(This was written on a piece of paper, this past Monday, faithfully reproduced here)
I realise, after having read the story of the blogger who was offered a £70 000 publishing deal, that mine is lacking direction and a clear purpose. More or less like my life, at the moment.
I envy people who know what they want to do in life, and stick with their decisions. I am still deciding what to do when I'm grown up. Which is, these days, at 40, when life begins. Or, like the BBC Radio 4 comedian said, 40 is how long it takes to realise you have a life.
I've always wanted to be a writer. At 16 I visited an educational psychologits who submitted me to a battery of tests and interviews in order to assist me in the serious subject of future career plans. At 16?!! My number one choice was:
To become a journalist and see the world.
He told me that I was an idealist, and I promtly went off to study music, the more sensible choice. I see now that I'm not much of a rebel.
But since I'm only 33, my life has technically not yet started. And because I am a woman, I am able to a lot of things at the same time, successfully.
Sunday, 25 February 2007
Sunday, 18 February 2007
Edinburgh, Oh, Edinburgh
We are moving to Fife, Edinburgh, Scotland, in a few weeks' time. What a great place, aye! The Scots are noticeably poorer than the English, or rather, they seem less interested in material wealth. What they are interested in, I will find out as we start a new life there. We found a 3-bedroom house, 1 minutes from the beach, with a garage and workshop, for less than what we are paying now for a one-bedroom flat in Reading. I love Edinburgh!
I also applied for and got a job at a high school, it will be interesting to compare the English system with the Scottish curriculum - which, my dad says, greatly influenced South Africa's schools and churches in the past. Not necessarily a good thing. I'm pretty sure the Sotcs don't have veldskool, though.
I saw a really fat lady (back in England), and I wanted to ask her: "Do people treat you badly because you are fat?" See, being fat is a big crime against health these days. But I'll not dare say the fat word in these politically correct climates. I feel guilty even saying I am a white person. At my old school, one day, as I was teaching the class the difference - on a keyboard - between a black and a white note, a person shouted out:
"That's racist, miss!"
I rest my case. Goodnight!
I also applied for and got a job at a high school, it will be interesting to compare the English system with the Scottish curriculum - which, my dad says, greatly influenced South Africa's schools and churches in the past. Not necessarily a good thing. I'm pretty sure the Sotcs don't have veldskool, though.
I saw a really fat lady (back in England), and I wanted to ask her: "Do people treat you badly because you are fat?" See, being fat is a big crime against health these days. But I'll not dare say the fat word in these politically correct climates. I feel guilty even saying I am a white person. At my old school, one day, as I was teaching the class the difference - on a keyboard - between a black and a white note, a person shouted out:
"That's racist, miss!"
I rest my case. Goodnight!
Friday, 2 February 2007
Children and other offspring
Having children - or not - is a hot issue here in the UK, in the news every now and again. The Daily Mail tends to publish articles on the wonders of parenthood and how 'the experts' agree that it's best for a woman to stay at home and raise the kids, while The Times tends to put things in better perspective. Sometimes they get it wrong, too, maybe just to annoy people like me. For example, this article on the advantages of not having kids. First of all, I hate the picture (I'm afraid you won't see it on the website, but it's a woman - I'm sure she must be American - wearing a T-shirt that proclaims CHILD FREE AND LOVING IT. Bah!) and frankly the arguments for not having children are lame. Yes, it is basically selfish not to have kids, but so what? Apparently the Pope spoke out against this trend to live life only for one's self, but if I'm not mistaken, the Catholic church is run by people who don't choose marriage and kids for 'one's self'.
It's a thorny issue, and I'm getting to an age where we will have to decide sooner rather than later.
But I love kids, always have, and I think spending time with children is a blessed experience. See, here are photographs of my beloved nieces, Emma and Anja:
Whether you have kids or not should be your choice. And that of your conscience, inclination and circumstances.
But two things made me think again about the children issue. On Thursday I taught at a horrible school, what a dump! It looked like a prison from afar and not much teaching gets done, due to the unruly, arrogant, rude and disruptive behaviour of the students. I have a lot of empathy for these kids, because they come from somewhere, like me, and who they are, are to a large extent grounded in their defective upbringing. These kids are mostly (they do have a choice, of course) the offspring of not-being-loved-enough. And their parents, and their parent's parents...it's a pointless downwards spiral. But is it not selfish to bring your own child into the world, knowing there are so many millions out there who desperately need somebody to love them enough?
