Anyway, I was more than a little annoyed after this, and I made my way to PnP only to park in front of someone who appeared to be taking some coke in front of my car, not wanting to move out of the way which, though not directly affecting me, still pissed me off even further.
So no, despite a wonderful play and a decent dinner, I am sad to say that it has not been a good night. Here's hoping that tomorrow will be better!
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Nostalgia
It comes in waves and unexpectedly.
It starts with something as simple as a picture. A photo of a friend from way back when that takes me back to days spent laughing in hotel rooms and getting into trouble that seemed so big at the time and feels so small now, sneaking bottles of champagne at New Years and regretting it in the morning, kissing and telling and moving on quickly, lessons and card games and thinking it would last forever. Thinking that we'd always stay young.
Tumbles forward to nights spent ballroom dancing in a crowded Friar Tucks, spent huddled in a res room listening to Placebo and planning surprise birthday parties in the middle of the night. Days spent juggling classes and social life, old friends and new ones, bouncing off the walls with excitement at new opportunities and new places to go, things to do, people to meet.
Until suddenly first year is over. The fun is fading as I come to the realisation that my University life can't just be non-stop partying. Friends fade as groups split and new friends are found closer to home. Suddenly I become the responsible one, the reliable one, the sensible one, the one who will stand up for you, will butt in to help and will speak your mind when you are too scared to. The friend who tells you what she thinks, but is there for you if you decide to do your thing regardless.
And before I know it, I am moving out, am settling in, am studying hard and partying little, am reclusive and despondent. Still there if you call me, but lost in my own world for the most part. Away from the centre of things, I start to cave in on myself, stop venturing outside the eight walls of the two rooms that comprise my homes. Lectures, home, Grant, home.
And it is finished. Four years of studying comes to a grand finale of examinations and expectations and tearful goodbyes. A heartbreaking ten hour journey stands between Grahamstown and Cape Town, both halfway houses to my grander plan of Korea, excitement, exploration and exhiliration. And it is exhilirating. A year of once-in-a-lifetime experiences. New friends, new places, a new start away from everything that I know, everything that I want. A whirlwind year of thrills and spills, fun and heartache, learning in a new way what the world is about. Travel and people and places that I will never see again.
Only to return to Grahamstown a year later. Grahamstown, which never changes but changes so consistently at the same time. New people, but young people, people that I can no longer relate to. New places, but all the same in their vibes, their atmospheres, their memories of days gone by that haunt me everywhere I go, reminding me of my youth and the people that I miss.
Nostalgia comes in waves and unexpectedly, and then fades into the distance as my daily routine resumes.
It starts with something as simple as a picture. A photo of a friend from way back when that takes me back to days spent laughing in hotel rooms and getting into trouble that seemed so big at the time and feels so small now, sneaking bottles of champagne at New Years and regretting it in the morning, kissing and telling and moving on quickly, lessons and card games and thinking it would last forever. Thinking that we'd always stay young.
Tumbles forward to nights spent ballroom dancing in a crowded Friar Tucks, spent huddled in a res room listening to Placebo and planning surprise birthday parties in the middle of the night. Days spent juggling classes and social life, old friends and new ones, bouncing off the walls with excitement at new opportunities and new places to go, things to do, people to meet.
Until suddenly first year is over. The fun is fading as I come to the realisation that my University life can't just be non-stop partying. Friends fade as groups split and new friends are found closer to home. Suddenly I become the responsible one, the reliable one, the sensible one, the one who will stand up for you, will butt in to help and will speak your mind when you are too scared to. The friend who tells you what she thinks, but is there for you if you decide to do your thing regardless.
And before I know it, I am moving out, am settling in, am studying hard and partying little, am reclusive and despondent. Still there if you call me, but lost in my own world for the most part. Away from the centre of things, I start to cave in on myself, stop venturing outside the eight walls of the two rooms that comprise my homes. Lectures, home, Grant, home.
And it is finished. Four years of studying comes to a grand finale of examinations and expectations and tearful goodbyes. A heartbreaking ten hour journey stands between Grahamstown and Cape Town, both halfway houses to my grander plan of Korea, excitement, exploration and exhiliration. And it is exhilirating. A year of once-in-a-lifetime experiences. New friends, new places, a new start away from everything that I know, everything that I want. A whirlwind year of thrills and spills, fun and heartache, learning in a new way what the world is about. Travel and people and places that I will never see again.
Only to return to Grahamstown a year later. Grahamstown, which never changes but changes so consistently at the same time. New people, but young people, people that I can no longer relate to. New places, but all the same in their vibes, their atmospheres, their memories of days gone by that haunt me everywhere I go, reminding me of my youth and the people that I miss.
Nostalgia comes in waves and unexpectedly, and then fades into the distance as my daily routine resumes.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Breaking the Bad Habits
I hate calorie (or kilojoule) counting. I hate it with a passion. I don't like being around people who do it and whenever I find myself doing it, it feels like I become an annoying, overbearing, obsessive person, and I don't like that feeling. And yet, I have found myself doing a lot of it lately.
