some thoughts about writing

y’all, i don’t KNOW what is going on in my life.

right. since the last time we’ve spoken, i’ve spent most of my life in bed breaking almost every record there is for the number of depression naps TM taken before noon. i’ve also maybe been to the gym twice, and have written nothing (until today. today i wrote something and also this! so. yes. carrying on –) despite my alarm that goes off every day at 5pm asking me in all caps and too many exclamation points: “HAVE YOU WRITTEN TODAY??!?!!!” the answer as of late is almost always no.

i don’t know if what i do here means anything on the grand scale that i hope my life will be. i don’t know if i’ll ever believe that my writing is good enough for me to finally stop thinking that i’m stealing everyone else’s work and that i don’t have an original bone in my body. i don’t know if i’ll ever not feel like there’s a big blazing LIAR sign above my head every time i tell someone that i’m a writer. i’m a writer? i…ah, man.

“You can’t tell anybody that you want to be a writer, or you’re trying to be a writer. If you’re writing every day, then you’re a writer. You may not be a working writer, but you are a writer. And if you’re not writing every day, and you tell me that writing is your passion and is who you are and who you want to be, you have to examine why you’re not writing every day… maybe you just like the idea.”

– Shonda Rhimes; powerhouse, writer of Scandal and Grey’s Anatomy, icon

i try to write every day because i feel like i need to write every day. some days are hard, and i’m working on that, but i want to write every day. whether working or not, i want to know that this thing – this idea that i’ve assumed to be almost all my power since i was 11 – is real, regardless of how very real the impostor syndrome is too.

i’m a writer and i’ve always considered that i am other things but the core of me is really as simple as the first line of my instagram bio. i am of mess, of words, of love, and of christ. an infinite, overflowing, overfeeling mess first, but my words…man, do i love (haha) them. i love the strength they give me and that they can clean my mess while adding to it. i love that i don’t have to think too much about how i want to say something because i know words are my preferred medium. i love how difficult it can be to find the right ones even though they’re everywhere. i love words and my words and the ones that aren’t mine.

is this making sense at the moment? i’m not sure if i’ve really cared about things making sense on here since 2014.

well, here we are. it is nearing the end of june, and the only consistent thing i have in my life are my monthly me posts. so, expect one of those shortly. i need to write the rest of my atlas series. i was really loving it and — you know what? writing every day allows you to keep the momentum from a day where you wrote something good, regardless of how long ago it was. i think that’s why i enjoyed writing the first half of that series; because after every post i would start the next one and know that i could write because i had written.

i want to write every day again. i’m a kind-of writer. i’m an aspiring writer. i’m a depressed, terrified, sleep deprived writer, but i am a writer. today, that will suffice.

love and light,
shalom xo


featured image from death to stock
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six weeks

I’ve been talking about it but it doesn’t seem real? Still?

In any case, I leave South Africa in six weeks. Six short weeks, and then my room is no longer my room and my street is no longer my street. I have issues with comprehending time, and have done since I was 10, so my reaction to this isn’t shocking news. Not to me, not to anyone who know me, and definitely not to anyone on my street that has either seen or heard me having a “time isn’t real!!!!” breakdown on my balcony.

It’s not as if six weeks is a crazy short time, but we’re somehow nearing the end of June. I’m ageing in two? two and a half? weeks, and I haven’t even had time to freak out about 19 because TIME ISN’T REAL. I remember six weeks before a big party we threw for my father in 2013, when I had to draw up a massive calendar and fill in all of the upcoming events before the day of the party. I remember looking at that calendar on the day of the party and wondering how I possibly could have lived through all of those events and still feel like no time had passed since I made the calendar. It’s the same way I felt when high school was ending, and the last five days were staring me down and I just…I didn’t believe they were there. Not that I wasn’t aware that I was leaving high school, or that I was astonished by how quickly the five years had passed, but rather because I couldn’t believe that the time was gone and I felt like it wasn’t. It’s a stupid thing that makes no sense when I try to write it out, but it’s where I’m at with time.

