Category: Personal Agenda, Book One

TUESDAY, 18 JULY 2000

Introduction

Lately four wicked constellations have positioned themselves above my planet: Loneliness, Bad Weather, Too Much Work and Too Little Money. Any of these constellations on their own can have a negative effect on my mind. But good weather or a good work schedule, or enough money to entertain myself usually compensate for the negative effects of whatever malady is plaguing me at that moment. Even if two or three of these constellations take position at the same time, one of the others’ opposite incarnations can still have somewhat of have a balancing effect. If, for instance, I am lonely, and the weather is bad, and I have too much work, it would help if I have enough money in the bank to spend on something that would make me feel better. But if all four factors cast their dark shadows over your doorstep at the same time, like your four most hated acquaintances simultaneously knocking on your door, well … then you’re in trouble.

The writing process

What method or process do I prefer when it comes to writing? I have identified three methods to which I have either given preference in the past, or that I currently prefer, or that I believe might be successful in the future, under certain circumstances.

One method is what I call the 1995 Method. Features include the luxury to be responsible for, and answerable to, no one; to get up when you wake up and to go to sleep when there’s nothing left to watch on TV. In other words, to have a routine that can be varied at any time, and to write when the desire strikes. (You can of course be more disciplined and write every day, even if the desire is not with you.)

The second method is the Johannesburg Method. It involves working full-time, to have what would appear to be a relatively conventional work, social, and domestic life, and to spend your evenings writing until midnight. This method may not produce as many aimless fragments you scribble on pieces of paper while you lie on your back, but precisely for this reason your writing may be more productive. You will focus on one main project, and perhaps one or two secondary projects. Problem is, your working days may fill you with such anguish that you sit around till midnight before you can get yourself so far as to look at a pen again, or to venture even close to a computer.

The third method is the one which I am using at the moment, namely the Taiwan Method. I work an average of four or five hours a day, earning a respectable income, and I have enough free time to spend behind my computer.

[…]

The other thing is that a writer is not a machine. Writers live and work in their own little worlds of needs, feelings, frustrations, small pleasures and fears. My little world is very unsatisfactory at the moment. I am alone. I am overweight and I don’t exercise enough. In short, I am not satisfied with what I see in the mirror or in the reflection of shop windows when I waddle past, and this is compounded by the total absence of intimate contact. Oh, and I believe I work too much. And I’m broke.

And the weather is terrible. It’s the worst when you take a nap in the afternoon, and you wake up with a sticky sweat clinging to your body. Then you look in the mirror, you see your forehead glimmering like a polished table top, and you know it’s not just from sweating but from all the fat that your body stores so feverishly. And your apartment doesn’t have enough windows for fresh air to flow in like fans at a rock concert. And while you’re staring at yourself in the mirror with all these thoughts dancing in a haze in front of you, you are reminded yet again: You’re alone.

A routine question

[…]

End

This brings us back to the real reason for this survey of where I am in my life right now: EXILE. The term has always referred to the belief that this is not my real life; that I am staying away from another place for an indefinite period until I am ready to return, after which my life can begin with all the fanfare it deserves. Perhaps it is significant that even in the extended blues in which I currently find myself, a lifting of my exile in the conventional sense does not get much attention.

The real exile in which I find myself at the moment is rather one of being on the outside of an environment where I would find my own value, where I will feel I belong and where I can dedicate myself to something. As was the case in Korea, it is about people. But the environment in which these significant others can be found doesn’t necessarily have borders, and are not necessarily defined in terms of geography.

* * *

Back to the immediate reality. Because I spent the last hour writing, I don’t have enough time before my next class to do my laundry. Which means I would have to spend another night between sheets that are affecting my health – and as it turns out, my morale.

And it’s still hot and humid, and the freakish sweat still clings to my overweight body. The fresh air is also still screeching to a halt outside my apartment, like someone who’s suddenly come across a dead ox. And I have to pinch my New Taiwan dollars. Until next week. Until the proverbial tomorrow comes.

The four constellations are hanging like low-budget movie decor over my planet, and unless a renegade army of comets storm headlong into them very soon, I’m still going be on this Planet of Exile tomorrow. Meanwhile I’d better keep the sweat of my soul, and do my laundry very soon. Because, as I always say, if everything goes wrong in your life but you’ve at least got clean underwear, all is not lost.

