don’t come home today

my good friend emily has a playlist titled the same, and it’s another gem.

when your insides feel heavy, there’s usually a place to drop your guts. the wombats have a lyric off their new album that says, it’s hard to keep my chin up when my guts are lying on the floor and today, march 5th, has been that in a day.

dear friends of the internet, my guts are lying on the floor, and i have nowhere to put them. when you think of something in one way and then have it deconstructed, then shredded, then incinerated, thinking of anything becomes a bit of a chore. i think i had a contrived sense of home here and today i was handed an eviction notice in the form of reali-tea that was too hot to handle. and now there’s tea on the ground and my guts are on the ground and oh god, please don’t step on the ground.

tender is the night for a broken heart. and a broken brain. the two are the same, you know.

look, i don’t know what i came on here to say. i pay $18 a year for this domain and i get to say shit. so here’s some shit that i’m saying.

a playlist:

love and light,
shalom xo

On Faltering Hopes and Broken Promises

People with money who pay for all your things while you’re a minor. Can’t live with ’em, can’t live without them. Unfortunately.

Whether your parent(s), your siblings, or whoever your caretaker is, someone always seems to let you down. Some more than others. Some promise you a trip to the mall and don’t let you know that they’re broke so you cant actually get anything. Some cancel said trip without letting you know. Some encourage you to get scholarships for high school and university options, and then flat out refuse to send you. Some encourage you to work really really hard at school, and take external tests and apply for all the universities that you want to…and then refuse to answer you when you ask about fees. Et cetera. I am angry. Et cetera.

My father is an important man. He’s influential and intelligent. People think he’s a good father too. (False.) But him -he source of 89% of my anger, sadness and frustration- aside, I’ve been trying to figure out how this life thing is going to work if people who hold such weighty claims over my life keep not coming through. As in, they just continue to leave promises unfulfilled and  leave me unable to plan any further than two months into the future. As in, I’m finishing high school in 10 weeks or so, and I have no idea if what I want is possible, or even plausible because my future doesn’t merit that kind of discussion, “it’s not [my] problem”, and because I should expect magic to happen and for my life to fall into a place along with fifty thousand dollars. Obviously.

College is expensive. This is a fact. Uni in South Africa is great, and the standards are great, and it’s all wonderful and cheaper but it’s not what I’ve been working towards since 2012. I was told then that if I worked hard and did well in my SATs, I could go back to the US for college. I got keen. I got down to business to defeat the huns. (Sneaky Mulan ref.) I fell in love with cities (hello, Iowa City) and universities all over the world (Buckinghamshire New University, I see you). I threw myself at schools (Hi, Bethel College!) and settled on a place that was more academically sound and in a super diverse city (Montreal. Hi. Yes.). And then, like everything else I’ve ever been invested in, it got snatched away because someone changed his mind.

Not this time.

There’s a lot I can take, but playing around with my future to this extent is a no-no. Closer to a hell no, no way on heaven or earth or in hell or in a parallel universe, but it’s a no.

Same, Simon. It's a no from me, too.

Same, Simon. It’s a no from me, too.

So, student loans are happening. Jobs are happening. Savings are happening. Selling shit is happening. Because I’m getting out of here next year, and I’m going to Canada with someone I love, and I’m making this happen. Whether the money giver gives or not, it’s happening.

I’m ferociously bitter. Also, my mom told me not to put my feelings on the internet. (Sorry mom.)

Love and light

Bulletproof (can this even be a title?)

My math exam is tomorrow, and the first bout of tears and panic has already occurred.

It’s a funny thing how things so little can affect one so much. I couldn’t drink my tea or eat my dinner – all because I went into a raving panic attack stemming from the lack of warm water at my house.

Sounds pathetic, right?

I know it does. Let me assure you that it feels even more pathetic to be the one experiencing it. It’s like a feeling of extreme stupidity and sadness in one go.

Today, though, I got lucky. I had a friend send me some beautiful help involving some visualisation and Emma Watson and beaches and Paris. I can’t really explain how it feels to have someone do their best to help you while they know that they don’t know exactly how you’re feeling. It’s so lovely, like they have complete comprehension without actually having it?

