The day I decided to do what I’m doing…More dirty det's on Ronley -

Born September 5th 1974, in Pretoria, South Africa, my family immigrated to Canada in 1976. I’m the youngest of four children. Our parents very persistent at keeping music, theatre, and sports a part of the family's routine – the CBC was on 24 hours a day. Grew up in a suburb of Toronto called North York Everything was fine until...

Had a hard time in Junior High
the token victim of 1988 ostracize a classmate ritual.
Lost in a place as a thirteen year old I couldn't have imagined.
Realizing that I had done this evilness to other kids too.
Guilt, Anger, Hurt, Fear, Alone. My only friend was the notebook the psychologist recommended I write in. Every little detail. What was She wearing yesterday? What was I? What did she say? Who threatened next? What would I have done to them if I hadn't been writing in the book my psychologist recommended?

Made it through.
Empathy grew
Made new friends in high school
All into the Grateful Dead-"blues for allah" and the rituals that go with the stereotype
Lots of smoking in suburban lots, in moms cars
lots of ravine markings on shoes and knees
Lots of parties, lots of different scenes
But I graduated on time and in fine standing.

Last year of high school, Ron finally gets the guitar she had been begging for.
Sigma, still travel with her today.
Couldn't play.
Thank goodness most songs are only three chords.
Frustrated trying to play, a voice always hid the notes going astray.
Voice developing, the constant yearning to write down something.
Always feeling better after. On and on.
Meet a boy, change schools, drop out, boy eats me alive.
Half dead, never will I let myself get like this again.
Back to school.

Anthropology becomes my next tool.
To finally describe –
to have the words I have so tried to portray in the twelve journals my psychologist recommended me. Numbers of variables, time, space, mobility, chance, synchronicity, spirituality all live within everyone;
yet each see's to their own perceptions.
My music has become (finally) the thirteenth journal my psychologist recommended I write in.

Travelling, dreaming, hoping, free-willing, but a tad bit cynical on the subject. How can that be?
Played for two years with the pop band "Hummingfish" known for their performances at Edgefest and Promag compilations, and CFNY New Music Search. Then I graduated Uni and headed to the Middle East.

Lots of thinking. Lots of soaking in the Sinai.
Wanting so desperately for my life to be happy.
What brings me happiness? I wondered for months as I wrote nine new tunes on my guitar.
What will my parents recommend for me on my return? Their worries for me become my own worries.
I did not want to come home.
What brings me happiness?

What was in front of me was so easy to see,
yet my social upbringing pushed me closer to going to do my Masters or for heaven sakes law school. I hate day jobs. I work the best around midnight. I don't want to sit back in forty years and wonder what if. I invested so much time, energy and money into University, which I loved. Why not invest in the only thing that makes me truly happy and is in me? I finally worked up the courage to come home and face this realization. Yes, I will pursue my music and I may ultimately be poor for the rest of my life, but I will be happy. Is that not richness?

About six months ago, I went away with a girlfriend for a week. The airline didn't let me carry my guitar on board. When we arrived I waited until everything was off the plane. No guitar. I started freaking. There was no way I didn't have my guitar for a week of sun and sanity. No way. It turned out it was in the plane. I had to make the whole bus wait for me. But I was not leaving without the guitar. I'm not sure if I was more upset that I lost a guitar, even though insurance would have gotten me a better one, or that for that half an hour at the airport I really felt alone. Thank goodness for wooden acoustic objects.
Heh?

So it's been a year and half since I've been back. I will not look back, only forward. I am closely finishing off a cd that I, my greatest critic, is actually happy with. I have met incredible people that strive and create for the same reasons I do. And this struggle is one of nakedness. I am showing my sores, but they keep healing. And I can feel myself constantly learning.

Thank you so much for supporting the journey thus far.
Ron (August 5, 2001)