Dear diary.

I've decided to write a blog; a self-important memoir into the foray that is my life in a little town called Grahamstown, middle of nowhere, South Africa.

I've been here nigh on twenty days, and so far have felt just about every emotion for the place; from wonderment, to a despairing envy of those in my home town. I've changed my mind countless times about such little things as my diet, to such big things as the course I'll be studying for the next few years. I've been a first year for two weeks and a second year for one. It's all quite confusing so far.

I live in a 3x4 metre room, surrounded by trance-music-blasting excitable first years, fresh out of high school. A good bunch of fellows, no doubt; had I taken the time to get to know them. In the past twenty days I've done such things as serenade girls residences as a sort of ice-breaker for those new to university life, as well as get in my car, and drive an hour in one direction to get away from the place.

Grahamstown is both depressingly small, and cosy, depending on the mood one happens to be in. For starters, there's no Woolworths food. A travesty, am I right? There are very few places to go out to at night and the mindset of those who lives here seems to revolve around two things; the Never Too Late special that the Debonairs here offers as well as an exceptionally large amount of alcohol.

I have however, met people who have more going for them than fast food and hangovers, and it’s these people that give me hope for the place. While I’m certain that I’ll get homesick, I have taken some measures to ensure that I never completely disintegrate. For starters, I’ve turned my room into a little piece of home, with letters and notes, and lyrics and flyers, courtesy of a beautiful Juané Van Dyk; and the warden’s cat, which seems to have adopted me (A black minx: I was quite attracted to the idea of calling her Nightwish, but to my dismay, her name is in fact Julie).

I’d love to tell you, diary, about res food and my experiences with the Grahamstown nightlife, beggars and the joys of DC++, but I really feel like pressing enter, and so that’ll be a story for another day.

Yours,
Phil