I’m feeling the feels, friends.

I’m going to do revision now, and while I may fail my math exam, I know that I’ll still have this to come back to. It ‘s just the future, bruh. In the words of my heroes:

The future is bulletproof, the aftermath is secondary. It’s time to do it now and do it loud: Killjoys, make some noise!

That’s all I’ve got today. I think.
Love & Gratitude,
Scoot X

Scoot On ~ Soundrtracks and Comebacks

I’m currently sitting on my bed, without – well, let’s not make everyone uncomfortable – I’m sitting on my bed without things you’d usually sit on a bed with. There we go, disaster averted! I just returned from an afternoon-turned-evening out with a friend, and mama wasn’t too happy. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of those kids who “hates their parents” even more than they hate their own sucky teenage lives. I love my mom. I also like to forget t tell her things that, in one way or another, directly affect her.

I like to go out. I’m also sixteen, and have to be driven around. There are no taxis that shall be taken by me after 6:30 PM in summer and 6:10 in winter. Yes, yes, I know, I could just ask my mom to take me places like the rest of you do. That, however, would require asking.

Asking is a simple process, theoretically: you pose a question, and in the case of the parentals it’s usually a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer that’s required, and await an answer. As teenagehood goes, questions are asked about where, when, why and what you shall be doing, and there will be talk of dangerous things like drugs and strange strangers in alleyways (but nothing of contact lenses falling out or toddlers who spontaneously throw up on things). And then, you get your answer. I think it’d be a lot easier if the answer came first, but hey, maybe I’ll think differently if I ever birth some baby children.

I DON’T KNOW WHY MY CONTACT LENSES ARE STILL ON MY EYEBALLS. (Actually, It’s because I can’t find their container thing right now. Hold on, I’m looking.)


Update: I just took my contact lenses out using a webcam. And my hands. Also, I’m now wearing a shirt.

Anyway, in my case the main question is usually, “How are you getting there?” and I usually skip that part of the conversation out, or I skip out the entire conversation, i.e I casually whisper that I’m going out and I’ll be back and then, I call my mom (usually with someone else’s phone) to “Please come and pick me up, please please.”

She gets annoyed and rightfully so, and then she sometimes comes out to get me, and other times she doesn’t. But this really is entirely my fault- she’s not neglectful or anything.

Well, as the story goes, I got home and she was in her state of annoyed-angry-confused-hurt, and that’s the least pleasant state. It’s like when somebody tells you that they’re disappointed in you plus your mom shouting at you plus seeing your mom tired – all those little thing compiled into a moment where you have no comeback to what is said, where “I’m disappointed” or “This will be the last time” or “Stop treating people like they’re insignificant” is the only soundtrack that goes along with it.

In my defense, I had no idea how this post was going to go, and this was not the direction that I foresaw.

Soundtracks and Comebacks by Goldfish popped into my head while I was looking at my mom eat, and I don’t know why. I just tried to imagine what the soundtrack to that moment for me would be. If we had to talk strictly music, I’d say Lost Kid, by The Apache Relay. My comeback was “sorry. good night.”

I hope yours is better.

All my love,

Scoot xx

July 20th 2014

Please put up with this and I’m sorry if it disappoints you.


Listening to: Little Black Submarines by The Black Keys

What has been happening in my life? Well, quite frankly, I don’t know if that’s any of your business, but I want to tell you anyway. I don’t know if you want to know, but again, I want to tell you. Most probably because I don’t know who you are, and I think that is where my comfort lies.

Listening to: Home by Edward Sharpe And The Magnetic Zeros

I’m starting at my new school tomorrow. Well, my new old new school. To summarise, I was there in eighth grade and left after that year, then moved to Northcliff and stayed there from ninth through to tonight, I guess. Now, the second half of my junior year and my senior year will be spent in the same place I started high school. I guess I’ll have come full circle, going around in a cycle. I’m really quite scared, though.

Listening to: Awake My Soul by Mumford and Sons

I have quite bad anxiety, though That was phrased quite badly. I think before I do some explaining, I should let you know that I’m just writing because I don’t want to get bad again, because that really screws things up. I’m going to swear now. Close your eyes if you’re sensitive. Fuck. Okay, you can open them now.

