As a Jewish person, you’re most likely in shul on Yom Kippur, which is considered to the be the day that you pray. The holiest of days. You are to fast for about 25 hours, with no food or drink, and spend most of it in shul, atoning for your sins – It’s in these 8 days between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur where G-d decides who lives, and who dies. I always end up thinking a lot during this day. I reflect upon a lot. It’s a good time for thinking too, but the only problem is, I can’t pull out my phone, or a piece of paper, and start making notes like I’d normally like to do. But this is also positive, it’s a time to let everything go and concentrate on the religious aspects that we so often forget about.

I love religion and faith, and I repeatedly tell myself to try be more religious, to go to shul more, to keep learning, but life doesn’t get simpler, and I’m always getting busier and busier. But again today, as I’ve done every year, I try tell myself to go more, to be more active – After all, it is my heritage.

The Rabbi gave a little talk before he started the service yesterday evening about letting fear go before it takes over. It always seems so easy when it comes from the über faithful. I hope to just try a little bit more this year.

Religion affects people differently, and some people just don’t get it. Also, I will not try push my religion onto you, so I would appreciate it if you did the same for me. There is no right or wrong answer. I have my belief that my religion is what it is, and I am happy with that. There is no point arguing about it. My point is to have faith, to keep it close. It’s not whether it’s really there or not, we have no way to prove it, but it’s the belief that something is, and it’s that belief that sometimes helps us with issues that we come across.

This year was the first year I wasn’t in shul for two days on Rosh Hashana. The fact that I was best-man at a wedding was kind of a big thing for me. So all I got was first day morning service, and it was a bit disappointing. But listening to the Shofar blowing at the end of this years Yom Kippur was pretty amazing. It’s kind of hard to explain, but the way you feel at that point is weightless, with no worries. The fact that I hadn’t eaten or drank anything for 25 hours meant nothing. The Rabbi’s talk at the beginning of Yom Kippur must have hit a spot. All worries and fear dissipated. It’s a feeling you can only get here.

I spent this Yom Kippur in Hermanus again, in a small community, which makes the whole family feeling more apparent. That is exactly what Judaism is so often about. For me, religion means a lot. It signifies my heritage and my person. It brings our family together, and just holds that little bit more. It’s not a religion you can explain with ease, nor is it the most simple, but it makes me, and others, happy. You don’t need to force it to have faith, but just that little bit might make a difference…

Shana Tova, I hope the fast was good, and I expect that the following year brings only hope and happiness.

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I was teased in late primary school of being gay.  It stemmed from a stupid joke that got out of hand.  It was somewhat tough to deal with, but I wouldn’t put it down to a life changing incident that has turned me into a serial killer.  That was caused by something completely different.  But I digress…  I love women, and no, I’m not a womaniser.  My friends will confirm that if you have your doubt, but it’s true.  I have a huge amount of respect for women, after all, it’s women that do that thing I like so much.  But, I’m not ashamed to admit, that I am a bit of a girl.

So here I have compiled a list of reasons why I am a girl.  Some of you will already know these, and some of you may be shocked and never look at me the same again:

• I’m overly sensitive.  I tend to let things affect me way too much.  I over-think them and let them stress me out.  I should care less – Like a boy.
• I like hair.  Obviously, not my own.  But I notice when someone has done something differently.  Like other girls.
• I can sleep in a bed with a person of the opposite sex (or the same depending on which way you look at it), and not do anything I shouldn’t. (Even though I might be thinking it).
• I have 3 different types of face wash, each for a different task.  I only use one type of shampoo and soap.  I use moisturiser and well as concealer.
• I own more than 5 pairs of shoes.  And I’m picky about the ones I wear.
• I have a box of sentimental things that I’ve collected over the years.  I will always have it and I will never ever get rid of it’s contents.
• I’ve been known to gossip.
• My music tastes could be considered female.
• Like a lot of guys, I’ve dressed up in drag, but I went the whole 9 yards.  Stockings, make up, wig, etc.  Check out the pic. Scary stuff.
• Apparently, I squeal.  I have no proof of this, and simply play the “hearsay” card.
• I take longer than some real girls to get ready.  It’s a process, you know.
• I probably take longer than most females to do my hair.  Do you think it looks like this when I wake up?!
• I’m very comfortable with matters of the heart, whether it’s my heart or someone else’s.  I’m able to talk, or write, it out so that someone ends up feeling better.  And in connection with that, I’m a good listener. The kind that will give good advice.  The girl kind.

Now, while you might be thinking I’m truly female, I’ve countered the list with reasons about why I’m a boy.  And a good one at that.