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SUNDAY, 19 MARCH 2000

The church

I get the feeling, when I look back over the last months I spent in Korea and what I wrote and believed then, that I am still missing the point. I said then I was idling, that I was waiting for the light to turn green. (I kept myself occupied with reading and watching videos. Now I just keep myself busy more productively.)

Last Friday my scooter’s brakes failed. It could have happened at any time during that morning, and in 80% of the cases it would have had serious consequences. But at the specific time and place where it happened, I was in virtually no danger. And since this was not the first time that something bad could have happened to me but didn’t, I wondered: Why?

That made me think again of the idea of a calling … or more specifically, the idea or feeling that I have some special calling, that there’s something that I have to do – a reason for being.

I sometimes spend the best hours of my days and nights thinking – about the world, about life, about the meaning of things, the meaning of my own life, the mystery of why I am like I am and why I do what I do, and why I’ve made the choices that have brought me where I am today. It’s like I’m a detective who’s constantly looking for clues, whether I am aware of it or not. Sometimes it’s just a word that gets stuck in my mind. Sometimes it’s a monologue at the end of a movie. Sometimes it is something that someone doesn’t say. Other times something happens, or I do something that has no apparent value, and there it is again – another clue, another part of the puzzle, as if I need to understand.

I have often daydreamed about my ideal life, and usually it starts with money – to be financially independent, to be able to do what I want to do, where I want to do it, for as long as I want to do it. Perhaps having more than enough money is an essential part of the process, so you can devote your daily life to whatever might be the reason you are still alive, without depending on others for the fulfilment of your daily needs and without being forced to degrade yourself to honouring petty conventions to be accepted by a particular community.

Still I wonder if this is as good as it gets. Or am I still waiting for a sign, a word to which I would respond that I now understand, to then dedicate the rest of my life to what I will see as my true calling?

All this implies belief in a Supreme Being. If you don’t believe in the existence of such a being … well, then it boils down to you keeping yourself occupied in such a way that you develop and maintain an awareness of well-being. And to think of other motivations for what you do – perhaps to be remembered when everything is over, or to have no regrets in your last minutes about what you did or did not do.

If you therefore believe in a reason for your existence, what would this reason be? And if you are not convinced of any specific reason for your existence, how does this affect your choices and outlook on life?

The woman

The woman had already been in several relationships. Yet, each time, the relationship ended because her eagerness to get married had alienated the man.

Then she met a new guy. She took it upon herself to do everything right this time. After a few dates she invited him to dinner, cooked his favourite food, and made sure the music was something he liked.

While they were having dinner, she let him talk about his life. She listened attentively and asked the right questions at the right moments. He also asked her about her work, her family, and her life in general. Her answers were thorough but brief, lest she accidentally bore him. When he told her he would like to live in Eastern Europe for a few months or a year, she expressed surprise. She added that she would also like to live in Paris, or Rome.

After dinner, they moved into the living room. She served coffee and pie. She apologised that the pie was not homemade (which it was), but she expressed the hope that it would taste all right. Then she took her shoes off and sat down on the couch opposite him. Her legs folded in on the cushions, one hand resting on her feet, she watched with disguised interest while he enjoyed his pie. After finishing off his second slice, she suggested they go to the movies, or maybe rent a video.

They decided on the video. She found it almost tiring in the video store to find out what he liked in order to suggest something in his taste rather than just agreeing to his choice.

Back at the apartment she said something about being cold and went to her room to change. The jeans and dark blue tracksuit top in which she appeared moments later made her look … homely, and warm. During the first movie, she sat on the armchair, and he was on the couch. They didn’t talk much, and she tried to appear relaxed every time he looked in her direction.

After the first video, she asked whether he wanted something to drink. He joined her in the kitchen. Ten minutes later he emerged with a tray full of cookies and hot chocolate. This time she sat next to him. Shortly after the beginning of the second video they became comfortable.

The man did not return home that night. In the bedroom, as the woman boasted to a friend a few days later, she was sensational. Where his imagination showed possibilities, she gave him free rein.

The next morning the man was happy, and thought to himself that he had met a “great woman”. She listened to him – “not like some other people” – and she was actually interested in his opinions. They had the same taste in movies, and they even liked the same food. And, as he later told one of his friends, she had no hang-ups in bed.

After a few weeks, he introduced her to his parents. Although his father took an immediate liking to her – she laughed at his jokes, his mother was not impressed. She told her son he must be careful lest the woman catch him for a sucker. He came to her defence and mentioned things like she also wanted to live abroad for a while – like him.