“In these bodies we will live, and in these bodies we will die, and where you invest your love is where you invest your life.”

Listening to: Thistle & Weeds by Mumford and Sons

Basically, No, no, let me assure you that this is not basic, and not much is, and I really think that that word is used far too loosely. I have spent a lot of time crying because I forget how to talk to people and nobody expects me to forget because I am always talking to people. It’s not a self pity cry, though. It’s really a desperate cry because when I forget to do things that I shouldn’t forget, I also forget how to breathe and how to calm down, and how to reach for my calming tabletty things. I usually climb onto my bed and shove myself into the corner of wall and wall, and hold my knees to my chest and cry. When someone knocks, or barges into my room, I never let them see me.

Listening to: I Gave You All by Mumford and Sons

I don’t think anyone knows how bad I can get, but I also don’t know if it’s their business. I’ve been telling everybody lately that everything will be okay and I don’t know if I believe what I’m saying. I’m trying to, very hard. But it’s so difficult, and I don’t know if it should be and I don’t know what should be or if I’m giving myself more credit than I’m worth or if I just need a nap and then everything will be fine and I won’t think like this anymore.

“If only I had an enemy bigger than my apathy, I could have won.”

Listening to: Roll Away Your Stone by Mumford and Sons

I think that maybe if I keep saying it, I will believe it one day. I used to think that I would never believe anything ever again. That was when I was quite bad, but not at my worst. My worst was bad, and it’s not pleasant to remember or forget. Does that make sense?

Listening to: Winter Winds by Mumford and Sons

“Let the memories be good for those who stay.”

I couldn’t wish anything more for all the beautiful people who I have left behind over the years,and I hope at least that some memories involving me were good, and that they are okay, and that the person remembering cherishes them enough to want to relive them, but at the same time, not relive them without me. That sounded very selfish in my head.

Listening to: Roll Away Your Stone by Mumford and Sons

I almost cried, because I just wrote some of the best writing I think I’ve ever done, and then my internet refreshed and only left a tiny piece of my work. Damn you new WordPress editor. I feel like my heart has been ripped from my chest and not even looking at the ceiling is helping. I can’t even remember what I wrote to rewrite it, because now it feels like lies. I’m going to swear again. Look away and cover your imaginary/real life kid’s eyes. FUCK. Okay, all’s good now.

Listening to: Lost Kid by The Apache Relay

It was something to do about being okay, and the existence of love. I’ll write about it again on another day.

Listening to: Cornerstone by The Apache Relay

Listening to: Head Full Of Doubt/Road Full of Promise by The Apache Relay


We’ll all be okay.

This I believe.

Listening to: Could It Be Another Change by The Samples

-Scoot xxx



I’ve always secretly had difficulty with birthdays. The major start was when I turned ten and I was in fifth grade, and the whole double digits thing terrified the crap out of me, and I would cry every night about how scared I was that another day was gone and in my entire decade of existence, I’d done nothing worthwhile.

I told everyone how excited I was, and my parents even let me have a party. And from the outside looking in, all was good.

For me, birthdays kind of signify the end. They make me realise how truly insignificant I am. It’s like a, “sixteen years and you’ve still done nothing?” kind of air. Also, I get really scared about time. Another day gone. Another day that I’ll never get to do over. Another day that’s totally gone unless I remember it. Ha, no pressure, right? Another day comes, and suddenly I’m dying faster than I was yesterday and I’m the youngest that I’ll ever be. It’s not the aging, it’s just the time, and the lack of control over it, I guess.

What else? The Facebook messages. I sometimes call myself the queen of Facebook because of how often I’m seen on there and how I take up most of everybody’s newsfeed, but the birthday posts kind of overwhelm me. Suddenly, all 780 – no, 781 people know I exist,and even remembered my birthday, or at least cared enough to look up into the corner of their screens to be reminded.

I’ve been suffering a major existential crisis lately, and I hope it dissolves once the birthday hush-hush comes down.

