I graduated last year. Worked as a community service officer for the Department of Health in a little town called Ladysmith. I thought the year would never end but it sped by faster then I could imagine.

 

  Now, I'm faced with reality and having to JOB HUNT. In all my 23 years, I've never been required to submit my CV for anything, everything was planned and the plans were executed with no hestitation. Lately, my life has been full of those. "What are you doing next year?", "Where are you working next year?", "Have you found a job for next year?". Frankly, next year is in exactly 30 days and I'm still clueless.

 

  Thought about ways to postpone the inevitable. Going off to New Zealand and working odd jobs for 6 months sounds like a good plan. Pick cherries and herd sheep?

I just have no idea what I want to do and where I want to go. There just seems like so many things I want to do and accomplish before I get tied down with a career. Wow, that is a big word 'CAREER'. So intimidating and daunting.

 

  Now, I just need to go off and discover other ways I can drag out my eventual suffering...

I had always pictured that my first holiday with Jeff would be something fun and unforgettable. I only got it 50% right.

 

  On our long winding drive down to Durban (the premier holiday city in South Africa), we caught the words “…giant waves… hurricane…flooded coastline…” through the static. I started getting frantic. Would we be so unlucky that a hurricane was due to hit Durban the first time we go on a holiday? What doom! As it turned out, after listening to the entire news broadcast, Durban had been hit by some freak giant waves earlier during the day and almost the entire coastline of the province was closed as there was flooding. Many properties and infrastructure right along the coast had been damaged by the sudden increase in water levels. Giant waves but no hurricane? I could do with that.

 

  The first sighting of the beach was somewhat surreal. I had been there just two weeks earlier and saw nothing but bright sunshine and alluring beaches. This time, the wind was humid and the waves were crashing onto the edge of the beach. The entire beach as far as my eye could see had been closed off the public and there were police patrolling to re-inforce the occasional curious bystander who wandered just a bit too close the action. After checking into our very expensive beachfront hotel, we could see that the waves were battering the entire coast and almost engulfing the piers erected on the popular beachfront. Just my luck. Durban was flooding and I’m here on holiday.

 

  We wandered over to the much publicized Ushaka Marine World. To the outside world, it is ‘One the TEN biggest aquariums in the world with top class restaurants and a water resort right on the beachfront’. To the locals, it’s just an over-priced beachfront location to suck money off the fat tourists. I just had to see it. The water along the beachfront at Ushaka was calm and there were scores of surf-bums on their boards exploring the mellow waves, dude. I was just worried if my sunblock really does have UV filter against the rays. Being a typical Asian tourist, I was more concerned about getting great pictures rather then enjoying the waves. After I decided I needed to re-apply another layer of sunblock, we left Ushaka for the ultimate holiday town – Umhlanga Rocks.

 

  Umhlanga is what would have been a quiet little resort town if not for the greedy roving eye of the property developer. It’s a little spot just north of the plush suburbs of Durban North with a highly impacted presence of three to five star hotels which would cost the average Alec almost an entire month’s salary for a whiff of the filter coffee. With names such as ‘The Oyster Box’ and ‘Beverly Hills Hotel’, Umhlanga is out for blood but all in all, it still has a rocking beach. Well, it had a rocking beach until the freak waves hit. The last glimpse of Umhlanga I caught was on being engulfed by the Indian Ocean, beachside cafés included. The entire beach was being washed by giant waves - so much for the romantic sunset stroll along the waterfront with gentle waves lapping gently at my feet. We, along with other downtrodden holiday makers stood behind the red tape put up by the coast authorities and gazed at the mesmerizing waves which seemed to take away our holiday dreams piece by piece as it hit against the broadwalk. With spirits and body dampened, we left Umhlanga and Durban behind us. The only positive aspect of the entire trip was actually being part of the history. We witnessed the day that Durban beachfront got washed away, including the dockside restaurant we had planned to celebrate out time together.

It’s been a while since I wrote. Actually, it’s been a really long while. I blame the hiatus on pure sloth and the lack of excitement to persuade to put finger to keyboard. Well, it took one blown geyser and a collapsed ceiling to stimulate me enough.

