An Exclusively Inclusive Village #BLM

I’ve never entirely grown out of housing impractical ideas. The obstinate parts of me will insist that what you mean by “impractical” is simply “unprecedented” and therefore NOT in fact inherently impractical.

So when I say things like, let’s start an Exclusively Inclusive Village, where everyone is equal, respected and cared for. Where the practice of all human rights is as second nature as filling your lungs with oxygen. Where no one lives in fear of prejudice, of ridicule of violence (in any form). Where everyone is acknowledged and appreciated. Where everyone is supported. Where no one is left to drown in the social injustice that has become a given, under the unspoken premise of “That’s life. It is what it is…”
When I say things like this, whether or not you think it’s “impractical”, unattainable, nigh impossible, I feel that at no point, regardless of how many times we have failed ourselves, should we stop trying to carve out a this space.

I say exclusive because it is exclusively for emotionally mature, enlightened, peaceful and pro-active human beings.
To be granted admittance I imagine there’ll be some sort of screening procedure, to ensure the emotional, physical and mental safety of all residents.
A few interviews.
Polygraph tests.
Background checks.
If you pass, you get to apply for residency. If you fail, you’re enrolled into a human rehabilitation programme geared at helping individuals unlearn violent habits and damaging ideologies.

If anyone decides to run with this, just please dont mess it up with communism bs or an eventual/gradual descent into totalitarianism etc. Sigh. Because honestly, anything run by humans just ends up turning into a friggin unnecessary power struggle 🤦‍♀️

#BLM #Activism #love #respect #dream #safety #justice #equality #socialresponsibility #socialinjustice #lifestyle #freedom #humanrights #civilrights

The Human Responsibility

[If you cannot accept and respect the sanctity of life, do you deserve to have one?]

I think we forget that there are some things that cannot be exchanged, refunded, fixed or replaced.

Or maybe we do remember, but then we forget.

A candle lit, and then snuffed.

A life there and then gone.

A cry heard. and then silenced.

We remember and then we forget.

“Our duty” and “human responsibility” is synonymous with “I am doing you this favour out of the kindness of my generous heart” and ” but only on occasion, when I have the time, and when social media is in an uproar… and when it is relevant”.

This is us [This is me]. Comfortably sat in our homes, comfortably encased in our bubbles, more relieved than enraged that we are here, that we are safe, while the world is burning. While the world has caught fire and is literally burning.

And what’s more frustrating is that beyond this hype, beyond this overnight chorus of voices rising up and battering the deaf, the complicit, the regime, beyond that, there is and will most likely be a lull. A succumbing to the inevitable . The re-widening of a vast chasm of distance and socioeconomic differences, that will distract and divide us further.

This is the pattern. The cycle. The reasons thing don’t always completely change. Or change enough.

And I am guilty of this.

Of forgetting.

Of feeling like I’ve been overwhelmed. Like I have the right to feel overwhelmed.

Of accepting that “it is what it is” like so many do when we begin to develop that “practical” mind.

Of sometimes giving up.

Of justifying my lack of action.

Of being unaware, because the voices have died down and are now so few and distant. As if it is not my responsibility to keep my ear to the wall, to listen for that silence that is clenched like fists around necks swollen with rage.
To listen for the injustices that sit still and unmoving in knotted throats, until they eventually escape, wrung out, raw and quiet and tired – whisps of warm, damp vapour lost in the air.

As if it is not my responsibility to keep listening.
As if fighting against oppression is a 9-5 with tea breaks and vacation days.

As if our every breath, our every word, our every gesture should not be loaded into the barrels of [metaphorical] machete guns, poised in warning [we will fight back] at the offenders.

As if this isn’t all of our fight.

As if this is something to forget!

Regards,

Bloom

 

Killer Mushroom Soup

The title is not to be taken lightly. I caution all those who embark upon the making of this dish to do so at their own risk.

