exercise

I came to the University of Cape Town in the summer of my second year out of the bureaucratic system we call school. After twelve years of sound indoctrination and moral wet blanketing I was finally let loose upon the world, where I found a modest-paying job (which I hated, so I left after three months, leaving behind some raised eyebrows). I realized that the taking of the wildly popular ‘gap year’ was the absolute worst thing I could have put myself through and by the end of the December holidays I was ready to stick my head into some textbooks and do something really academic. I was ready to learn things, to argue things, to write long-winded essays that would be marked glibly with a sarcastic comment or two. I was ready for all that, and I was ready to take it head on.
The series of modest-paying jobs I did throughout my gap year actually helped me to accumulate a good sum of cash, I was surprised to discover. Maybe I could be frugal after all. I found a place in the suburbs (of course, where else?) where I felt quite at home almost the second I stepped through the door. The paint on the ceiling was a little worn and there were some telltale cracks in the walls. I saw myself on a ladder in overalls, painting out all of these inconsequential flaws. The place was perfect and I said I’d move in immediately.
I didn’t really have much to move in with. A bed and a bookcase and a sofa with two throw cushions, a gramophone I’d had for years and had bought on a church sale in Kalk Bay, and a fish bowl. There was no fish in the bowl, either. It was just an ordinary glass bowl which I put on top of my bookshelf.
When I had packed up my bedroom and moved out of home I found myself tossing things into boxes at an alarming pace, and things I never thought I’d miss, too. I brought with my framed print of Elvis Presley, which thankfully I found a place on the wall for, and which also covered an unsightly crack in the plaster. I’m pretty crazy about Elvis. I also insisted on taking my old read-a-thon medals and hockey trophies from primary school. When I attempted to pack my old hockey stick my mother drew the line and took it away. I was a bit of a mess the first day I moved out of home. I even tried to smuggle the coffee-maker out with me but I was discovered. I wailed and declared that I could not perform any academics without a coffee-maker because I needed fresh coffee every morning in order to function intellectually and there was nothing I could do to change that. My parents, already doubting my sense of reason at this time, decided to buy me a house-warming gift and very soon presented me with my very own brand new coffee-maker for my kitchen.
I can catch the Jammie at any time of day or night and it will take me anywhere on campus I wish. I was within walking distance of the best coffee joint this side of town where they make those heavenly frappacinos piled with good old whipped cream and caramel. The coffee is also extra strong, which I like. There’s also a lovely charity bookshop just a few blocks from my apartment where you can buy books cheap. I don’t mind buying from there because all proceeds go to a local home for the mentally-handicapped. I figured if the mentally-handicapped were unable to enjoy the wonder of reading books I’d do it for them, and donate to a cause at the same time. I go there at least once a week to get a new one, because I devour books with a great appetite. Sometimes I may go days without a proper meal, just drinking filter coffee and reading my charity books on my porch. The nourishment from the books is enough for me it seems, and I can continue to read for days on end without realizing I haven’t eaten or that it’s Tuesday already and I need to get some work done.
During my first weeks since I moved to the suburbs I learned a great deal. I found out that the hairdresser on Royal Ave likes to collect cuts of hair from trimmings and make wigs out of them for cancer patients. He is also Yugoslavian.
I learned that the starlings that nest in the eaves of my building like to have breakfast with me some mornings when I’m outside on the porch and will attempt to get into the kitchen to feast on scraps. I learned that young men with experimental facial hair and a loping stride are most likely arts students or belong to an alternative band or activist group. I learned that the traffic lights down on the intersection are almost always out of order and that when taxi drivers whistle at you they want to give you a ride. I discovered this after I was whistled at by one of them and I yelled out that they should mind their manners. I was answered by “Mowbraykaaaaaap!!” and some relevant hand gestures. I muttered to myself that I did not wish to go to Mowbraykaaaap and if only these taxis would drive properly on the roads instead of trying to level pedestrians.