wisdom from 23

my big sister turned 23 today! i miss her dearly, and because she’s very busy being an almost doctor and writer and all around bad ass, i’d like to share some lessons she’s taught me with you. more specifically, lessons that have been applicable to the last week of my life – what a trip, honestly. here we go!

  1. things fall apart, but you do not. bend, fracture, but do not fall apart.
  2. a good thing is not always the good thing for you.
  3. misconstrued relationships hurt more than you think they will, just because you’ve thought about them in a way that they are actually not. it sucks, but issokay.
  4. loving someone sometimes is not enough.
  5.  if you get heartbroken, there’s an ice cream and sweaty dance fix for that.
  6. the people who you choose to share your truth with aren’t people you choose lightly. more often than not, they are good. be good to them, too.
  7. if you consider yourself difficult to love, remember all the things it is easy for you to do, like love people.
  8. stick with yourself. whether it’s through med school or through a cross continental move, stick with yourself through it. a constant is refreshing.

i would go for twenty three lessons, but i’m pretty beat. my brain, she’s back to her scheduled programming of throwing me under the bus. it sucks a lot.

happy birthday, sharon.
i love you!

love and light,
shalom xo

don’t cry, 2020

my name is shalom and i am in the terrible ten year habit of understanding that doing something will directly impact me negatively, and doing it anyway. simple things, like don’t pick at a pimple, or a scab, or a tattoo. my name is shalom and i have done all of these things in the last 72 hours. good day, pals.

the weather does a weird thing on this side of the world. on saturday night, the campus was covered in snow and we went sledding in garbage bags, and two days later it was shorts weather. global warming is really doing her thing, and it’s a big shame.

the point of this was to tell you all that the abec has started. if you’re new around here, abec stands for annual birthday existential crisis. every year without fail for the last ten years. guys, i’m turning twenty this year and i have no idea what to do with myself. i’m trying to get around to finishing the exercise guide that i bought while very manic and also trying to be comfy in my flesh suit. it’s the only one i’ve got, so i may as well start getting settled if i’m gonna be in it for another twenty years (and hopefully a couple more twenty years after that).

these days when i get dressed in the morning – which isn’t very often. i spent a disgusting amount of time of the day unshowered and in pyjamas, and my pj’s are often just the clothes i wore yesterday (but enough about my gross habits) – i’ve been saying some lyrics to myself. sometimes it’s pinegrove, sometimes it’s walk the moon, but recently it’s been coin:

put on your make up
i laid out your favourite swearter
it’s just a number, darling
dry your eyes

it’s just a number. it’s two decades of open hearts and messy words, and at least one decade of trying to appreciate myself, but it’s just a number.

dry your eyes, friends. tonight is just another day.

love and light,
shalom

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

this counts as two posts because i was kidnapped|connect

I AGED YESTERDAY.

My birthday happened! I am alright! I have lived to seventeen! I’m still quite anxious-y about it all, but give me a week and I’ll be alright. The question at hand is this: kidnapped?

Yes, kidnapped.

By my friends. Yesterday, while everyone was celebrating Murica’s birthday (regardless of whether they understood why), my friends whisked me away and threw a surprise party for me. Oh gosh, a teen girl surprise party, how expected. Except not. You see, for starters, I couldn’t write a post. I was to busy being fed cake and showered with sparklers on said cakes (PLURAL. CAKE-S.) and gifts (and also GIFs). Secondly, I was surprised at the surprise, but I was more surprised at what the friends managed to pull off – they got Sarah.

Sarah? Who’s Sarah?

Sarah is my absolute hjsadjfkghh. I can’t really explain it more than that. I hadn’t seen her in a year and a half (almost to the day) and somehow, they made it happen. It’s a strange thing, when you connect with someone after being away from them for so long, but still feel like you see them every day.

The thing about both Sarah and myself is that we’re not the best with people. It’s very easy for me, at least, to do my best to try and feel comfortable with a new group of people and completely freak out instead. What baffled me was the way Sarah was 900% ALRIGHT. Not because she’s incapable of being fine, but because I was (a) terrified that maybe for some reason she wouldn’t be okay with me due to the fact that I hadn’t laid eyes on her in 18 months (b) much less with other strangers she had never met.

I feel like this has turned into a waffle.

No, not that kind of waffle. The one where I just talk and talk (write and write?) and then lose myself so completely that my train of thought derails. Gone. Pew pew. Explosion.