Two things I’ve learned through this experience (i.e the pursuit of a satisfying vegan mushroom soup) is 1). how to make a home-made gas chamber using only half an onion, chilies, a frying pan and your house! And 2). next time I should probably choose between cooking and having a video meeting, instead of doing both at the same time…

It really wasn’t pleasant. While my sister and aunty Rose scrambled toward the back door, in a desperate attempt to preserve their lives, I pulled my scarf across my face, rolled up my sleeves and braved the fumes! (All whilst profusely apologising – as well as profusely coughing- to all those present on my screen…

Not my proudest moment.

Okay, honestly, this recipe is pretty simple and mostly idiot-proof (with the exception of one idiot in particular, ahem). The only reason the entire house smoked up is because I forgot the pan of onions and chilies on the stove, on a ridiculously high heat (I am full of remorse – it’s hard not to be when your entire family is constantly reminding you of the danger you pose to them by merely existing. El. Oh. El).

So all you need to do is… not that.

Like, the opposite of that.

And you’ll be okay *cartwheel emoji* *cartwheel emoji* *cartwheel emoji*.

Onward!
To the recipe!

Ingredients

You will need:

1. Baby mushrooms (1 punnet)
2. 1/2 an onion
3. chillies (the amount will depend on your culinary preferences)
4. Green Bell Pepper (about a 1/3, if it’s a big-ish one)
5. Coconut cream (1 can)
6. half a lemon
7. garlic (2 cloves)
8. freshly ground pepper (to taste)
9. salt (to taste)
10. chives (a handful. I love chives so I always add as much as I can)
11. Coriander (about a handful as well. Same rule as regards the chives!)
12. Cayenne pepper (optional)
13. An oil of your preference.

 

Le Method

1. Rinse the half onion, chili and peeled garlic gloves. (Refrained from making a really lame covid-19 rinsing joke).
2. Slice and dice them onions! and chili. And garlic! (into really tiny, dicey pieces).
3. Turn the stove on to medium heat (this is where you learn from my mistake – keep it medium guys).
4. Pop the pan on the stove and add a generous amount of olive oil (best to use coconut/avo/grape seed oil, but I was working with what I had so…).
5. Toss in the tiny, dicey onion, chili and garlic bits. Let that get all warm and cozy for a bit. Just to clarify, by cozy I most likely mean caramelized.. or braised… I’m learning here people
6. While that’s happening, chop up your mushrooms (after thoroughly rinsing them of course. I started cutting them into quarters, but because I was struggling to extract oxygen from my immediate surroundings, and also trying to make useful contributions towards my meeting, I gave up and just cut them in halves. It didn’t really have any bearing on the overall pleasantness of the dish, so… go with whatever.
7. Toss the chopped mushrooms into the pan. Let that cook for a bit.
8. When you feel like it’s more or less the right time, pour in the coconut cream. Note, if you’d like it a but runnier, you can use half a can of coconut cream and a cup of almond milk instead.
9. Squeeeeeeeezzze in some lemon juice. To taste. I usually add in the lemon juice to balance out the coconut flavour. So if it’s not a problem for you, half a lemon may not be necessary.
10. And then let it simmer and bubble and boil (slightly) until it looks good to eat. Maybe 10 min or so… or more. Look, you’re going to have to do some checking-in and see how you feel.

 

I’d like to apologize for the lack of photos… I was far too hungry! I just knocked it back as soon as it was done.

But, I’m planning on making it again, and I’ll make a point of taking photos to add here!

Regards,

Bloom (:

 

 

 

The Thing Inside My Chest

I want to tell you about the thing inside my chest.

How, for the longest time, I have been wanting to tear it out, to toss it in the trash, to be utterly and thoroughly done with it.

“I wash my hands of you” I want to say.

And my sleeves.

I wash my sleeves too.

My sleeves that have been stained indelibly, beyond the help of all and any commercialized brand of bleach.

But I’ve left it.

It and all the decay, all the “emotional corpses” it holds, preserved perfectly in the salt oceans that have washed through me.

