Can You See My Butt Through This Dress?

I have underwear for every occasion and every outfit. Well, I thought I did until I decided to wear a cream chiffon dress this morning. I selected my nude underwear, because every woman knows that if you are going to wear anything close to white you must wear it with underwear that is as close as possible to your skin tone (if you don’t believe me feel free to Google images of women who have worn white with white undies, black or any other colour undies in public).

I, of course, thought I had all my bases covered in the huge selection of underwear in my drawer. I got dressed and took a quick look at how I looked. And behold! I could see my knickers.

Now, when it comes to underwear I have two rules that I do not negotiate on:

1.  Underwear was created for a reason. Wear it. This was cast in stone the day Christina Aguilera went on stage in a cute black number and had a stream of discharge making a track down her leg.

2.  If your underwear causes someone you have never met to distinguish your intimate body parts from the rest of you, you shouldn’t be wearing it.

So there I was, digging through my underwear drawer. I tried on almost all the knickers in my possession from the barely there thongs to the boy shorts; and the see-through lace to and solid cottons. I tried blacks, browns and whites. Nothing worked! Nothing!

So there I stood in front of my mirror, negotiating between going commando and wearing a black thong (keep in mind the picture of the curve skimming cream dress). And I admit I tried these two oh-hell-no options (when you can see your butt-crack through your dress you shouldn’t leave your house-don’t even think about it- and as for the black thong see rule 2).

I could have called it a day, changed outfits. But this is me, the girl who has made sweeping statements on social networking about how every woman older than twenty-five should own a pair of spanks.

And yes, I confess. I do not have spanks. It’s easier to preach owning a pair than actually owning them. There I stood in front of my undies drawer, still wearing the dress that did not have a suitable pair of knickers, searching. And Eureka!

Of course I am pleased with my solution of men’s underwear that is made to be more comfortable and less visible than female underwear (it’s true) but seriously…

I need spanks.

SHIFTING GOAL POSTS: IS THIS WHAT THE STRUGGLE WAS ABOUT?

When I was younger my cousin Mpho and I would play football in our backyard and we would use bricks as goal posts. We would set them a certain width and length apart. After playing for some time and goals being scored the losing party, usually me, would suggest reducing the width of the goal posts or the length of the field. This would go on until it was clear that there was no chance of me winning.

I remember when my family moved to Bedworthpark, a suburb separated by a street from Sharpeville.  It didn’t mean anything to me then because I did not know that 3km from my house was a graveyard where 69 brave men who were killed because they didn’t want to carry dompasses were buried.

Living so close to Sharpeville meant nothing until my aunt, who went into exile in 1961, insisted on going into Sharpeville the first time she visited us. I remember her saying that it was because of Sharpeville that she was able to escape South Africa.

Sharpeville is a tiny township. Under developed even by Vaal township standards. Yet it has a place in South African history that until this week I believed could not be denied. For people like my aunt who were smuggled out of South Africa through the Vaal into Lesotho, Sharpeville is where they got saved.

The PAC declaring that men should abandon their dompasses might have been a nationwide call, but it was in Sharpeville where the tragedy that highlighted the ill that apartheid was happened. It was Sharpeville that brought rise to the arm struggle that made the National Party government ban political parties. It was Sharpeville, not Soweto, where 69 men were shot in cold blood on 21 March 1960 because they stood for what they believed in. It is Sharpeville where families lost their sons that day. 

Has the inability to share the victories of today transcended in claiming a history that is not rightfully ours? Should we punish future generations just because the PAC of today questioned why the ANC has “hijacked” Human Rights’ Day when in fact abandoning dompasses on that day was a PAC initiative?

Do we forget that those lives lost and many lost thereafter, those people who were forced to flee their families and homes into unknown countries where they died alone are why we commemorate of Human Rights’ Day. Not who should own it. Is it not my right a citizen of South Africa to know the unedited truth of my history, whether or not the victor of today was there?

The goal posts of truth in this country have been moved carelessly for over four hundred years, so what if they are being carelessly shifted now? I guess in a country where winning at any cost has always been valued more than the goal post that is truth, we do not have an answer because what is true today may not be true tomorrow. Just like those 69 men who were massacred in Sharpeville may as well have been massacred in Soweto…

After all, international media won’t know the difference.

To Ageing, Short Skirts and High Heels

So I turned twenty-nine this week. I’ve been waiting for all those feelings I’ve been told about. The fear of ageing or whatever it is. Or maybe feeling broody. But nothing. So I figure…

Growing up is one of those things that we don’t notice when it’s happening but when it’s run it’s course and you sit back and think, “what was I thinking at twenty”.

