3 Ashley/eighs 3 Megans and 2 Amandas

(photograph courtesy of charley http://www.flickr.com/photos/cjeckman)
There are so many blonde people in my life. And not in the 90’s sense of being the butt of jokes but in the 50’s sense of downright sassiness. I feel like the 24 Californian girls that transcended the Atlantic to come study abroad here came more for the sakes of me getting to study a, broad.

Once again I am a tourist in my own city, well mine and Helen Zilles’ now. And life is just peachy. It’s both fast and furious except without Vin Diesel and the fast cars, or the furious women. I like this part of the year.

It’s kind of intimidating really. What I mean by this is that there is so much going on consistently that I start glazing over a little and I am becoming hard to the emotions that used to well up in me when this city first wouldn’t let me sleep for fear of missing out on the life and the way that it moves me here. Last night I had the wonderful joy of being able to stand back and do what I do the least, but I what I love the most. Take a little stock of what is actually going on all around me before it runs roughshod over my life and I am non the wiser.

America and I had a delicious Mexican dinner in Hout Bay, which was not Mexican, so much as a packet of Doritos with cheese and salsa and then moved up the mountain to that sweet make out spot halfway up Chapman’s Peak. My hat.

As Dawie pointed out, a perfect night for stargazing. Barely a breath of wind and not a soul in sight, right up until that point when two souls were both in sight and on top of each other in their car not so very far away from our perchment.

Caveman Dave nonchalantly says out the corner of his mouth, “ Its so weird.”
“ I never thought Cape Town looked this much like a bay.”

Feeling like Ravin’ Dave had just made a sweeping statement of the city at large and merely incorporated Hout Bay into that en-sweepment-I let it slide. And then I realized he had just assimilated Hout Bay for being the city entire. Shame, poor Dave.

This weekend I also had the massive privilege of seeing the most beautiful woman that could ever stand next Brandon Ewan. Except she wasn’t standing next to Brandon. Brandon was nowhere to be seen, lost in the fog if you will. Brandon and Devon have been training for the Freedom Swim. Possibly one of the most hardcore endurance events this nation has to offer and possibly one of the least publicized-and no one knows why. It’s a charity driven swim where a couple hundred entrants swim from Robben Island, across the channel to the mainland by Bloubergstrand. It’s no small feat. There are other things that are small on that day, like the small issue Speedo’s the men have to wear and the small boats that support them in the water and also the small, um pen’s they use to write down their times and such.

And there we are, on the mainland sipping our respective coffee’s while Shani debates whether mid-day is too early to enjoy a glass of wine and Jarred goes on and on about his larger than average physique and then Lichelle (the aforementioned wife of Brandon) drops the, ‘Oh Brandon and I have resigned from our jobs and going backpacking across the universe in a month’s time-‘ bomb.

Now you must understand that neither Brandon nor Lichelle are students, it has been some time since they were allowed to be so forward with their dreams and not reap the consequences from the rat race. I can appreciate this in them. Well heck, I could go with them. But I wont. It would be too weird. Plus Brandon clearly made his allegiance clear to all of us when he decided that spending the rest of his life with a girl was more important that spending the rest of his life playing playstation with the boys.

Im sorry, the rat race. You might just have to wait for me too because Brandon and Lichelle make a lot of sense. And right now, so does Southern California.

But so too does Milnerton. I love this city and I love the people here. I love going out with Nathan, recently married to a babe of a lady who has the most solid head on her shoulders. I love going to the Old Biscuit Mill deal and getting coffee and savoury treats sitting side by side with Nathan and having all the appearances of being very, very metrosexual. Like the mould on a roof painted green so has the love grown in my heart for this city and the way she moves me. And be she, I mean Helen.

Turn Around And Start Again

I am aware that one of my biggest flaws is that I give up. And quite easily at that. Flaw is a bit of a loaded word, it implies that this travesty has been thrust upon me, the helpless victim. I am almost definately sure that I brought this on myself. I am a big thinker and an even bigger dreamer, I'm the idealist, and ideally I need a realist next to me at all times to keep my feet on the ground. This is tricky because I feel that God lets me dream and breathe and throw out preposterous plans, but I also believe he holds me to the practice and working out of a sustainable life for me and mostly for those around me. I do this alot with what God gives, I take what I can use to suit my personality and draw conclusive Godly character traits out of them - because after all aren't we made in the image of God?

I am learning balance. I am learning that with every bit of give there is a little bit of take. No exceptions. Dont mislead my thought process here, I do believe in miracles and God's gifted grace - but that too came at a cost, the greatest cost you could actually wage on a dream. Your very life and breath.

I recently heard this wonderful analogy. That all of our lives are all stories. And we tell people our stories, we live and dance and scream and cry and run and fall and achieve and tell people our stories through everything but, what we have rehearsed or a well written eulogy at the end of our story. And the clincher for me was in this bloke's opinion, the greatest stories are those that have the greatest element of risk inherent in them. I tend to agree. So then the greatest risk being? Putting one's life on the line for another. This is no new story but one rooted in the Bible. And this isn't some subversive attempt to try and convert you so much as it is my alignment with what has been dubbed the greatest story ever told.

But i am still getting there. You see, i want that to be my life. But I'm not there yet. Most of my plans involve me marrying a gorgeous brunette girl and living off the coast of a Greek island all the while having inherited my father's fortune and spending my days fixing up yachts, and when not fixing up the yachts, then getting fixed up on my yacht with said gorgeous brunette girl - if you see what I did there.

The problem with that little scenario is that in a world of over 6 billion people, I have made my life expressly about one other person, and perhaps about helping out some rich people continue to live out their sordid nautical existence's. Now, I still would love to work in a dry dock one day - but I need something more - something bigger, something that will cost me a little more.

I had a little chat with my housemate today. He told me off again because most of the time I'm talking about girls. Girls are alright apparently but not worth talking about for 90% of the time - at least not in the romantic sense. And he's basically getting tired of my whining. I like that, i like it because it means i can get out of my head. i live inside the inside of my mind, but now i can, to quote the glorious techno-pop excellency of FURTHERMORE, 'i can do two things at a time, step out of line - step outside the inside of my mind.'

It's been a couple months since the last time I sat down to write and every time I turn around and start again I get a little better and a little tougher. Soon I will have the resolve not to give up at all and just endure.

Thats where my head has been lately, my body has been there all along except it got caught up watching the live FALL OUT BOY DVD and having my 22nd birthday and going to an excellent wedding of acquaintances and moving houses and going to birthday parties and writing senior year papers of subjects I'm still not even sure i understand.

I have a new impetus now. i will endeavor (as i have before) to write a little more often. But that impetus also falls under new motive. I used to write with a specific person or group of people in mind - now not so much. Okay maybe i might reflect on an event involving specific humans, but largely i want to write for the sake of reflection, so I can look back in a couple months and years time and see just how far I've come - or not at all. Because it will be absolutely and utterly ridiculous if in a couple years, or even months for that matter - if I am still whining about which girl did what to who and how-come it was her who didn't know who did what with who.