• I play a large amount of sports.  And while this can be said about some women, I watch it too.  And I am able to understand all of them.  I can explain the offside rule in both rugby and football.  I am also an official cricket umpire, so I know how LBW works.
• As I’ve said before, I love women, and while I’ve already proven I’m really a boy, therefore, I can not be a lesbian.
• I smell good. Man-good.  Try me.
• I wear all my pairs of shoes.  Until they can’t be worn any more.
• I love my hands, and you will too.
• I know what torque is, and no, it’s not something you do at book club.  I also know what under- and over-steer are.
• I read books that involve blood and murder and sex, and not those that are centred around a lady looking for her husband that left her for a tranny.  (Although, that would make for entertaining reading, but you get my point).
• I own a BB gun.
• I like my boy bits.
• I’m childish.  I play games all the time.  People get annoyed with me because of it, but boys never grow up.
• I drive fast just because I can.
• I love bugs.  As long as they don’t fly, and they should have 8 legs.
• I can go out after just waking up and not worry about make-up.
• I can have a phone conversation in 30 seconds, and have the topic resolved in that time.
• I know where North is, and I can direct someone there, when necessary.  I can read a map book.

I think I’ve gone on enough, but you see my point.  Even though I might have all the girl aspects, I have the boy parts there to even-out everything quite nicely.  I’m pretty sure you all have your own opposite sex insides, so just embrace them.   Besides, this balance I have is me, and I’m quite happy with me.

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Sight

Sight is an amazing gift.  Those who have it, never realise what a gift it really is.  Those that long for it will never see the magical things we do.  I am fortunate to still have my vision, albeit not perfect.  Visual triggers are the easiest and most common to remind you of something.  It might be a a photograph you have up that you refuse to take down, or a letter from her, written years ago, that you stumble across by accident.  Those words strung together to tell you of things from what seems a lifetime ago.  The beautiful mountain in Cape Town is a monument of memory for people.  It’s where they’ve grown up, or gone to study, or gone to live, but it’s the first thing they miss about this possessing city.

Hearing

Hearing is simple.  We have it on when we wake up, and it tunes down while we sleep.  I miss the sound of crickets and birds.  You don’t really hear the vast array of wild life living in the suburbs of Cape Town.  I miss the sounds of thunder bringing in heavy rain.  I miss the sound of that heavy rain.  But as soon as there’s a storm, that sound of the rain smashing into the ground is hypnotising because it is so familiar.   More to the point, music plays a large note in this.  It plays such a huge role in our lives.   Close your eyes, and listen to the symphony, as it draws a story in your mind that only you can understand.  Years after an incident, a song will play and take you right back to that place, whether is good or bad.   You can be in the happiest mood, but let an old love song play, that signified everything that you and the ex were, and your world comes crashing right down in an instant.  (Stressing the point: Don’t let it play!)

Touch

To be able to feel is strange.  All those thousands of nerve endings, all over your body, communicating with your brain to tell you if it feels good or not.  You know not to touch a hot stove, because if you do, it will burn the shit out of your hand.  But you also know to hold hands, because that makes you feel things you didn’t know you could.  It’s strange.  You can touch a million hands, but there might be only one that makes you feel while you feel.  Or, it might be someone else doing the touching that let’s your skin feel.  Your eyes closed as he kisses your neck, or her soft hands on your chest as you kiss her.  The right touch may be hard to find, but once you have it, it is easy to recreate.

Taste

Your tongue has more use than just providing pleasure.  There are 4 or so different parts of the tongue that cause you to taste different things.  You might like the bitter best, or perhaps sweet is your personal cliché, whatever it is, this is probably the least significant memory trigger of all.  Many smokers lose a large chunk of their sense of taste.  When my father quit smoking, he couldn’t believe how good food tasted.  Close your eyes and let her feed you delicacies, of food and the body, and they will be more telling than you know.  You know what you like, and you know how to get that taste, keeping it is always hard.

Smell

Smell is amazing. I love smells.  Smells are so significant; you can place them every time.  I love being able to identify a rose or a roast.  Smell is my personal favourite.  A girl can walk passed me, but it’s her scent that will captivate me more than anything else about her.  For those of you that know, rain on dry sand, or a hot road, is one of the best smells your will ever experience. The ocean in a small town along the coast has such a significant smell that always reminds me of my childhood.  My grandmother’s house has a smell it’s always had.  It’s certainly not “old-women” and it is my favourite smell.  Nothing will ever compare to it.  I remember getting mail from her, and the paper smelling like her home.  It is still my most favourite place in the whole wide world to be.  Every now and then, something will be very similar and I take it in for that instant, before it’s gone again.  That is the problem with smell, you can’t recreate is, and to an even wose extent, you can’t really preserve it either.  (I really suggest you go see a film called “Perfume” that was out a couple of years ago. Very arty, but amazing.)