 

  I got home and heard water running so I went to investigate. The sound of running water actually came from my room. Can you imagine? I got home from a day down at the coast to being soaked ankle deep in my own bedroom. Apparently, the ticking noise I have been hearing these past few nights wasn’t from some rat or bird in the ceiling, it was the warning before the flood. The flooding of my room. The burst geyser was right about my room. Jolly. I spent the following hours trying to locate the main tap situated in a one meter thicket of bamboo as well as bailing out the water by the bucket load. I landed watering half the garden…

 

  The following morning, the ‘Mr Plumber’ came to my rescue…or not. The had been here less then an hour before I heard a tremendous crash from my room. The whole ceiling had collapsed, along with the opening in the roof, I could see the sky. They had opened up a sky-light in my room. Great for tanning! My room was filthy. All the dirt and dust that had accumulated in between the roof and ceiling had now found its way onto my already soaked carpet. Double jolly…

 

  Two days and scores of workmen later, the carpets were cleaned, walls were scrubbed and the new heater refitted bu the surprises didn't end there...the house, I've been informed, apparently has a termite problem. Just seems like the butterfly effect never ends! 

  "How much is this?"

  "Sixty dolars."

  "I'll give you forty." Sounding confident.

  "FORTY DOLLARS? No. I'll give it to you for fifty."

  "FIFTY? For this? I don't think so, I don't really like it that much..."

 

  And so the tug of wear goes on. The art of bargaining is an innate ability by everyone with warm Asian blood flowing through their veins. Rules such as "thou shalt not accept the initial given price by the vendor" is our eleventh commandment.

 

  There is no doubt an 'art' to bargaining. One walks into the area the vendor has camped out for the day and has to non-chalantly browse through the items on display. If one is interested in a specific item, one must never show implicit interest but rather a look of disdain, almost like a this-is-not-really-what-I-want-but-I-suppose-this-object-will-make-do-in-the-meanwhile face. The real talent behind is pulling the face off without looking like you're acting. Never have the sparkle in your eye because you may as well have a red siren on your forehead. Vendors are not called "hawkers" for not reason, their eyesight and instict of your weakness can be matched to that of a hawk.

 

  Be ruthless when you give the opening pirce. Think of it as an auction where one satrts off low and works upwards towards an agreeable price by either parties. This is similar. Start low and teh battle of will will begin. The stronger and more determined person may not always exit victoriously. Some vendors are just not to be bargained with. Some will probably call on the local gangster to retrieve your knee caps and some will simply ignore your ludicrous existence and continue with business as usual.

 

  Bargaining is all about instinct, reading body language and communication. If you're thinking about embarrasment, bargaining is not for you, you may as well just walk to the local stores and pay double because no one is going to give you anything less than that!

I've been facing a bit of a dilemma lately. I think most 'natural' girls also have a simialr problem. How does one manage a cleavage without underwire?

 

  I have a social even coming up soon. It's one of those "black tie" events where you're expected to show skin and be classy. Showing sking tastefully is so hard because the fine line right adjacent to it is trashy.

 

  There's two outfits I have in mind. One is more conservative, all black, very classy but slightly boring, it's wraps loosely so no one can tell the boobs to my waist, it's just straight cut down. The second is quite showy and I'm not even sure if it's too trashy. The worst thing is, it permits not hidden boost and support by the comfort of my wonderbra, I have to go "au natural" and bra-less which inherently leaves me looking like a 13 year old. I'm not a complete washboard, there are slight humps but no where near a decent cleavage without cheating! I think I'll just have to accept that if Paris Hilton (as annoying as she is) can walk tall and proud without her support, I can accept mine too!

 

 It’s been hours since we last spoke and already, the air feels colder without you here. You took the warmth with you and left me here with memories and hope. Every time when I think of you, I habitually pick up my phone. I don’t really know why, perhaps I’m just hoping to see a message from you or just calling you to hear your voice. You have become part of my existence so much that I cannot find the direction in which I’m heading. I need you. I need to know you here. I need to be part of your life as you are part of mine. When I’m with you, I forget to have any inhibitions, I just want to do everything and say everything because I know that you understand. I know you won’t judge me. You see through my mask and you accept the person hiding behind it. I just can’t wait until we can share the same breath and laughter. They say “distance makes the heart grow fonder”, I say “distance makes me want time to pass faster”. I wait with baited breath until I can see you familiar face, for then, will I truly know where home is.