It’s like backwards nostalgia. I long for the time for no reason other than it’s time, long before it’s passed. And when the time comes, I’m near incapable of living in the moment because I’m too busy begging for the time to stay  rather than the moment. When I tell people that I freak out about time, they ask me what it was about being 15 that I miss…and it’s nothing. I don’t miss being fifteen. But I miss the time. I so, so miss the time.

The next six weeks will be me grappling with the days that go by and probably laughing hysterically about it because crying takes more effort. Last week, for example, I skipped two days. Obviously, I lived Monday through Friday, but I went to bed on Monday and went by Tuesday and Wednesday in such a time-confused haze that when I woke up on Thursday, I was sure it was the day after Monday. I lost 48 hours. I don’t know where they went, but I lost them. It messed with me pretty badly, so I spent 40 minutes on my balcony laughing hysterically and yelling about how time isn’t real. Issa lot.

Have I lost my mind? Well, yes, but that’s alright. It always has been. Where would I be if I was my brain?

love and light,
shalom xo

waving through a window

ben platt won a tony the other night! it was incredible. he’s done so well this season. unrelated intros aside, hello. welcome back. welcome for the first time. i like musicals and apparently write about my new favourite during tony season. COOL.

dear evan hansen is an incredible musical. it’s about a kid, evan hansen, who draws very much into himself. he gets caught up in a lie that changes a lot and hurts a lot, and is just…a lot. here’s the trailer:

in one of the earliest songs in the musical, “waving through a window”, we learn about evan & his strategy for getting through. we learn about how saying something means nothing if nobody hears you. we learn about his experience as an outsider, and it hurts. it’s relatable – too much so. if you’ve never been an evan, you know an evan. it hurts.

step out, step out of the sun if you keep getting burned. step out, step out of the sun, because you’ve learned.  it’s strange how this lyric connected with me, but mostly because i do the exact opposite. who? self preservation?

giphy

on a slightly darker note (as expected), there’s a part of the song during which evan talks about falling out of a tree. he broke is arm, but (SPOILER SORRY) he didn’t just fall from the tree. evan tries to kill himself by falling from a tree. he says:

when you’re falling in a forest                                     did i even make a sound
and there’s nobody around                                           did i even make a sound
do you ever really crash                                                it’s like i never made a sound
or even make a sound?                                                  will i ever make a sound?

it makes me question the nature of suffering. george berkeley famously asked, if a tree falls in the forest and there is no one around to hear it, does it still make a sound? if you’re suffering and nobody sees you, are you still suffering? the nature of suffering is isolating and lonely. it has the power to turn everything into insignificance. it’s sad. it’s like i never made a sound, will i ever make a sound?

evan asks, “will i ever be more than i’ve always been”? and i wonder the same about myself. is there more? we all start off thinking there is, but for some of us, that disappears as we grow. every sun doesn’t rise, and we’re left wondering what happened to us. nobody tells you where you went wrong.

i think yes. i think there’s more. i think that despite waving through a window and having nobody see you, receiving no response, seemingly not making a sound…i think that you will be found. if a tree falls in the forest and there’s no one around to hear it, it still makes a sound. that was my answer to berkeley’s question when i was 9, it was my answer during first year philosophy, and it’s my answer now.

you are not alone. if you fall, you will be found. you are not alone.

love and light,
shalom xo

monthly me| may ’17

May: the lilacs are in bloom. Forget yourself.

I gotta get this post up today. I have this rule that if the 5th of the month passes and I don’t have a “monthly me” up, then the month is cancelled. Now, I don’t do well with the passing of time in general, much less the cancellation of an entire month. So, without further ado: May.

May was… intense. I think. A lot of time blurs into itself if you spend enough time thinking about how we abstractly separate it.  In May I joined a gym and started a lifting guide, and have been told off three times now by the same trainer. He has this idea that I care about whether he thinks I’m too muscly. (I don’t care.) I’m working out and enjoying it for the most part, though the hardest part is talking to my brain and trying to stay in a healthy mindset rather than slipping back into my disordered eating mindset. Granted weight restored doesn’t mean brain recovered and it’s a process, but I wish it were easier.