Secondly, I saw these pathetic photos of polar bears here and it breaks my heart. There is just too many of us on earth.
It's a thorny issue, and I'm getting to an age where we will have to decide sooner rather than later.
But I love kids, always have, and I think spending time with children is a blessed experience. See, here are photographs of my beloved nieces, Emma and Anja:
Whether you have kids or not should be your choice. And that of your conscience, inclination and circumstances.
But two things made me think again about the children issue. On Thursday I taught at a horrible school, what a dump! It looked like a prison from afar and not much teaching gets done, due to the unruly, arrogant, rude and disruptive behaviour of the students. I have a lot of empathy for these kids, because they come from somewhere, like me, and who they are, are to a large extent grounded in their defective upbringing. These kids are mostly (they do have a choice, of course) the offspring of not-being-loved-enough. And their parents, and their parent's parents...it's a pointless downwards spiral. But is it not selfish to bring your own child into the world, knowing there are so many millions out there who desperately need somebody to love them enough?
Secondly, I saw these pathetic photos of polar bears here and it breaks my heart. There is just too many of us on earth.
Monday, 29 January 2007
On enforced identity
As a member of a country that has been facing multicultural issues since its conception, it is my duty to scribble a few thoughts on the UK government's latest idea of teaching Britishness in schools. Seriously.
David Cameron impressed me this morning on Radio 4. People should not be forced into a culture, but be inspired by it. link Apartheid was, to a great extent, a massive project by the Afrikaner government to enforce Afrikanerdom on its multicoloured citizens. In primary and secondary school, I was force-fed the ideologies, histories and conventions of Afrikanerness, and it was alien to me. I resented the instrusion and the fact that I didn't have a say in the matter. In primary school, for instance, we had to partake in volkspele. It might seem quiant to outsiders, but I felt silly wearing a ridiculous dress and bonnet, belting out patriotic songs at the top of my lungs. The problem with this ritual was that it did not develop as a natural expression of Afrikaans culture, but was enforced as such by the government. As a result, I can't stand volkspele, and I am deeply embarassed by it.
In secondary school we had to sing the National Anthem every week. My lips were sealed: even then I knew I'll never 'live or die' for any country. The pinnacle of enforced Afrikaner nationalism was the veldskool, so backwards an institution, it's not even featured on wikipedia. This "field school" was a compulsory week-long camp (taking place once in primary school, once in high school), where one was subjected to endless brainwashing sessions on topics such as the evils of rock music, pseudo-religious dogma, and how to survive in the wild. All these measure failed. It didn't make me or anybody else I know a patriot, in fact, I resented for a long time being an Afrikaner. This is what the UK government will achieve. In fact, today's report on extremism among Muslim youths should serve as a first warning. You can't force anybody to belong to a culture; they must want to belong.
But here I am today, at peace with my Afrikaner roots to the extent that I'm proclaiming it on my blogspot. What has changed?
South Africa, first of all, and suddenly who I was (a white Afrikaans person), was my choice and not something you had to be. I also support the hackneyed concept of Ubuntu - you are because you belong. And my belonging is rooted in a long history of Afrikaners (who never did volkspele!), some more heroic than others. It gives me a place from which to launch my point of view, and an excellent spot from which to exlore the world. Dankie, almal.
PS: For another, funnier view on veldskool, go here
David Cameron impressed me this morning on Radio 4. People should not be forced into a culture, but be inspired by it. link Apartheid was, to a great extent, a massive project by the Afrikaner government to enforce Afrikanerdom on its multicoloured citizens. In primary and secondary school, I was force-fed the ideologies, histories and conventions of Afrikanerness, and it was alien to me. I resented the instrusion and the fact that I didn't have a say in the matter. In primary school, for instance, we had to partake in volkspele. It might seem quiant to outsiders, but I felt silly wearing a ridiculous dress and bonnet, belting out patriotic songs at the top of my lungs. The problem with this ritual was that it did not develop as a natural expression of Afrikaans culture, but was enforced as such by the government. As a result, I can't stand volkspele, and I am deeply embarassed by it.