It’s July fourth. 16 years ago at 1;31AM in Prince George’s County in the East Coast state of Maryland, USA, I joined this massive dysfunctional, surviving population. My birthday last year was fun. I went out with three of my guy friends, and it was one of their birthdays too, so the attention really wasn’t on me. We watched Man Of Steel and laughed at shop windows until it was almost midnight. It was like being a proper teenager for once. Fun.

Happy birthday, Jordan Pascoe, and happy Independence Day to all the Americans reading! Happy Lesotho family day to anyone observing, happy Friday to every human being, happy unbirthday to you if your birthday isn’t today, and congratulations on living this far – I didn’t even think I would.

Fifteen was difficult. Perhaps sixteen would be better, perhaps worse. I’ll keep you updated, I promise.


Scoot On ~ Getting Out

I’ve got to get out.

My last Facebook status update that probably left 200 of the 760 Facebook friends that bother to read any of the crap that I post wondering what the hell I was on about. Well, firstly,I feel like I shouldn’t have to explain every time somebody asks me,”What’s wrong?” or even worse, “Are you okay?” I hate those questions, mostly because whoever’s asking them already knows what they want to hear in return. Most people,or at least most people who I’ve come across want to hear something like,”No, I’m not alright and I really need you to help me because you can fix me an I trust you so much and you’re actually such a great person forhelping me,” but unfortunately for those people, this is life and not a poorly written YA novel.

Basically, for everyone who has been wondering what the hell has been going on with me: a lot. That’s the answer.

In brief, I’m not coping at my school, I’m being bullied again and I have to get out of there before I have a suicide on my hands. And as dramatic as it sounds, it’s a real life issue, assuming that there is a fake life to compare it to.

I’m a tired person who’s struggling trying to prepare for exams and do well,and I want to go back to Parktown Girls because at least I functioned there, and I want to stop being so useless,and I also want to punch a girl named Bridgett in the face, because everything that she says makes me and so many other people feel so crap about themselves, and not taking responsibility for it is NOT okay. Not with me, anyway.

I have to get through this though, because in a little over 600 days I’m going to be in Magnificent Mishawaka, Indiana, at Bethel College. I have to get through this.

  • If you didn’t want to know this, (cool memory erasing thing from men in black activates and now you unknow)
  • If you did want to know this, well now you do.

History exam on Friday, preparation level = 3/10.


Scoot on ~ that emotion thing



The weight

of a simple human emotion

weighs me down.

~Troye Sivan

Apart from providing you with some beautiful lyrics,I have another task today. It’s day 4 of my 100 happy days, and I’m feeling happy as can be – not really,but I feel alright – but I have something that I really need to get out.

No, it’s not a fart.

Okay, so I’ve been on this planet for almost 16 years and I’ve been impressed by it every day.I know sometimes people say that they’re so sick of the planet and they’d much rather go some place else, but there really isn’t any other place to go as of now. If you’re that person, sit tight and appreciate where you are or try to move planets and suffer the consequences (i.e. death with a side of death).

The basis of the existence of some people, and recently myself, is a war with one’s self. I think the fact that we are human plays a big role in this. I always marvel at the humans’ ability to keep going. They always manage to stagger on – even with tears streaming down their faces.

This ability, I think, lies within emotion. Today I felt things that I would never have thought I would this time last year. I felt pain, but not physical or the usual emotional pain, but pain that comes from being so numb, it hurts. Well,that sounded dramatic! This human emotion thing is really a lot to deal with though.

The thing about these emotions for me is that I’m crazy about them. I’m crazy about hurt, and love, and pain. Not crazy about feeling them, they just fascinate me. I like the idea of different forms of the same emotions, and the way every single person can feel it regardless of who they are or what they’ve been through.

But that’s the thing about the love. It’s not about a boy or a girl or a cat for me, it’s just the love. I’m an addict, and I need my fix. But everyone is out. There is no love for me. None of the love to spare.

I feel that way sometimes. I don’t feel like nobody loves me (I think ermigaaard) or that I have nobody to love, it just feels like it’s run out everywhere. And all the love stores are on a very extended lunch break or are closed until further notice.

So, yes, I feel a little weighed down.