A few months later they were married, though his mother’s opinion of her did not improve much.

Six weeks after the honeymoon, he told her they shouldn’t get too comfortable in their new apartment. After all, they still want to go abroad, he reminded her – in such a way that it wouldn’t appear that he wanted to start an argument about it. She said she wasn’t sure; they’d have to see how things go. With that, she picked up a magazine and started browsing through it.

Then it hit him: this noose was going to pull a whole lot tighter.

The house

[…]

The hang-ups

I wasn’t even properly awake yesterday morning when I realised I still had the very same hang-ups as the previous night. It’s like when you go camping with a group of people. As soon as everyone wakes up in the morning, they recognise each other as the same people they were the previous day. So it is with my hang-ups. The moment my alarm goes off and I realise it’s not a nightmare or a sick joke, it’s as if someone also woke up my hang-ups. And what do you know! There they are – all in place, ready for another day’s service!

What am I talking about? What exactly is my problem? Mainly the fact that I think I don’t make an impression on people I meet. I always wish I can deliver a better performance – be a sporty guy for the sporting types, an amateur musician for the wannabe rock stars, an experienced traveller to the travellers, a capitalist for the capitalists, and a communist for the communists. I wish I knew more about more things, so I could join the discussion around more campfires. I wish I have experienced more than I have actually experienced, and have seen more than I’ve seen. I wish I could do more things, and in such a way that people would refer other people to me, or refer to me in their conversations.

Then everything changed. I thought, who are these people I want to impress so badly? Who are these people with whom I oppress myself so much? There are six billion people on this planet, thousands of cultures, millions of subcultures, countless numbers of back rooms and crannies and corners in dark and dimly lit corridors. There are basements and attic rooms; almost as many spaces as there are people. Why on earth do I oppress myself so much with a few people who in actual fact mean nothing to me?

Free yourself, one is almost tempted to say.

______________________

THURSDAY, 16 MARCH 2000

(Alternate title: Reasons to consider doing it)

1. I’m relatively healthy.

2. I have two girlfriends.

3. Neither of the two knows me.

4. I can afford peanut butter.

5. I have a computer.

6. I don’t work tomorrow.

7. I have three loads of laundry to do.

8. There are too many people.

9. Theoretically speaking, two people had to have had sex for each person on earth, which makes regular sexual intercourse between two people relatively normal.

10. I am abnormal.

11. I want to be a writer.

12. I have no inspiration.

13. I have a few ideas.

14. I want to be rich and live in Stellenbosch and eat breakfast at McDonald’s every morning.

15. I want a couple of prostitutes as friends, but I think my mother would mind.

16. My cigarettes burn out too quickly.

17. I can’t manage to win the third player on the TV tennis game.

18. It’s five to three on a Thursday morning, and I’m 28 years old.

19. The twentieth century is over.

20. I still want to go to Moscow to look at Vladimir Lenin.

21. I still want to spend a few days in Paris in the autumn with a beautiful woman.

22. Rodney Seale doesn’t choose my music anymore.

23. There’s always a possibility that I can hit the jackpot.

24. The chances are slim.

25. I’m getting fat.

26. Cheeseburgers, pizza, Pringles, and chocolates.

27. Perhaps life never gets any better than now.

______________________

SUNDAY, 20 FEBRUARY 2000

Tradition was a hallmark of the high school where I spent my teenage years. And as it befits a school priding themselves on tradition, photographs of six decades of first rugby teams hung in a place where every young boy would be confronted with the possibility of his own face against that same wall. Sometimes, if you were curious enough and you had time, you could pause for a few minutes at a photo to put names to faces. If one had this opportunity, you’d notice a strange term appearing here and there, among all the John Steyns and Louis Bothas: “Another One”. I could never figure out how it could happen that the names of these guys were somehow forgotten, for they must surely have had names! This notion that not everyone was remembered, stuck with me.

A person is born, and as time goes by, he begins to discover the world he lives in. He starts learning how things work, what he must do to survive, what he shouldn’t do to stay out of trouble, and what is generally expected of him. Eventually this person realizes that everyone is, to some degree, like him; as he is, to some extent, like everyone else. Everybody eats, wears clothes, brushes teeth, gets angry sometimes, laughs and speaks in languages that most people in the vicinity understand. He realizes if he wants to survive and stay out of trouble he should follow the example set by others. He should fit in with his surroundings. He must try to be like other people who are part of his world.