I am trying my damndest to be healthy lately. And I could say that it is because my friends and I have a contest going on where the person to lose the most weight by the 20th will be winning a wad of cash. But I don't think that is quite it either. Sure, the contest gave me some incentive to get started, incentive that was definitely needed! But a couple of nights before it was suggested, I was sitting in bed and, inexplicably, I was crying. I just couldn't stop it. The tears were just leaking out of me unprovoked. I'd had a bad day, and it culminated into a bad week, month and year so far with everything that has gone wrong just taking over in my mind. And there have been quite a few things going wrong. Not that things are dreadful, but you know how it happens - you start obsessing about something bad and all of the other bad things come to mind and take over completely until you can't think of anything else. And a big contribution towards that was my weight.
My weight has always been very up and down. It was way down when I was young, and then I hit puberty and it shot up. Around the age of 17, I started getting it back down, and then around 20 it started creeping up again. At age 22, during my year in Korea, I got it back down to where I was fairly comfortable with it (sure, I still wanted to lose some weight, but I was a good 10 kgs lighter than when I had arrived). And then I came back to Grahamstown. And in one year it all came back, bringing its friends along to join in the fun.
I know that weight is not the be-all and end-all of life. I know that being thin does not make you happy. I know that indulging every whim doesn't either. But I also know that exercise releases endorphins, and I know that being comfortable with your body does make you more comfortable in general. I know that I would feel a lot less awkward about going out if I didn't have to try on five different outfits, all of which I feel are completely unflattering.
And so I am one week in. I am dieting, but not crash-dieting. I like to think of it less as dieting in fact and more as changing my eating habits for good. I am trying to cut down on wheat, since I suspect that my thyroid isn't a big fan of it. And speaking of my thyroid, I am trying my best to take my thyroid medication. Everyday. Which I am usually pretty darn bad at. I am also trying to eat breakfast everyday. And I am exercising. I went walking and jogging every day last week and, despite the weather turning bad, I intend to keep at it.
So, there is a new section that you can expect to see in my blog, and that is things that I have been eating. And for the first segment:
Chicken Salad
Italian minestrone and rye bread
Rice cakes with lettuce and tuna
Rice cakes with fat free cottage cheese and lemon chicken
Grilled chicken, salad and baked potato
Portuguese grilled chicken with mixed veg and mint rice
Baked fish with lemon, mixed veg and bakes potato
Turkey and avocado on rye
Fat free vanilla yoghurt
Original rice crackers with fat free cottage cheese
Celery and fat freee cottage cheese
One breakfast rusk with my one cup of coffee in the morning
I am trying my damndest to be healthy lately. And I could say that it is because my friends and I have a contest going on where the person to lose the most weight by the 20th will be winning a wad of cash. But I don't think that is quite it either. Sure, the contest gave me some incentive to get started, incentive that was definitely needed! But a couple of nights before it was suggested, I was sitting in bed and, inexplicably, I was crying. I just couldn't stop it. The tears were just leaking out of me unprovoked. I'd had a bad day, and it culminated into a bad week, month and year so far with everything that has gone wrong just taking over in my mind. And there have been quite a few things going wrong. Not that things are dreadful, but you know how it happens - you start obsessing about something bad and all of the other bad things come to mind and take over completely until you can't think of anything else. And a big contribution towards that was my weight.
My weight has always been very up and down. It was way down when I was young, and then I hit puberty and it shot up. Around the age of 17, I started getting it back down, and then around 20 it started creeping up again. At age 22, during my year in Korea, I got it back down to where I was fairly comfortable with it (sure, I still wanted to lose some weight, but I was a good 10 kgs lighter than when I had arrived). And then I came back to Grahamstown. And in one year it all came back, bringing its friends along to join in the fun.
I know that weight is not the be-all and end-all of life. I know that being thin does not make you happy. I know that indulging every whim doesn't either. But I also know that exercise releases endorphins, and I know that being comfortable with your body does make you more comfortable in general. I know that I would feel a lot less awkward about going out if I didn't have to try on five different outfits, all of which I feel are completely unflattering.
And so I am one week in. I am dieting, but not crash-dieting. I like to think of it less as dieting in fact and more as changing my eating habits for good. I am trying to cut down on wheat, since I suspect that my thyroid isn't a big fan of it. And speaking of my thyroid, I am trying my best to take my thyroid medication. Everyday. Which I am usually pretty darn bad at. I am also trying to eat breakfast everyday. And I am exercising. I went walking and jogging every day last week and, despite the weather turning bad, I intend to keep at it.
So, there is a new section that you can expect to see in my blog, and that is things that I have been eating. And for the first segment:
Chicken Salad
Italian minestrone and rye bread
Rice cakes with lettuce and tuna
Rice cakes with fat free cottage cheese and lemon chicken
Grilled chicken, salad and baked potato
Portuguese grilled chicken with mixed veg and mint rice
Baked fish with lemon, mixed veg and bakes potato
Turkey and avocado on rye
Fat free vanilla yoghurt
Original rice crackers with fat free cottage cheese
Celery and fat freee cottage cheese
One breakfast rusk with my one cup of coffee in the morning
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