Until happier days, hopefully

-Scoot xx



10 Confessions About Whatever


1) I’ve had 9 cups of tea today.

2) Annemieke sits next to me in math and she’s crazy smart.

3) I once got bullied really badly that I called my mom to fetch me from school but she didn’t pick up.

4) I haven’t done my math homework.

5) I’m quite crap at making friends.

6) I have about 5783589420.5 acquaintances and 1.5 friends.

7) I’m quite the insomniac.

8) I hate that I feel inferior to everyone everyday.

9) I find it really difficult to climb out of bed in the mornings because I really don’t know how to face people so much so that I cry sometimes. (That’s weird and I don’t like crying)

10) I’m quite useless, really.

Bonus: I’m regretting posting this.

Scoot on ~ why these shoes don’t fit anymore

So , hi.

This is a long post. Just saying.

My name is Shalom and I haven’t updated this blog in almost a month. To say I haven’t touched it would be lying, because the amount of times I’ve logged on to WordPress and typed up a draft, then realised the utter crapness of the post is crazily high. I haven’t been in Ethiopia or Lesotho or Sweden (because if I was in Sweden, believe me, YOU’D KNOW) but I have been through a lot in the past couple of months, so pardon my utter slackerage.

Good happy news though: I officially have a posting schedule! {Yay/wow/don’t care} I’ll be posting at least once every week now, and that’s not just in some vain attempt to increase traffic, because for some reason that’s been doing great all on it’s own, without me even.

On to the important stuff – well, relatively important because importance is really just relative to what’s going on in the current situation. For now, let’s all assume that we’re as dumb as I am, and place one month ago as the current current situation:

  1. I changed the theme of this here blog about 42 times.
  2. I did this to sort of match my mood but if a theme was created for every mood I had, I’m fairly certain the internet would crash.
  3. This theme makes me oddly calm so let’s go with it and avoid death of people who don’t (make me calm, that is).
  4. I do have an actual post to write, I just thought I needed to clear the air a bit.

So lately I’ve been spending a lot more time in my head, and if that adds up to insanity, I plead thoroughly guilty. And that’s okay, but not too much, because that, dear friends, results in characteristically antisocial and non-amiable behaviour which nobody ever found *too* attractive.


Look, nothing is wrong with being attractive, I say. I know so, so many tall, pretty, friendly, skinny blonde girls with  jealousy-creating friends and an Adonis of a boyfriend. Some of them are ridiculously happy, and that’s also totally fine. But I’ve seem to have[ (a) given myself (b) inherited, or (c) been given] these shoes that I’ve worn for so long. Have you ever had something that you’ve had for so long, that you can’t imagine not having it? That’s kind of how I feel with happiness. Not you’re-a-great-person-and-that-makes-me-happy, but rather oh-look-a-butterfly-everything-is-so-great-nothing-is-ever-the-matter-with-me-yay-love-smiles type happiness. I’m not saying that I never feel that way, but I am saying I don’t ALWAYS  feel so.

It’s like having shoes to fill. Happy shoes, if you will. These shoes that I’ve worn since eighth grade when I decided not to be bullied anymore, when I decided to be everyone’s friend. I swear, it’s not like I wasn’t friendly before, I was just not as loud and ridiculous as I tend to be sometimes. So I suppose you could say I’ve kind of grown out of those shoes. It’s quite sad. Like I said, those shoes came with friends and people who said they loved you, and really good food and a crazily brave fearlessness of sorts.

And now they’re too small.

Those people who loved you stopped, and then your friends weren’t anymore, and suddenly, you’re afraid of everything. It’s a scary thing, getting these new shoes. At least it is for me.

I’m currently at the Shoes of Life fitter. I’ve been here for months, and they still haven’t managed to find my size here. The shoemaker did say that custom orders took longer, though. How long is longer? I’m not certain in the slightest. But I do hope these new shoes come along sooner rather than later.

Though things have changed, and though I have changed, I’m not entirely different. I do still love people and things and places and life, but I do think that the years of pretending have taken their toll, so I apoplogise in advance for the melancholic zone created by such a potentially happy place.

Oh, and thank you for putting up with my metaphors.

All my love,

-Scoot xx