“Ceasing to write is just another kind of death.”

The words of Anabel Hernandez, a Mexican Journalist.

I read them whilst browsing through an exhibition at Fotografiska in Stockholm. The exhibition, We Have a Dream, was a portrait series of people who had in some way made an impact on the world. Each portrait was accompanied by an excerpt of their story – and there were many (many) impactful stories – but these words hit me like a ton of bricks.

I knew I hadn’t written in a while, even though I had wanted to. I knew I wanted to change the world like these people had, even though I did not know how to.

I was reminded of this post from almost two years ago, which I wrote after returning from an overseas trip. I remember feeling strange about writing it at the time – like “Who would want to know about my holiday? Who would care what I learnt?” But if I remember correctly, there were actually quite a few.

So in the wake of returning from another overseas trip, and the conviction to keep on writing, I’m going to share some more life lessons for anyone who wants to read them.

Dungarees: Still a traveller’s best friend.

 

Timing is everything.

The bare necessities of life will come to you.

Dreams do come true. And again, timing is everything.

Caramel popcorn is and forever will be the best thing in the whole wide world.

 

Filters are fun, but humans are funnier.

Nap often.

God will surprise you. You will surprise yourself.

Do the things you never knew you knew you wanted to do.

Always find the right spot.

Cherish the elderly.

 

Every moment is an opportunity for nonsense.

“Basically the font choice makes me want to chunder.”

– Ah, advertising. Never a dull moment.

“Mommy! Is this how big the world is?!”

– Her disbelief was palpable. Having just arrived at Chapman’s Peak view point, overlooking the vast ocean, her four year old eyes and mind were clearly and completely dumbfounded.

“It’s stomach day erryday.”

– Ndu Donsa, my colleague and friend, nailing it on the head as he always does. I’ve loved working alongside this guy, even though he keeps his earphones on all day and never talks to me. Check him out on Twitter and Slikour On Life where he gives his (epic and valid) opinion on Urban music and culture (hence the earphones).

“I don’t know what’s going on with human beings, but this shit is real.”

– Marion Seignan, the woman with a way of saying it like it is.

“Life is like riding a bicycle. You peddle round and round and eventually you get somewhere.”

He was one of the founders of First Thursdays – the one responsible for those epic maps we should all have attached to our fridges.

As he spoke, you could tell that he was more than in love with what he was doing. I felt that warm thrill of inspiration fly up my spine.

Granted, it’s easier to say when the concept you started has completely taken off and you have a bit of perspective. But, nonetheless, it was good to know that they were also once confronted with that, “what am I even doing with my life?” feeling.

“You know what, you must just treat others the way you want to be treated.”

Wise words from a wise guy.

Gosh (yes, that’s his name) is the coffee barista at Flat Mountain Roasters and he’s been nominated by Cosmopolitan South Africa as one of South Africa’s Hottest Baristas. As you can tell from his words, he’s as great on the inside as he is outside. Do us a favour and head over here and vote for him by typing in “Gosh” under the candidate section. All votes appreciated.

“This is God’s country.”

We were flying around a sharp corner. That last part of Chapman’s Peak right where it turns into Hout Bay. It’s difficult to hear anything except adrenalin pumping through your veins at that point, but this one-liner from a passing cyclist stood out.

We hear it said all the time, “South Africa is one of the most beautiful places in the world.” And it’s true. But to really pack the punch, I think next time I hear it I’ll be following up with this one-liner, “Yup, this is God’s country.”

“These days, my idea of fun is doing absolutely nothing.”

We were cramped up in the kitchen at work – where I overhear a plethora of conversations on a daily basis. Surprisingly this is the first one I’ve actually documented. Probably because it perfectly articulated what I’ve been feeling of late. How is it that work does this to you? Or is it just a case of getting older? Either way, I’m determined not to let it be a permanent thing. Life’s too short for that.

“Those rooms were so small you couldn’t even change your mind in them, let alone your clothes.”

He was a little man named Noor and the tour guide at District Six Museum. We arrived early on a Sunday morning, only to find that our tour hadn’t actually been booked. Graciously, he still took the time to talk to us. A man with many memories, you could see the impact of Apartheid in his eyes. His grandfather had thirty children and four wives, all born from the same house on what was then Caledon Road in District Six. Despite owning twenty-nine other houses in the area, the family has yet to be recompensed with one, forty-six years later.