I’m glad my early twenties are gone. I partied. I wore clothes that were too short or too tight, or both. I’ve woken up in homes of people I met the night before at some party or a club or somewhere. Left home on Friday came back Monday. Those were the days.

My late twenties brought on a new me with a streak of the old one. I became more discriminating of who I spend my time, where I hang out and how I spent my time. But my twenties have left me with priceless memories. Not all good, some really painful, but memories I can own.

I’ve had love, laughter, joy. What more can a girl ask for?

I do have regrets. Mostly around doing stuff I should have done and didn’t do. People I let in my life who hurt me, I forgave them, and they hurt me again in the exact same way. I’ll regret letting them in but I’m also thankful to them for the valuable life lessons. I now know that no everyone who poses as your friend is.

But you learn as you live. What has not killed me has only made me stronger, and cheekier. I will always meet the devil on his turf in my heels and my hair did. I will not go down without a fight. And if it’s my last breath you are after you are going to wait for a long time, because I am here to stay. I have staked my ground and sharpened my claws. If I do go down, I’ll be looking good while I sink and even better when I hit the bottom of that pit.

And well sometimes a little pain makes the journey worthwhile and you get to enjoy the great moments and the wonderful crazies more.

To people who have made my journey to this point worthwhile. You have been the flowers on the side of this rocky, gravel road. I look ahead to the road of my last year of being twenty-something excited to see what kind of woman my experiences in my thirties will make me.

Life has been good and I thank God for filling my life with so many blessings, even though he could have warned me of the baddies beforehand. But I’m grateful. So I raise my glass to ageing, short skirts and high heels. Goodness, being young has been exhausting!

Another post on life...

I woke up today feeling imprisoned. I feel trapped in my life. I feel like I’m a puzzle and all the pieces don’t fit.

After staring at my ceiling for more than an hour trying to psych myself up it hit me that I was wasting time. Okay, duh! But seriously, I waste my life in the most amazing ways without even knowing that I’m wasting away.

Young people die everyday. Young people with a future and promise and yet, all that they could have been gets extinguished in a single moment.

Death is a leveller of all things. When you die you might have a fancy funeral with great singing and gorgeous flowers . When you die, and you will die,  you’ll be buried or burnt and those you leave behind might remember you for all their days, they might talk about you now and then but ultimately, they will move on.

So this morning, I lay in my bed after realising that I was wasting time, and thought that all I have is this moment. Right now. Today. I owe it to myself to live like there’s no tomorrow.

And well, I might not have a tomorrow. So I might as well make that phone call that is weighing on me, swallow my pride and apologise to that friend I alienated, or maybe just forgive someone. I have nothing to lose because I’m dying anyway.

How I wish I could pack that backpack and fly to the middle of nowhere (I love my comforts too much to do this but it does sound good). I have a right now, I have people who love me and who I love and my moments with them are precious. I should appreciate them now, take my time talking to them on the phone because tomorrow those moments might not be there.

I’m trying to look at today with new eyes. I’m not going to live forever, but I can live right now and every now from here as if it’s the last moment I’ve been given.

Love. Give. Laugh. Forgive. My now isn’t great, but it’ll get better. I should be grateful for what I have. Savour today and look forward like I own the universe, because well…

When I’m dead none of this will matter anyway.  

My Life's Cliche's

Life is what happens when you're caught up in your to-do list.  This is true of my 2012 so far. I've been so worried about all my ambitions that I didn't see or feel the earth shake beneath me. You know that moment when it seems nothing could go wrong only for everything to go wrong?

I still try to live my life as if nothing has changed. I used to be a chronic planner then I stopped and I started living like the next day was going to take care of itself. When I finally knocked myself out of my denial, my problems were still all there waiting for me to lose my mind.

Life is not all roses. But sometimes the stink has to hit you before you truly appreciate the roses. Trust me, you might think your life is hard and it’s all so unfair but someone, somewhere always has it a lot worse than you do. And the situation you are in now might seem like the pits until you do fall into a pit.

And sometimes, you might be feeling like you've got it going on, or you might be feeling like you've gotten a raw deal. I'm just saying that no matter how high you fly, plan to fly higher or if you are struggling to take off, don't stop trying.

I’ve spent months moving between anger, frustration, indifference, anger. Anger is often a waste of time, but can motivate you to get up and get out. And that's what I plan to do after I finish this chocolate and turn off CNN. I will get up, and get out...but for now Lindt is making me feel better.