 I hate responsibility. I hate having to sort out my own life, like bank accounts for example. I hate it, hate it, hate them all.

 

  Having recently graduated from university, I am facing the responsibility of running my own life. Previously, my mother did everything for me for example, made sure I have life insurance, a hospital plan, a savings account and investment account. I didn’t have to worry or know about anything. Until now.

 

  One may think I am a total idiot, perhaps I am but hear me out. In high school, the only “finance” I came close to was taking up 2 weeks of business economics before dropping it for technical drawing and industrial arts in grade 8. From grade 10, I took all medically orientated subjects such as biology and science which helped me during the application for university. I then went on to university and studied 5 years of dentistry and now, I am qualified now but not knowing a sod about the real world. I only found out the difference between a credit and debit account at the age of 21. Don’t get me started on taxes, I’ll be done in 10s flat with my knowledge.

 

Now that I’ve graduated, I need to figure out how to activate my savings account because, according to the idiots at the bank, which entails me making a deposit ONLY. No withdrawals, only a deposit because for some security reason, I could be robbing…myself! Now, wouldn’t that be a disaster? One argument and 4 queues later, I finally get my account activated. Only to find out I have a daily withdrawal limit of R300. R300?!?! I’m getting ripped off here! The ludicrous amount I am paying to withdraw MY money will probably exceed my savings at the rate R300 goes in today’s society! Oh, I forgot to add, this place of devil worship has terrible service too. I don’t know what constitution they follow to only be polite to geriatric customers who do not benefit society.

 

Filling in official forms is tough as nails too. I just read through 9 pages of fine print for official documents to just get myself insured for disability and life cover. I can understand why they want to know my HIV status but my height as well? Am I going to be denied benefits or claims for only being slightly taller then a hobbit? I swear the questions in the forms are only directed at people with a business major or an actuary.

 

  I’m still jobless for next year too. Well, jobless in the sense that I have no clinic that has accepted my application for community service. Out of 200 or so dentists graduating at the end of the year, I am in the 3 or 4 % who has not been placed for a post next year.

 

So my story so far is: I am jobless, penniless and bitterly hateful.

  I recently having found myself, after 17 years of education, out on the streets of academia with no goals to reach. Sad isn’t it, I finally graduate after all the years of sweating and wondering what I’m going to do with myself for the next year. Sure, I’ll be employed officially for the first time ever, with that comes responsibility, a salary and a helluva lot of free time on my hands. And now what?

 

  In hope of bettering myself, I have decided to do a short 12 months course through correspondence. The picture looks pretty decent in my head. I have a job, do a little part time course and I emerge as a winner in the end. The ‘million dollar question” is, what will I study?

 

  I’m looking for something easy so I would not have to commit too much of my free time into this little pilot project of mine. I went browsing through 3 big names in distant learning in SA and only one website proved fruitful, well, to my needs anyway. To my delight, I found 21 courses I’m interested in. Each course will take an average of 12 months so simple maths would land me up on 21 years if I study them all. Unlucky for me, I plan to be a rich old spinster in 21 years time so chosing all 21 is  undoubtedly out of the question.

 

  Here are some of my more interesting choices (listing all 21 will be a bore):

-Cellphone Repair: The idea of repairing my own cell phone is tantalising except that most phones offer 1-2 year warrantees and my contract lasts for 2 years so spending R4 519 to study 12 months to fix my phone… not a clever choice

-Auto Body Repair: Everytime I dinge my cute little car, I can bang it back into shape. This brings more comfort and security into driving BUT I’m positive there must be laws that govern insurance companies to generally disapprove of my idea.

-Make-up Artist: I thought if I can get a license to fix peoples teeth (I just qualified as a dentist by the way), taking them one step further and improving their entire face would be a bonus. Can you imagine the sign on my door then.? “Dr XYZ, BDS (Wits), Make-Up Artist(Intec College). Sounds rather silly doesn’t it?