Love

Now, I have added my own sense here.  For anyone that is, or has ever been in love will know that you can not describe it in any rational and logical way.  Like the other senses, which you can’t really describe, you simply know.  It makes you do things that you think are perfectly fine and normal, but anyone else looking in on it will see you as mad.   Love is the one sense that all the others combine to help create, and the one that will be most affected by the others when it is no longer in one piece.

The senses/memory combination is amazing and special and confusing and magical all at the same time.  Sometimes, more often than not, we take them for granted.  I’ve recently put up hundreds of photographs from all parts of my life to let me keep remembering.  There are current music playlists that have all the new songs of the moment, but always include older memories to help me reminisce.  Don’t lose track of your valuable memories, and preserve your senses while you still have them.  They are all so equally important to keep a tribute to your life.  Let your senses remember all those people I mentioned before, and let them remind you that they made you who you are today.

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Stress plays such a huge role in it.  I don’t think people realise how badly, but in 2006, my entire head changed. It was a very stressful year and it clearly showed.  2005 – hair, 2006 – no hair.  It’s weird though, you turn 18 and your hair on your head starts behaving bizarrely.  You hit 24, and the new “style” has set in and the lack of hair on your head starts sprouting in other places you always hoped it wouldn’t. Your nose (and in some cases, ears), must be jealous of your face.  Your chest becomes a lovely persian rug, and soon your stomach adds an extension.  And, in possibly the worst turn of luck, this extension crawls it’s way round to the back.  But like I said, I have no problem with balding.

I do, however, have a problem with maintaining the way it looks. If i just let it do it’s own thing, the sides grow faster than the top, and then I end up looking like a fricking clown. Not ideal. Cutting the sides occasionally let’s the top grow. Which takes about 17 years before there’s anything there, and even then it’s looks strange. So I took the initiative – I bought a set of head clippers -  and I now shave it once a week with no level setting on it. I guess that means #0?  Anyway, I don’t like shaving my face with a razor either, I hardly ever do, so I do the face at the same time. So, once a week, I sit in our little garden, on the chair, with broken mirror in hand.  It takes about half an hour because perfection is never rushed.  It’s been going like this for 4 months now, and I think it looks good.

But now, it’s getting tiresome.  I’m getting lazy. And it’s going to start looking shit. So, the question is being asked: Is it time to shift to the razor and cut it all. To the bone. It really does make a huge difference.  I mean, look at a little face stubble compared to completely shaven. HUGE difference.  If you look at the celebs that do it, It’s a bit of a bit of both. They all work.  Even Natalie Portman still looks hot.

I touched on bad hairstyles in the last post, and now, I must say that there are certain bald looks to avoid.  This is not a suggestion, this is a must. Three that come to mind:

• The Clown Look – I have already spoken about this. You do not want to look like a clown. Actually, maybe you do, but that’s your decision.  You look ridiculous.

• The Comb Over – As infamous as it is used.  For many years, my grandfather had one. It doesn’t change a thing. We all know and see you have no hair.  One mild breeze, and there is this really strange looking piece of hair flailing on the one side, sticking up like an aerial.  Unless you’re trying to pick up radio, embrace the baldhood. CUT IT.

• Toupee – I think this speaks for itself. It looks silly. When I think toupee, I think Ted Buckland from ‘Scrubs’.  He is the most insecure person on the ‘planet’.  He uses it once or twice. And it’s hilarious every time.  As in life, as it is in ‘Scrubs’.  Hilarious.

[On a side note, Scrubs is my all time best TV show. Ever.]

And now, here we sit.  Don’t worry about going bald, it really doesn’t change much, and the girls will still come. (So I hear). If you’re THAT self-conscience about it, get plugs, or whatever else they offer these days .  The question now, however, is what you do with it. Let’s not be silly, keep it short and sweet.

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I grew up in another country.  My family did not up and leave because of “the way South Africa was heading”.  We left because my father received a job opportunity he could not say no to at the time.  We didn’t go far, though – To Gaborone, Botswana.  A mere 4 hours from Joburg. But what a different place it is. I was seven at the time, so I was still a sponge, ready to absorb anything that was thrown at me, and much of the South Africa I knew before leaving was pretty much a distant memory.  I started school at a British run private primary school with 29 different nationalities being represented by the students.  Once a year, there was a day where we would all bring our own national dishes, clothes, etc, and share it amongst each other learning about everyones heritage and home. I am Jewish, and my best friend throughout most of the next 7 years was Muslim.  At high school, of the 600 students, 240 were from other countries. 33 different counties to throw another number in there.  My best friends for the next few years was of Hindu descent.  I’m basically showing you my background and what type of lifestyle I grew up in.  There were no politics about admittance into the schools on racial background, nor was there any problem about who you scrummed with each Saturday morning on your way to becoming the top side in the country.  These things didn’t matter.