Salt oceans that have corroded the skin on my face and the backs of my hands.

But the words don’t come. They haven’t for a while.

It has been like scooping sludge from the bottom of a well.

It has been like gasping for the last breath of air in the finger-width space between the rapidly rising water-surface and my face pressed againts the ceiling.

It has been hard. To put it mildly.

But I have found something.

I have found that even beneath the depths, the dark, and the cold of an ocean, things grow. They find the sunlight and they grow.

So, I want to tell you about the kelp and the algae in my chest.

That beyond the corpses preserved and floating, there is light in the deepest reaches of the dark, and I am finding it.

The Very Realistic and Predictable Adventures of Ida Nettlebee, (Part 1 of Chapter 1: Funeral of an estranged relative whom Ida has never met but will play some significant part later in the story. Obviously.)

The walls were an abrupt shade of purple. The type to rudely jar one’s daydreaming, or to simply prevent it entirely.

It did however, Ida observed, compliment the black attire that this particular event called for.

Ida frowned, imagining her mother taking affront at her choice of words. But it really was more an event than anything else.

She wasnt sure that very many funerals ever had lions in bow-ties prowling the halls, or a stage with a mime juggling swords. Perhaps she’d not attended enough funerals to know for certain, but what she was sure of was that ice sculptures of the deceased in question set as a centre piece on the buffet table really didnt happen all that often at funerals. Or ever.

“It really is quite shocking, isn’t it,” Ida turned. Beside her stood a man with the most extraordinary moustache she’d ever encountered. It was the second most noticeable thing about him. The first being how terribly his mustard suit clashed with the purple of the walls.

He gestured to the scene that lay before them, a carnival in black, and shook his head. Ida assumed he’d not been to many funerals either and doubted the orthodoxy of this particular one, or he’d been to many and didnt merely doubt. Then she remembered he wore a mustard suit.

“Yes,” she agreed tentatively “it is a smidge unusual”

“Unusual?” He bellowed, almost aghast “child it is absolutely preposterous! Why, I can practically feel Hildy turning in her grave at all this” he gestured with wide arms, the champaign in his flute sloshing dangerously close to the brim. Ida wondered vaguely if Champaign should ever slosh. She also wondered if he knew that the coffin had yet to be buried and so technically great Aunt Hildy could very well be turning at present but hardly in her grave.

“I told them not to get that mime.” He shook his head again “I’d specifically said acrobatic elephants.”

Ida frowned slightly, “oh”

“Yes, i know what you’re thinking. And you might be right. Acrobatic elephants are particularly hard to come by. One usually has to beg them to perform, and since they’re in such high demand, they’d not so much as blink at charging you twice what your kidneys would be worth on the black market. But, for Hildy I’d have gotten those Acrobatic elephants”

Ida couldn’t help but notice a glossy sheen cast over his jade eyes. He sniffed and dabbed at their corners, blinking rapidly.

She thought it might be impolite not to at least attempt to offer some form of consolation so she patted him on the arm and gave what she hoped was an encouraging smile.

“I’m sure Hildy knows you would have.” She looked over shoulder, trying to spot someone she knew, or anyone really,

“Oh look, there’s that person who I.. uh, who I have to uh.. I’ll be one moment. It was lovely meeting you!” She said as she hurried off in the general direction a person, whom she did or did not know, might be in.

Meh.

I don’t feel like blogging today.

BUT, as I’ve made a commitment – i.e. to blog everyday, come tempest or exploding super nova- I must.

And so I have.

Au re voir!

