I can’t really say I grew up in Kwa-Zulu Natal, Durban, South Africa; because I am still growing. The day I decide to stop the growth, or in more human-terms – maturing of my consciousness – is the day I feel I will lose sight of the beauty of life. However, as an artist and a human being, I find it necessary to cling to any form of child-like memories. That of wonder, awe, and absolute amazement. I find it to be an intriguing paradox. I can’t choose to categorize myself as a genre-writer, as I don’t admire labels or sub-texts. I tend to fall back on a simpler way of explaining what I do as a writer: I am a writer, a story-teller. “What kind of stories do you write?” is the most common question. I’ll never answer it with conviction – not from my heart that is. It limits my imagination. I tend to just write and at the end, I myself often a time, discover the ‘kind of story’ that I wrote. Still, I find it hard to classify it as ‘this’ or ‘that’.
I hope, you as the reader, found the ‘kind of story’ that you needed to find. That is what I want in my heart.
I thank you for your time and your imagination.
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by Keanu Robertse
An Elderly Man is forced to confront the truth of his life – his personal lies and his sorrows. He gets the opportunity to escape the loneliness he confided in after losing sight of love.
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