As life is, at some point he also becomes acquainted with the phenomenon that people die. He sees, and possibly experiences, the great grief: people crying, and an atmosphere that hangs over the house that he has never before encountered. This young person can certainly not be blamed if he thinks this is how things are going to be from now on – a member of the family has died, and no one will ever see him or her again. But, the weeks and months pass, and he realizes that his mother and father have again started laughing every time the dog does something funny, and the lawn still gets mowed every other Saturday. The life of this youngster also continues in a way similar to his life before the Big Event.

These occurrences make a deep impression on the young child: Someone who had always been there, was one day no longer there, and life continued.

The same thing might happen again – this time a grandmother or grandfather or an uncle or aunt, perhaps even someone who had been running around on the playground with him the other day. The same drama plays itself out again: people cry, whispered conversations, and the silence that muffles even the dog’s barking. But once again it does not escape the child’s attention that the adults still go to work every day and every evening the family still eats dinner – just like before.

The impression that people die and that the world continues without them – like a train that offloads passengers before continuing its journey – is entrenched in this youngster’s mind.

At this point, it’s only a matter of time before the child realizes that he, too, will someday not be here anymore. And as with all the others who have died, the world will also continue without him. Then, too, someone will read the news on TV, someone will crack a joke somewhere, and all the dogs in the neighbourhood will continue barking at anything that moves during the night.

As the child grows older, he’s also exposed to the names of people long dead, but for some reason remembered. In one community, it’s Abraham Lincoln or Martin Luther King, Jr.; in another, Elvis Presley or Marilyn Monroe; and in yet another part of the world, Bruce Lee or Mao Zedong. The child realizes that there are some people who didn’t just die to be forgotten after a while. He realizes some people do things during their lifetime that causes them to be remembered. They’re remembered in school books, in magazines, in newspapers and on TV. Perhaps they’re preached about Sunday in church. Someone might talk about them on TV or around a campfire. And he may read in a magazine how people still celebrate their favourite singer’s birthday decades after his death.

The child looks at himself and at those around him, and the time comes when he wonders where he fits into this Hierarchy of the Remembered. Will his face someday appear on stamps? Will people still remember his birthday, years after he had died? Will his name still be mentioned in the occasional conversation?

The average person knows he or she is important to a small group of people. They know the woman who reads the news on TV won’t shed any tears when they die, but their parents and siblings will certainly be sad for at least a few months. For some people that is enough – to know they will be remembered by a small but significant group of people. Others hope at least a few hundred people will one day pitch up at their farewell party. And then there are people who won’t lost any time thinking about these things, but whose funeral will bring an entire city – even an entire nation – to a standstill.

On one side of the spectrum, we have the man who was a capable leader, perhaps the hero of a political revolution, whose ideas will still be studied centuries after his physical demise. This man may have co-produced a few children who may have given him many grandchildren and great grandchildren. The man on this side of the spectrum may die at an old age surrounded by his large family. His ideas and his well-documented words and deeds will live on in institutions, libraries, and as part of people’s general knowledge. On the other side of the spectrum we have a man who had no brothers or sisters, he never married, never had any children and not many people called him a friend. He never wrote any books, never produced any musical hits, never built anything, and never designed or invented anything that would still be useful long after his death.

The one person’s name will live on. He will be remembered. The other guy will be remembered as … just another one. People would later refer to him as the one who worked in Capacity X in Office Y, or as the man who lived in the Red House. Ten years after his death not many people will still remember his name.

Many of us cherish a desire to be remembered for things that we value. But is this anything more than a quest to feel good about ourselves? Some would say it is precisely this desire that drives humans to do things never done before, or to accomplish something that requires a lot of hard work and dedication – something that will ultimately have value for more people than just a single individual wanting to feel good about him- or herself.

What is it that makes people seek recognition? Why do people hope to be remembered long after their seats on the train had become cold?

Whatever it is, it drives people forward. It drives them to break new ground, and sometimes to give hope when others need it most. It motivates people to acquire skills that put them in unique positions; to improve their own lives and perhaps also the lives of everyone around them, as well as those who will come after them. Unfortunately, this quest for recognition is also the fire that drives people to unleash wars, and to destroy rather than to build.