I guess I never really understood this whole racism thing until midway through high school.  It came in the form of a fat, Afrikaans man from Rustenburg.  Yes, the banality is there, however unintentional it was, the truth is authentic.  There were words spoken out of his mouth that I had only read about, and seen in movies talking about things from the ’70s.  It was nauseating. But, you learn to live with it, I mean what can you really do?

I think a lot South Africans, (By this, I mean my generation – born somewhere in the ’80s), were brought into a different world.  A world that is trying really hard to rectify a problem that ran for decades – A problem that they didn’t cause but they’re trying.  The worry is, there are still people from a previous generation  that are fighting for a cause that has ended.  So now we sit with this mosaic of problems lying on the floor and a colourful way to fix it.   This solution started 15 years ago – officially.  So when will South Africa stop telling everyone that it’s still in the growing phase.  They need to grab the bull by the horns and sort itself out.  Do people honestly believe we are further along than we were even 5 years ago?  You only have to look at sport to know there are still problems.  The phantom it’s-there-no-there’s-no-such-thing “quota system” proves it.  Why must we force players of colour into a team that means a performing white player should be dropped?  Ntini of the Proteas earned his caps; Donald wasn’t dropped for him.  Gibbs waited for his turn and performed, cementing his place properly with his own flair.  But when a player, I’ll throw in one K. Pieterson, is blatantly dropped because there is a player of colour that might be better, it’s a problem.  KP is one of the best players in the world, and will be for some time.  That player of colour is tottering around in the provincial system because when he had his chance, he just wasn’t good enough.

There are some words I don’t use. By words, I mean foul language that shouldn’t be spoken.  There are some that start with C’s and some with P’s, but the one with the K still causes the worst pains. When I moved to South Africa, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but at times, within the right crowds, it isn’t that bad.   But I still hear it every so often. From friends even.   A couple of my best friends know how I feel about it, and they’ve stopped (around me?). Why am I friends with these people then?  Because they are still good people, and it really isn’t their fault that this is what they’re been brought up with. I suppose they are still there to learn and to adjust.  It just proves how ignorant some people are, though.  They know about the problems in the passed, but instead of making a concerted effort to change, and be part of a solution, they continue to babble on in their own way, adding to the mess of the current lingering conundrum.

People are being educated properly and slowly the tides are turning in the social circles.  It’s the bigger picture that I think still needs a lot of work.  It’s not meant to be a political discussion, I prefer to leave that up to the politicians, but in this country, it definitely is political:  We a have a probable future president that recently said Afrikaaners are the only true white South African’s., then sings about his bloody machine gun.  I know he’s trying, but come on. He’s as stupid as his youth leader.

So again, what can you really do? This is my way.  What’s yours? This post may get me into trouble, in fact, I hope it does.  Maybe it’ll open some eyes.

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So, who am i to be giving relationship advice?  I mean, I may have let the last real thing slip from right under my nose when it was maybe there to be taken and fixed. But let’s be honest, it is so easy to judge other peoples relationships, and far far easier to give advice.   Maybe it distracts us from our own chaotic life. In fact, it is likely to be just that.

But is getting advice from other people really the best idea?  Someone I’ve never actually met told me to go to a club and simply ask a girl to have sex with me.  In what world would that work?!  And in what stellar galaxy would I find the confidence to even think about saying it?  Everyone always thinks they know the situation better than you do, but no one except you really knows, as every situation is different. That really is true. The problem is, however, that if you’re looking for advice, and no one really knows, except you, how can you know if you’re looking for a how-to??? Thankfully, there are always the generic answers: “Time heals all wounds”, “If it was meant to be”, et cetera, et cetera, blah blah blah!  But each situation really is different.  This is why I try refrain from giving advice.  So, I’ll tell people I don’t give advice.  I’ll even go as far as to reply to a blog talking about how silly it is to give advice when really you don’t know, but the fact of the matter is that I love it.  I know more than anyone else will ever know.  My advice is solid. And right. Always. And yes, it really does make me feel better about my own problems and shortcomings.  (No, that was not a pun.  There was no hidden meaning there.)

Pressure with one person in a relationship will always cause friction when people get stressed, it’s life, but the other person in the relationship needs to realise it’s a hard time and they, in this case, should be as supportive as possible. Someone once told me that fighting and arguing in a relationship is healthy. It keeps the passion charged – which is so important, else it will just fizzle out. So, as long as the fights are not about the same issues, over and over, and you feel your head is about to break from being smashed against the brick wall, it’s healthy. Crux of the matter: Have the argument, then get over it. Find a way to always remedy it and get around it.  One solution, to apologise to end the conflict, is a great idea – To let heads cool, and the resolution come about with a clear mind.

My point, i think, is that we all need someone to hear our words, and for someone to be broken enough to listen to our perfect words back to them.

Is that hypocritical? I swear, that wasn’t advice!

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