It’s been a rough couple of weeks. Weeks where nothing seems
to work out. I wake up tired and by noon I wish I can crawl in under the bed.
I took a big risk a couple of weeks back. Something that can
either turn out amazing or that can ruin me. I’ve been thinking about it 24/7.
I wake up at 4 in the morning, shivering from fear. I did my research and still
feel like I’m not ready for it. I feel young, unprepared and scared. Very
scared.
A couple of nights back I took a friend to his new hostel
and spend a couple of hours chatting while looking out over the city, having a
beer.
I loved the industrial feel of the hostel with a huge couch
in the one corner, the original fittings, the raw brick walls and the concrete
floors. Turns out it was a printing press during the Apartheid years. I found
out as I read the posters on the wall. In the 1960’s blacks were gathering,
writing and distributing their dream: the news a free world they imagined. It’s now a youth hostel.
Unwrapping my own fear, my own feeling of inadequacy and
nothingness I spend time with three foreigners.
Some of them spend longer in SA than others. Some saw the
Kruger, the Drakensberg and Durban. All of them saw the fairest Cape. None of
them saw Kakamas or Montagu – my favourites. And some were planning to go see
Soweto. Whatever their itinerary consists of, they all agreed to come back.
They described it as vibrant, so much to learn and
experience. They liked how eager people are. Eager to show them around, eager
for them to experience the rainbow nation. Interesting stories to hear and
little corners to explore. Oh, and beautiful blue skies.
Perhaps, they feel about this place I call home, like I do
about India: I will spend my life going back to try and understand it.
Perspective, for my own very confusing life, comes in the
most unlikely places. At that
moment I felt better. It was just
what I needed. With good conversation, a bit of gratitude from strangers for this new country and
the city skyline at night.