 

   As one can see, I’m very much spoilt for choice. I suppose I have to think back and think of a mature and responsible way to pick a course I would like to start next year. In the meanwhile, I think I’ll enjoy being a silly little girl by picturing myself as a cell-phone fixing, panelbeating make-up artist.

  Have you ever been in a point in your life where nothing really interests you? I think I'm there. My life is as boring as a cup of skinny decaf coffee. What is the point of having it if all the fun has been taken out of it?

 

  I have been a "student" ever since I could remember. Life is about getting to class on monday and longing for firdays. Currently, I'm in my final year at university. Don't misunderstand this as arrogance but there really isn't much for me to learn anymore. The only aim in my life now is to recap and material and write tests. My relationship is so stable I've only ever fought once with him in the last year we've been together. My home homelife is even more mundane. I just follow the same routine, over and over. Nothing ever changes, even items in my wardrobe, the only changes are the occasion additions.

 

  Just to make you see how desperately boring I am, I've been sleeping on the same sheets for the last years (they get washed ofcourse!). My favourite shoes are still my 2 and half year old denim converse sneakers. For a female, that's bloody pathetic. Hai...I really need fresh air...

 

  I need some new changes in my life, if anyone has any hints on how to spice up life, please don't hesitate to offer advice!

 So, sushi is just fish and rice, right? Right?

 

 I thought so. I mean, how hard can making cute little sushi pieces be if it doesn’t even heat? Ok, may the rice but everyone knows how to cook rice!

 

  A week ago, I foolishly agreed to Jeff’s request of making sushi for him. Sure. I pictured seaweed, rice and raw fish. How hard could that be? I didn’t even need to physically “cook” anything. To those who are nodding in agreement – WRONG. It is SO not just seaweed, rice and raw fish.

 

  Here are a few pointers how NOT to make sushi (since I didn’t manage to succeed in actually producing anything acceptable, I find it my duty to warn the public if they’re thinking along the same lines as I was.)

1.      Normal rice, whether it be Thai, Australian or whatever you normally eat is not the rice! There is special sushi rice, or so I’m told.

2.      The rice can’t be used straight from the steamer, it has to be cooled considerably before you try to make in into pretty shapes otherwise it just sticks to your fingers.

3.      When it does stick to your fingers, try using cooking oil to grease your hands.

4.      Normal vinegar just doesn’t taste right with the rice (I didn’t even know there was vinegar in the rice until my best friend laughed at me).

5.      Black vinegar stains the rice (duh) and makes the rice look ugly.

6.      Make sure you have the right fish, I almost brought oak-smoked salmon from Woolworths.

7.      Make sure the person you’re making the sushi for actually eats raw salmon because it’s very expensive.

 

The last point is actually the whole moral of the story. I spent almost the whole afternoon making prawn and salmon sushi only to have Jeff throw up the first salmon piece he tried. He thought it tasted too “fishy” so I landed up eating the salmon off the rice because I was so full whilst he sat and drank the miso soup he tried to make.  That meant that I should've just started off the meal with sashimi instead of trying to be clever!

 

  Happy sushi making!

 

  I met a very dear and very old friend online today. He's in Taiwan looking after his mother and brother who are unwell. I don't know how to encourage him and help him through a time like this.

 

  When a friend is in need, the usual instinct is for one to reach out and give aid as much as one can. But I can't do anything. The only thing that I've been trying to do is cheer him up. This must be not nearly enough for all that he's going through. Watching things most cherised slip from sight must be the most painful thing.

 

  I often feel that life is unfair to him. Most people my age are having the time of their lives. We worry about trivial things like cash, fashion, relationships, jobs, sex and a whole lot of other mundane things. Why should he have to endure the threats of life and death and the burden of responsiblity way before his time? Why was he forced to grow up much faster then most people when everyone one else he knows?

 

  I don't understand. I don't see why he has to go through so much tribulation before the road becomes unobstructed.  Why can't life be easier on him and let him be normal and carefree like most of his friends?

Heard this joke on 5Fm yesterday:

 

 " If you light a fire for a man, he will be warm for a day

  If you set a man on fire, he will be warm for the rest of his life"

 

I thought it was so funny I nearly hit a pedestrian...

 “What type of skin do you have?” She asks.

  “Er, combination I guess, I have to classic T-zone oily patch,” I reply.