In secondary school we had to sing the National Anthem every week. My lips were sealed: even then I knew I'll never 'live or die' for any country. The pinnacle of enforced Afrikaner nationalism was the veldskool, so backwards an institution, it's not even featured on wikipedia. This "field school" was a compulsory week-long camp (taking place once in primary school, once in high school), where one was subjected to endless brainwashing sessions on topics such as the evils of rock music, pseudo-religious dogma, and how to survive in the wild. All these measure failed. It didn't make me or anybody else I know a patriot, in fact, I resented for a long time being an Afrikaner. This is what the UK government will achieve. In fact, today's report on extremism among Muslim youths should serve as a first warning. You can't force anybody to belong to a culture; they must want to belong.
But here I am today, at peace with my Afrikaner roots to the extent that I'm proclaiming it on my blogspot. What has changed?
South Africa, first of all, and suddenly who I was (a white Afrikaans person), was my choice and not something you had to be. I also support the hackneyed concept of Ubuntu - you are because you belong. And my belonging is rooted in a long history of Afrikaners (who never did volkspele!), some more heroic than others. It gives me a place from which to launch my point of view, and an excellent spot from which to exlore the world. Dankie, almal.
PS: For another, funnier view on veldskool, go here
Monday, 22 January 2007
Lessons
So this weekend we cycled up what must count in this part of the UK as one of the hardest hills to climb: the 16% incline at Streatly, Berkshire. No photograph ever does an uphill justice, take my word for it, it's nasty.
I started prepping myself the day before, constantly repeating things like 'never stop' and 'don't look ahead, just look back' and 'breathe, breathe'. I psyched myself up to such an extent that I found the actual ascent to be easier than I expected. What makes this particular climb a bastard, is that it's quite long and it becomes markedly steeper towards the end. I made it, without my granny gear - yoohoo!!
Now, like all things, there are some lessons to be learnt from this endeavour. I learnt that I could achieve something if I make it more afwul in my mind beforehand, and the actual event is not so bad. (This must have a name in pop psychology). I learnt that not to stop means pushing down even if you are going so slow your front wheel wobbles dangerously from side to side. I learnt that I am much fitter than I thought I was, and that you can, actually, achieve something worthwhile if you put your mind to it. Nice feeling!
Now on to writing, and this philosophy deflates. I find reading the Internet and blogs a bit dispiriting, because there are just so many writers and sooooooo much to read. Where will I find a corner in which to make my mark? Yesterday I tried writing and there was a great vacuum of creativity where usually I have a modicum of creative ideas. When my medical examiner - who was not even supposed to appear on the scene!!! - looked at the ravaged victim, and he had NOTHING to say, well, then I knew it was time to stop. How do you force yourself to continue through a famine of craftmanship? And my jokes feel lame, aaarrrgggg!!!
But I will not look forward, but back, to all the thousands of words that I have typed, and I will carry on. Good girl!
I started prepping myself the day before, constantly repeating things like 'never stop' and 'don't look ahead, just look back' and 'breathe, breathe'. I psyched myself up to such an extent that I found the actual ascent to be easier than I expected. What makes this particular climb a bastard, is that it's quite long and it becomes markedly steeper towards the end. I made it, without my granny gear - yoohoo!!
Now, like all things, there are some lessons to be learnt from this endeavour. I learnt that I could achieve something if I make it more afwul in my mind beforehand, and the actual event is not so bad. (This must have a name in pop psychology). I learnt that not to stop means pushing down even if you are going so slow your front wheel wobbles dangerously from side to side. I learnt that I am much fitter than I thought I was, and that you can, actually, achieve something worthwhile if you put your mind to it. Nice feeling!
Now on to writing, and this philosophy deflates. I find reading the Internet and blogs a bit dispiriting, because there are just so many writers and sooooooo much to read. Where will I find a corner in which to make my mark? Yesterday I tried writing and there was a great vacuum of creativity where usually I have a modicum of creative ideas. When my medical examiner - who was not even supposed to appear on the scene!!! - looked at the ravaged victim, and he had NOTHING to say, well, then I knew it was time to stop. How do you force yourself to continue through a famine of craftmanship? And my jokes feel lame, aaarrrgggg!!!
