Now That The Dust Has Settled
An ethereal stillness, like the universe had exhaled, floated in the air. We drifted back into reality, dazed, blinking our eyes as though awoken from a deep dream. It was Monday and it was all over.
The past thirty days it was as though our world had been transformed into a fantastical, Tolkien-esque land of magic and wonder. The earth stopped turning as nations descended on us to face each other on the battlefields. We cheered as heroes clashed and won great victories; and felt our hearts drop when sometimes those same heroes fell in defeat.
South Africa was graced with mystical protectors of pride and nefarious, dream-destroying villains. The people chose their allegiances and dutifully regaled themselves in flags and colours, blowing their trumpets in victory and even in despair. We watched with delight as animated generals (Diego Maradonna), long-haired warriors (Siphiwe Tshabalala), wicked wizards (Luis Suarez), mutineers (Nicolas Anelka) and even clairvoyant calamari (Paul the psychic squid) ignited the stage of South Africa. We let this wonderful whirlwind lift us high, but now it has passed and dizziness descends.
The aftermath of such magical madness leaves us with a sweet sorrow, a kind of emptiness, as the light that rushed into our hearts starts to subside evanescently. Will we go back to our normal lives? Or will we find that the events of the past month (it moved by so quickly) have changed us? The people I have spoken to, different cultures from abroad and close by, have opened my eyes some more. The world seems smaller now, as does this beautiful country I call home.
I have never been more proudly a South African.
The past thirty days it was as though our world had been transformed into a fantastical, Tolkien-esque land of magic and wonder. The earth stopped turning as nations descended on us to face each other on the battlefields. We cheered as heroes clashed and won great victories; and felt our hearts drop when sometimes those same heroes fell in defeat.
South Africa was graced with mystical protectors of pride and nefarious, dream-destroying villains. The people chose their allegiances and dutifully regaled themselves in flags and colours, blowing their trumpets in victory and even in despair. We watched with delight as animated generals (Diego Maradonna), long-haired warriors (Siphiwe Tshabalala), wicked wizards (Luis Suarez), mutineers (Nicolas Anelka) and even clairvoyant calamari (Paul the psychic squid) ignited the stage of South Africa. We let this wonderful whirlwind lift us high, but now it has passed and dizziness descends.
The aftermath of such magical madness leaves us with a sweet sorrow, a kind of emptiness, as the light that rushed into our hearts starts to subside evanescently. Will we go back to our normal lives? Or will we find that the events of the past month (it moved by so quickly) have changed us? The people I have spoken to, different cultures from abroad and close by, have opened my eyes some more. The world seems smaller now, as does this beautiful country I call home.
I have never been more proudly a South African.