  “Ok, I know the perfect colour for your complexion, just give me a second…” She runs off somewhere. I’m dumbstruck and more awkward then Mr Price shoes in a LV shop. People standing behind cosmetic counters always gave me the feeling that they were looking at me as if I walked through their white carpeted floors with muddy shoes.

 

  Fifteen minutes later, I am still in the shop except now, I have the most horrendous shades of orange blotted so thick on my face, my pores were almost blue from the sudden oxygen depletion. The colours blended in so badly, I didn’t need mud painted on my face for that ‘military’ look.

 

  “I want something that looks like my skin colour and won’t leave me looking like a dipped my face in flour,” I begged.

  “Ofcourse! That is exactly what foundation should be like, look at me, you can’t even tell I’ve got make-up on!”

At that exact point in time, I was genuinely confused. Was she seriously being serious or was that sarcasm at it’s best? Who was she kidding? Has anyone met a cosmetics salesperson who didn’t look like a relative of Pieter Dirk Uys or a part-timer at the Rocky Horror show?

 

  Two hours later, I finally emerged with a package from a store. I didn’t look at the price (for fear of arrythmias) and I didn’t look at the type of foundation I brought. I later opened it at the lunch table. “Anti-aging foundation for fine lines and wrinkles”.

At the age of 22, I have sworn to dislike any cosmetic representative for my lifetime.

 

    14 July may seem like a normal day for most people, somewhere in Johannesburg, a 26 year old male made the conscious choice to change his life that day.

 

  Today, exactly a week after this mans episode, was the first time I ever saw a gunshot wound in theatre. I was directed to scrub in by our maxillo-facial registrar. The stench was overwhelming. The rancid smell was coming from the necrotic tissues left by the bullet as it travelled through the soft tissue. The man’s face was so swollen and destroyed he could not open his eyes and the bridge of his nose could not even be detected. It was mortifying.

 

  The registrar told me that the man requested that his child not see him in the state that he was in. If his original intention was to kill himself, how does that compare to his child seeing him in that state? How does a man with a child decide to forsake everything and attempt a foiled suicide?

 

  I was torn between feelings of pity and contempt towards this man. The public always blame medical practitioners for being judgemental and are always holding the Hypcratic Oath against us. If all patients are different, come in with different conditions, why should and how should a practitioner be expected to refrain from being human and prejudice? I certain felt it was unfair that this man was taking up so much state hospital time for his failure, even in his own suicide, whilst there are patients who really WANT to live.

 

  There is a common joke amongst surgeons to start suicide technique courses for the people attempting to most of them would land up not botching the single most important attempt of their lives. I agree. If you want to “off” yourself, don’t literally go out with a “bang”, think about the poor people that have to scrub the congealed blood stains off the carpet! Stain removal detergents aren’t exactly cheap! Before I say a bit too much and start sounding insensitive, I shall leave the topic at that.

  Are you in a relationship? Good, I believe that's healthy. If you are, "The Breakup" is a great new movie to check out.

 

  Come one ladies,  get his sinking ass off the comfortable chair in front of the computer and get him into the cinema! I believe that it's a must see for any couple. It will get the guys thinking (for once) and learn to appreciate you more!

 

  Another Sunday has gone. The weekend just stolen from underneath my nose. Time is so unfair, so much is allocated to when we're bored and so little when we're actually enjoying ourselves. Monday will come and maliciously persist in first gear until it drains all the energy we thought we built up during the weekend.

 

  Each minute that slips by brings me closer to my test on friday. I had originally planned to study at least 3 hours a  day during my 2 week holiday but I blame it on FIFA and Warcraft. Two very lethally addictive activities one should never start, hence the well chosen words "originally planned"...

 

   Tick tick tick... The quicker time flies, the more I should know before Friday. Understandably, that is not the reality here

 

  I always project on Friday, all starry-eyed, what I want to do during the weekend. Normally, it would entail hours of studying and fun, eventually it just adds up to hours of television and sleep. I always give Jeff the excuse that I can't see him because I need to study but in truth, I procrastinate more than I do anytrhing constructive.

 

  I wonder what's on tv tonight? Or maybe I should study? Tough decision.

 

  Tick tick tick...