René Roberts

Did anyone notice how I used the word Frisbee when I meant Boomerang last week? I’d love to say that it was me checking whether you were paying attention. It wasn’t. It hit me about two days after I posted the blog while I was flipping a taxi driver the middle finger. You didn’t notice? Really? You thought that a Frisbee comes back to you? I almost just told you that you’re an idiot. But I won’t, because I want you to keep reading.

So, we ended up having our anniversary dinner at the Netcare coffee shop at Unitas Hospital last night. Nobody can say that I’m not romantic. We even sat outside, enjoying a cool breeze on our faces. The fact that I can’t eat when I’m staring at drip stands and heart monitors had nothing to do with it.

It was inevitable though. We had to pass the young man with the drip stand. I’m no doctor, but it was clear that he suffers from Leukemia. He was having dinner with a large group of people. His family and friends ranged from the ages of probably fifteen to fifty and they were chattering animatedly. I didn’t see him joining in, but he did smile from time to time. The kind of tired, weary smile you only ever see on a defeated face.

Being the absolute romantic that I am, I picked a really intimate and sexy topic to converse about. I asked my girlfriend if she could possibly imagine what goes through your mind when you take a look around the dinner table and you realize that every single person present will most probably outlive you. You can feel sorry for my girlfriend now. But only for a few seconds. I make up for it with the occasional foot massage and the odd bouquet of flowers.

What do you do when you’ve rounded the corner and you’re in the final stretch of your short journey? Are you pissed off because you haven’t even started living and yet you’re dying? Do you spend most of your precious time regretting the things you never did or do you reminisce about your highs? What makes the list? Is there anything left to do or say? Do you take out your bucket list and weep?

Certainly, death is the great equalizer. It’s completely impartial about whose neck it breathes down. It’s also copper-bottomed. You can count on it catching up with you. It’s like a Justin Bieber hit. You can avoid it all you want, but there will come a moment when your guard is completely down and you’ll hum it. Don’t tell a soul if you do. Hum the song, I mean. Thinking about the dependability of death, an Arno Carstens line comes to mind : Nest your veins in slumber, for it’s a-coming.

I have one thing in common with every straight girl on earth. I loved the movie, City of Angels. Granted, I loved Meg Ryan more than Nicholas Cage. So much so that I found, that when I replay certain scenes of that movie in my mind, I seem to have replaced Nicolas with that hot chick from Shameless, but that’s really irrelevant. A certain angel of death relays a story about when he came to lead this little girl to heaven. Habitually, he asked her what she liked best on this earth. Her reply? Pink pyjamas.

Pink pyjamas made her happy.

Therein for me lies the true meaning of life. Maybe it’s not about figuring out how to bring about world peace. Maybe it’s not about finding the cure for AIDS or inventing power plants that the South African government can’t fuck up.

Maybe it’s all about finding your pink pyjamas.

Surrounding yourself with people and things that truly make you happy sounds like a brilliant idea to me. How do you do that? Know thyself. The journey of finding what truly makes you happy is an ongoing one. Nobody knows how long their journey will be, but surely you can colour it the way you see fit. I want to make it clear that I’m not condoning listening to Bieber. At all. Don’t get reckless now.

I’m saying that maybe every meal should be a feast. Maybe every gathering should be a celebration and every milestone a noted victory. I’m saying live amplified. Sing along to every song that moves you. Except Bieber. Leave nothing unsaid. That is the ultimate cancer that will eat away at your soul. I don’t think there’s a single thing on earth that can weigh you down like the heavy burden of words unspoken. I live by this, that’s why people are forever covering their ears in my presence, wishing I would just shut up.

Learn to play the guitar and ride a horse at least once. Drive down to Clarens and visit every single art gallery while you’re there. Have dessert for God’s sake and get that piercing or tattoo. Who cares what it might look like when you’re eighty? That’s the problem of whoever ends up changing your nappies. Go river rafting, buddy. It doesn’t matter if the guide gets called out to go and rescue your lame ass.

Do yourself a favour.

Find your pink pyjamas.