Thursday, 28 May 2015

Sleepless in Polokwane Observer




Sleepless in Polokwane Observer


I am p-p-p-paralyzed with happiness.   Sleeplessinpolokwane has made  to the Polokwane Observer.  Yolande Dah-ling! You are the sunshine of my life.  This is the original version of  the article.  Enjoy!


A sleepless blogger in the city

>> She hit the “enter” button on the keyboard for the first time towards the end of March
>> Being able to write, is like the oxygen she breathes

Yolande Nel

Mashadi Mathosa is sleepless in Polokwane. And has a blog title to the same effect.
Her scribbles on sleeplessinpolokwane.blogspot.com are normally done at night, when the city is literally asleep. Then she makes a cup of tea and positions herself in front of a device she specifically acquired for the purpose of putting pen to paper or, in modern day terms, posting to the web.
She explains that she has been a true insomniac since the age of 16, a condition she doesn’t necessarily regard as anything bad. Mathosa brushes it off as her maybe not requiring as much sleep as others. Therefore the chosen title for her blog is a major highlight, as she finds it very befitting. The insomnia theme regularly emerges in her posts, “because counting sheep doesn’t help”.
She hit the “enter” button on the keyboard for the first time towards the end of March this year, after a longstanding yearning to give rise to her passion for creative writing. Being connected to a facebook page, her blog is ever growing in popularity, Mathosa happily points out.
Aptly starting with “But What Do You Do There” about activities in the place she calls home, she refutes the notion that Polokwane has nothing to offer. She describes her hometown as politely vibrant and “not exhausting”. The buzz is a low “zzzz”, she reckons. Still she regards the residents of the city connected to the world and whatever is not available can be found online. Forever participating in a variety of things to do, from the local chapter of national awareness drives to yoga and belly dancing all happening within less than 17 minutes away from where she stays, Mathosa is living proof of the vibey Polokwane she sketches in her writing.
She keeps her pieces reasonably short, simple, quirky and non-repetitive. In a fuss-free way she shares her insight into a host of everyday occurrences with her followers. Load shedding is given a go, also getting her index finger slammed in the car door and sharing trade secrets about where to get the best “slap chips” in town.
Mathosa’s blog is not intended to find the answer to world peace or attempting to reverse the fluctuating petrol price, but was created with the fun factor in mind; to her own benefit and that of her readers. She says she decided upon it for reasons of having done a lot of serious writing in the news industry all her life and wanting to give an honesty to her creative voice. “I’m like Riaan Cruywagen,” she quips, with reference to her erstwhile role in the media. She regards herself more of a creative writer than a factual storyteller. In wanting to use the word “I” in her writing, she considers the blog as a mirror of her life. She grew up reading “chick lit” and always liked the conversational style she applies to her own writing. “If you know me, you hear my voice (when reading the blog).”
An avid reader who intends shunning her television during the winter spell ahead in exchange for books, and on top of that being a perfectionist, she surprisingly finds writing for her blog very liberating. There is no stress about getting it perfect, but simply having fun, she remarks. She is quick to point out that she long realised she knew she could write, but struggled to find the kind of writing she would like to do. And now even bigger things await, like posting for South African Bloggers once a month.
“Creativity is about self-expression”. Being able to write, is like the oxygen she breathes, she concedes in conclusion.
If Mashadi Mathosa continues in this fashion, she might inspire more residents of this buzzing capital to want to be sleepless too.

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