Let there be consensus: let those who deserve it, be rewarded with a postage stamp after their death, and let their birthdays be remembered. And let the names of those who seek fame in destructive ways (and in some tragic cases find it) be remembered as the result of the dark side that sometimes overwhelm the light.

Shall we say seeking recognition is a good thing then, as long as it produces a mostly positive legacy? To thus be remembered for a good contribution – whether a heroic deed or a life of devotion to a good cause.

Each one of us is ultimately confronted with questions: Where in this Hierarchy of Being Remembered do you fit in? Where do you want to fit in? And finally, for what do you want to be remembered?

______________________

SUNDAY, 6 FEBRUARY 2000

“What do you want to do with your life?”

“I want to write.”

“What do you need to spend most of your time writing?”

“A place of my own, a good computer, and a job that will force me to get fresh air from time to time and provide me with enough money to cover my expenses. It shouldn’t take up too much of my time, though. I’d say no more than three or four hours a day.”

“When and where exactly do you intend to make this life your own?”

“I’d say in two or three years’ time when I’ve paid off my student loans and when I can establish myself in the Western Cape, or somewhere along the coast.”

“Describe your current situation.”

“An apartment in a city in southern Taiwan. I have a TV and a VCR, a computer, a good radio, some music, books and so on. I’m only working about ten hours per week for the school I have a contract with, but I’m also teaching at other schools. Actually, I only need to teach three or four hours a day to fulfil my obligations and cover my basic expenses.”

“What would you say stimulates your creativity?”

“The times when I’ve written the most and produced the kind of material I have a preference for have been times when I was bored – when I not only had a few hours every day to think and write but days and weeks of doing whatever I wanted. Of course, those times were unfortunately also when I had the least amount of money, when I couldn’t even afford proper cigarettes.”

“So, you have the apartment, the computer, the small luxuries that make life comfortable, and your work situation is such that you can have a lot more free time if you were willing to take the risk of exchanging fewer of your hours per day for cash, while still earning enough to pay your debt each month and live fairly well. What prevents you from now leading the life you hope to make a reality in maybe two or three years’ time?”

“Well, those student loans and the fact that I want to pay them off first. And then I’d want enough money to establish myself somewhere.”

“I can’t argue that it’s important to pay off your debt, but this thing that you want to establish yourself first and only then get busy writing, you know what that sounds like to me? It sounds like someone who’s looking for an excuse to not take the leap required today to begin the life they dream of.

“Why would such a man look for an excuse to not already take steps today to start living his ideal life, even if it’s so clearly within his reach? I’ll tell you why: Because he’s afraid. He’s afraid he’ll fail. He’s afraid of finding out he can’t really be a writer. He’s afraid he might have to admit to himself that he’s fake, a pretender at the gates of the Society of Authors and Thinking People. He’s afraid to pull at these gates only to see his efforts thrown back in his face as too insignificant for serious consideration. That he’ll be asked to look elsewhere for a home. That he shouldn’t pretend to be what he can never be.

“He’s afraid of finding out he’s nothing more than just an ordinary guy. That he will ultimately have to find his way back to the ‘real world’ with his tail between his legs, where he’d have to get a ‘real job’ like everyone else. He is afraid if he takes the leap and commits himself to the life of a full-time writer, he may discover his faith in his abilities was nothing but an illusion.

“He’s afraid he will realise that everything he’s always hoped he was, and what he can do and accomplish in life, is beyond his reach. That he overestimated himself. And if he fails in this grand ideal, he’ll have to admit that without his illusions he is so much less than he always hoped he would be.

So now he procrastinates. ‘Tomorrow,’ he says. ‘In two or three years when I can establish myself somewhere,’ he says.

“But what if he takes risks – like exchanging fewer of his hours for cash and spending more time writing every day, and he discovers there is substance, that his hope was not built on illusions? What if he discovers he not only finds the realisation of this ambition enjoyable and fulfilling, but that the financial risks he would take now may bring financial rewards on the long-term? Will he not then commemorate the day when he also finally said, ‘Tomorrow is too late for me’?

“What if this man … what have you got to lose but any illusions you may have? And don’t you have so much more to gain if you take this risk?

“I don’t have to tell you life is precious, and sometimes much shorter than you expected. That you have to exploit opportunities, like the situation in which you find yourself now. That you’re still relatively young, and if you have illusions about yourself to lose, you will only be a better person without them.”

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