But I will not look forward, but back, to all the thousands of words that I have typed, and I will carry on. Good girl!
Wednesday, 17 January 2007
Me and Mac
In today's The Times, I read that Apple Computers is now known as Apple Inc. I am proud to be an Apple Mac Mini owner, but the thing is driving me bonkers (and this has nothing to do with cycling). My husband is a lovely total computer nerd, and he assured me that "it's the best". And it is, I don't disagree. But now it's become too slow and it's going to cost me a lot of money to a) get more memory or b) invest in a fancy-schmancy, dual-thingy processor something. The little circle, you see, that whirrs round and round while I'm waiting for
my favourite gossip pages link,
my blog,
the GOB blog link,
any interesting links from the aforementioned blog,
my documents with the various stories I'm currently working on,
and my various email accounts
to open, just takes too long. And I get so angry, I want to smash my precioussss white boxiesss until its microchipped brain provides me with the holy grail of computer use: instant response. My husband is on the case.
Breathe in, breathe out.
According to the Book of Nameslink here, my ideal name should be....Pamela. They must be joking! For my faithful readers (you too, ma), a challenge: go play the game and see what you're supposed to be called.
Pamela signing off.
my favourite gossip pages link,
my blog,
the GOB blog link,
any interesting links from the aforementioned blog,
my documents with the various stories I'm currently working on,
and my various email accounts
to open, just takes too long. And I get so angry, I want to smash my precioussss white boxiesss until its microchipped brain provides me with the holy grail of computer use: instant response. My husband is on the case.
Breathe in, breathe out.
According to the Book of Nameslink here, my ideal name should be....Pamela. They must be joking! For my faithful readers (you too, ma), a challenge: go play the game and see what you're supposed to be called.
Pamela signing off.
Tuesday, 16 January 2007
15 bytes of fame
I got mentioned in today's Grumpy Old Bookman blog link here and I feel as if I've just won my first Costa! Wow! Thank you!
Today I did supply in a Primary School. I am a secondary school teacher, but I was nervous as hell waiting for the kids to arrive. (I've taught classes with small children before, in case you think they're allowing defective teachers in schools, but I taught music, which I'm vastly confident of.)
A tiny maiden comes up to me, and says:
'Good day, Mrs WONG! I've never heard such a strange name before!' and she gives me a few heart-shaped stickers. Huh? The teaching assistant corrects the mistake: they were told the previous day that a Mrs Wong would be taking the class.
I taught them my name, first, and then writing, literacy, and numeracy. Learnt a lot in the process.
For literacy, they learnt about descriptive words, for example the big castle, and how to find settings in stories. None of the fairy tales they later had to analyse, however, had the settings in words (e.g. 'Once upon a time, in a field, there was an Ugly Duckling.'). It was either implied, or in pictures. I don't know if this really matters, but it bothered me.
Children are wonderful to teach - they are beyond sponges. They will soak up information and ideas with the greatest pleasure. I could've folded that square into six parts and told them the bits are called possums, and they would have learnt it, just like that. Which is also a scary thought. Do parents really know what their children are learning? I think I might be a painful parent one day.
Today I did supply in a Primary School. I am a secondary school teacher, but I was nervous as hell waiting for the kids to arrive. (I've taught classes with small children before, in case you think they're allowing defective teachers in schools, but I taught music, which I'm vastly confident of.)
A tiny maiden comes up to me, and says:
'Good day, Mrs WONG! I've never heard such a strange name before!' and she gives me a few heart-shaped stickers. Huh? The teaching assistant corrects the mistake: they were told the previous day that a Mrs Wong would be taking the class.
I taught them my name, first, and then writing, literacy, and numeracy. Learnt a lot in the process.
For literacy, they learnt about descriptive words, for example the big castle, and how to find settings in stories. None of the fairy tales they later had to analyse, however, had the settings in words (e.g. 'Once upon a time, in a field, there was an Ugly Duckling.'). It was either implied, or in pictures. I don't know if this really matters, but it bothered me.
Children are wonderful to teach - they are beyond sponges. They will soak up information and ideas with the greatest pleasure. I could've folded that square into six parts and told them the bits are called possums, and they would have learnt it, just like that. Which is also a scary thought. Do parents really know what their children are learning? I think I might be a painful parent one day.
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