A List of Random Things (in no particular order. Or, in particularly no order. #shrug)

• I am sipping  tea as I write this, and skimming through a Mandy’s Face and Brow film wax leaflet. Part of the budgeting plan. I’ve decided to pay 61 bucks for a pot of microwaveable hot wax and do it myself. I think the hope is that 61 bucks will cover, at the very least, and entire month, which means I’ll save roughly 300. Give or take. (I feel this blog is in danger of becoming a budget blog. It should be noted that budgeting, in practice, is a life-long struggle of mine. It’s gotten so bad that if I convince myself I don’t need something, I end up buying it any way for someone else under the premise that perhaps they might need it. sigh).
• This is week two of encountering suicidal animals on the road. Last week it was only a squirrel. Today it was a dog, squirrel and rooster. At varying intervals. You know, I’d chalk it up to mere bad timing, but when an animal is standing dead still in the middle of the next lane, facing AWAY from the moving vehicle I am so expertly maneuvering down the street at a very decent pace and suddenly whirls its body around and darts straight toward your bonnet, then I’m going to defend my brain’s inclination toward thoughts of suicidal squirrels and the like. Luckily for us, I have x-men-like reflexes and swerved out of the way in time. NOT TODAY SQUIRREL! THE LORD HAS BETTER PLANS FOR YOU! and dog. and rooster.
• I drew up a very realistic study schedule today. By “very realistic” I mean that I’ve accounted for the fact that I am a human being. Particularly a human being that likes to stare off into the distance and think about nothing in particular, or everything in particular. A human being who preferably would like to stay in bed and sleep beyond 4.30 am. A human being who might occasionally need to pee. So, I thought at this point in my life it might be nice to start factoring those things into my schedule instead of setting myself up for failure.
• I haven’t read a good book in ages. The last 3 BRILLIANT books I read were “All The Light We Cannot See” (2016, whilst procrastinating my Teaching Prac assignments), “Six of Crows” (also 2016. Also whilst procrastinating my Teaching Prac assignments) and “The Night Circus” (2018, whilst procrastinating mid year reports. Sigh).
• The plan for 2019 is simple. Add math lit and biology to previous matric subjects. Change career. Study TEFL. Move to Turkey in September.
• I should write more. This is me starting again though. I acknowledge that lists are for lazy writers, but that’s what I am at present. And I think that writing lazily is a little more productive than not writing at all.
• I am trying really hard to justify this list.
• My six year old cousin has taken to skateboarding. Skating down the passage with him last night was… embarrassing. I refuse to be upstaged by a six year old! Saturday next, we’re having a showdown! (can you refer to skateboarding competitions as a “showdown”? I could Google search this but, again #lazy ). He’s agreed to help me practice this week though. Which I think is quite sweet considering I expressed that I planned to crush him.
• Okay. I should be off now. Need to warm this pot of wax. Au re voir! (:

Budgeting Tip: Time Machines

Dear Person-I’d-rather-be-writing-to-than-doing-the-things-I-should-be-doing.

(Though, do kindly note that I am getting round to doing the things I ought to be doing).

I’ve decided that I need to start budgeting. Which got me thinking about money and how things are just so darn expensive.
Or really, it’s the fact that things are so darn expensive that got me thinking I should start budgeting in the first place- I can’t quite remember the chronological order of my thoughts at this point (which is excusable since I had them an entire week ago).
In any case, as I was saying, I was thinking about money, and how to make more (ironically a million dollar question), when it occurred to me that the best possible way to budget would probably need to involve time-travel.

If I were to start a business selling hotdogs (or boerewors, which is kind of the Cape Town equivalent) then hopping in a time machine and traveling to the late 70’s (My Grandma’s been telling me, since I was six – or possibly before then even- how back in her day she could fill a trolley to the top with just a R10 ) to shop for all the necessary ingredients and returning to the 21st century to cook up and sell said boerewors would lower my expenses and increase my profit margin.

And it goes without saying that I’d do the rest of my shopping in the 70’s as well, groceries, birthday gifts, vacations (obviously taking care to avoid products from companies who have yet to experience enlightenment) and voila! Just like that, I’d be budgeting like a pro, with tons of cash left at the end of the month to put away into savings.

So, step one to a foolproof budgeting plan would be: build a time machine. Or borrow one I guess, it’d be cheaper.
And since we are budgeting after all, it’s the sensible thing to do.

Kind Regards,

Bloom (: