For me, growing up in the eighties, early nineties, in SA, what a mindfucking blast, a beautiful catastrophe. I played the part as the rebel, slutty girl who hated school. And “jags”…as adolescence dictates. It was two years before Apartheid ended, and I was so glad it did, so I could go out and hunt myself some coloured boys who knew how to dance and vry properly.
I religiously kept a diary, intensively, almost each day of my teenage life. A journal, consisting out of written Afrikaans prose, photographs, letters…I would like to open it up, but the chaos, the dust, the let it lie…perhaps not to be opened up at all, but burnt, once again one with the earth from where my experiences grew.
The people we admired, the social standard for beauty are evident in these pages. And a different boy per page…a list of boys I kissed, the ones with the dots went further than a kiss. Just a Lovesick Afrikaans girls’ pop culture dagboekie.