In May my friend got married! MARRIED! Their wedding photos are incredible and I’m mad at this much ocean between continents that stopped me from going. Congrats to the newlyweds who are now #HappilyHoisted.

This month I received the stellar news that I’m going to roughly $100k in debt once I graduate. It’s hilarious. Can you feel my laughter? SO much laughter. I’m mostly laughing because I thought I was going to start my life off debt free, but when the controller of your life, apparently, decides that you will and must suffer, you will and do suffer. Litty titty. It’s ridiculous as hell and I can’t really talk about what’s going on on here anymore (because of uh, wandering eyes [yikes amirite]) so I’m doomed to mostly maniacal laughter and dangerous thoughts and rants to my roommate.

May. What else? I spent a lot of time in Starbucks and Mugg & Bean (you know Starbucks, M&B is a South African coffee chain that does all day breakfast and some good wine) and have come to the shocking conclusion that the year I have spent out of school has drastically reduced my caffeine tolerance. I got dizzy and shivery after a latte – a latte! It’s mostly milk! – and had to drink maybe 3 glasses of water before I stopped shaking like a leaf.

Aah, yes. BEDIM! Needless to say, I didn’t exactly complete BEDIM. I got (if I counted correctly) 15 posts up last month and had a lot of ideas but also had a lot of depression naps. I’m gonna try a post-a-day program soon again. Maybe for NaBloPoMo? WHO KNOWS. Will we even be alive by November? Will I have died from the crippling pressure of impending debt? WHO. KNOWS. MY DUDES.

tunes n vids

these memories are nothing to me / they’re just salt in the wound

sav brown is one of my biggest writing inspirations and also her voice is maybe the most calming thing i have ever heard.

maybe the most ‘me’ title to ever exist? | we’ve never met but, can we have a coffee or something?

Snippets of internal monologue

  • This is funny. What else is funny? Perhaps my death? The coming of the Lord? My death?
  • YASMIN AND I, WE WILL FOREVER BE JOKES. I AM A JOKE.
  • Girl, add them to your do not text list. You cannot be talking to people who leave you broke AND upset!

May: the lilacs are in bloom. Forget yourself.

love and light,
shalom xo

featured image from death to stock

currently 3

currently, my room (which doubles as my office [ha office what]) along with my entire house, has been turned upside down and inside out due to renovations and painting. all of my stuff has been moved out (save for my bed and immovable desk) into another room and i grow more and more frustrated every day. i do not know where any of my stuff is. despite the painting in my room being finished, i now have no internet to work off because our internet has been disconnected (in line with the study where the router is being pulled apart because painting) and it’s driving me mad. and broke.

currently, i am in a starbucks after almost crying from frustration after spending three hours on the phone with the bank. i am so tired, and also regret my ill advised decision to wear a bra today. (i’m just going to take it off.)

currently, i am craving food from chiapas eat mexican here in rosebank, but i also know for a fact that i cannot afford it at all. i’ve filled out so many forms and drank a chai latte that i only bought because a friend of mine from high school was working the register. i couldn’t drink it. it’s so much milk, man.

currently, i am stressed about student loans and being broke until i am 40. i’m tired today, and i can’t be arsed to call those banks today. i really can’t. i’m living this tweet at the moment:

currently, i am spending most of my time thinking about the severe lack of the
knowledge of the logistics about my move that i have. it’s a mess. there is so much happening between flights and after flights and in the magical time that i think i have but definitely do not. i have to close a bank account here and if you were around this time last year, you’ll know that my luck with banks is…near non existent.

currently, i’m working on trying to get my may monthly me up and see how it differs from last year’s. i like having these months to look back on. i’m going to finish the atlas series (which has been wonderful and challenging and maybe the only series i will ever finish) and write when i want which will be often. i hope. speaking of writing, i have letters to mail to dora.

currently, my body is tired. my brain is eh. mostly, life is comme ci comme ca. ya girl is thuggin. (trying.)

love and light,
shalom xo

 featured image from death to stock