youth

This year, I tipped the scale that places me on the other side of youth… A friend reminded me that I would no longer be able to join the ANC Youth League and be given a pedestal to spew all sorts of no-thoughts, under the guise of revolutionary radical propaganda-speak.

Aaah well, I’ve seen it coming. My neighbours are young girls studying at the local university across the dam. They were my first sign of crossing over to the other side. In my household, I’m the noisy one singing first thing in the morning, barking orders and spinning yarns about my intrepid exploits.

Little did I know when the girls next door came that I would realise that my decibel range had been but a stream before the sea. They laugh, shrilly… they shriek, even louder. I know not what excites them so much most of the time but there is a constant pitch of squeals that precedes all signs of their visible presence. On days when it seems they have worn their voices raw, it’s the turn of any DJ on YFm or Metro. The music’s good, but do well have to listen to it… all day… so loud?

I’d actually gotten used to this onslaught and most of the time they were quiet… bless their hearts. Even when I was in the foulest mood, if I stumbled across them they would coo in their ever so sweet voices and my young side would forgive them instantaneously. This changed when the inevitable happened. Boys!! My introduction to base on another level, juxtaposed by squeals of ever higher pitches. It’s just that cacophony I had to step outside and insist come to an end. It’s almost midnight and I know its Phuza Thursday, but really.

The melange of machismo and coquettish-ness is amusing to watch, if only it was on TV and I could switch it off when it started to repeat itself. Aaah, youth.