Thanks for sitting through this. The ABEC is coming to a close. Things are winding down. I am now the owner of high heels. Yikes.

love and light
shalom

 

the day before| connect

elderly-sign-364-364x223

 

It’s the day/night before the age-a-tron comes to take hold of me!

It’s been exhausting. Today I managed to conduct an interview with several young, powerful black women who are probably going to change the world, get my prom dress fitted, but two dresses for the afterparty (I am unaware of how party things work, as I am in fact a potato.), buy my first! pair! of! heels! and have laughs over noodles and cinnamon tea with my mom and sister.

I’ve easily come into contact with more people today than I have in the past six months.

I swear, these posts are getting shorter and shorter, but I think as soon as the ABEC passes, I’ll be more…regular.

I’m stopping. I have four minutes of sixteen left. Wowowowowowowow.

love and light
shalom

one month later|connect

a pep talk for julyIn all honesty, I’m completely clueless how to go about writing this post. In actual fact, I’m not entirely sure about how this sentence will go; I’m just hoping it turns out okay by the end. Phew. Seems satisfactory.

I’ll be writing a post every day of July this ye– oh, wait: where have you heard that before? Yes. Here. Where NaBloPoMo and NaNoWriMo were both embarrassingly attempted by me. Well, I’ll be doing it. Again. Not the embarrassing part though. I thoroughly intend to finish!

This year’s theme is connect, as you can tell by the snazzy little badge I’ve snagged in the sidebar, and I’m pretty keen to find out what kind of trash (and hopefully, some non-trash) I’ll be spewing for a month. That…that there is a vivid image. Good job, Shalom.

ONTO THE FIRST POST! I haven’t updated this blog in almost exactly a month, and there are many reasons and excuses I could give. June is exam month in South Africa and every day from June 5th onward was a horrible practical joke. At least I hope it was. If it wasn’t, my physics and chemistry exams will let me know (THEY WENT HORRIBLY LIKE BURN THE REPORT CARD BEFORE YOUR MOTHER SEES IT HORRIBLY). Also, I’ve been going through the 7th Annual Birthday Existential Crisis, because I’m ageing soon.

“Gosh, Scoot, you’re so dramatic.”
Yes. Yes I am.

I am also very, very panicked about being older. (If you missed the 6th ABEC, you can catch yourself up here.) I tend to shrink into myself more than I do when I’m alone during this time of year (which is an awful lot, I’ll have you know), so connecting, in a word, becomes difficult. The ABEC forces me to find new ways to deal with things that I’m perfectly equipped to during any time of the year apart from the days between June 20th and July 10th.

I suppose that the extensive number of emails I’ve sent out to American universities (HELLO Bethel College and University of Iowa thank you for replying always except when you don’t :)) counts as some form of connecting- I haven’t failed completely at that.

Worry not friends – I ensure you (at least I hope to everything) that every July post will not be as anxiety ridden and angst filled as I currently am. I feel like I’ll come around. The thing about me, about the things I go through-about the depression and the anxiety and the eating and the school- is that I always get through. I don’t know how, but I do. And I like to think that I always will.

In the words of Luigi:Here we go!

yours, shalom

Exactly Sixteen Tireds

I’ve been so tired.

 

(if you liked the nebula thing that was the featured image, you can make your own here! super calming and super great.)

I try sometimes, but most times I can’t even be bothered. I wake up, I take a shower, I put on my (new and sassy) glasses, I go to school, my file falls off the dashboard on the way there, I get sad because I think of friends who aren’t friends anymore, I plaster on a smile, say ‘darling’ far too many times, take ‘too much’ (enough + prescribed) medication, have genuine laughs with lovely people, kiss said people too much, go to class, get out of class, give hugs, hope to go home, don’t go home, eat too much…

Look, it’s not an interesting schedule, but it’s mine. And at it’s tiring.

I’ve decided that if my tiredness could be quantified, it’d be done in tireds. And it’d be meticulously calculated by adding the years that I’ve been alive to the number of hours I’d ideally spend listening to good music and not crying/crying (dependent on the day), and then subtracted by the amount of time I’m doing school related things.

16+12-12
=16 tireds

I’m so tired, because with four tests a week and a bajillion things to do and a birthday in four months (OH MY ASDGSFSDG PANIC!WITHOUT THE DISCO) and the dangerous thoughts coming back and fricken’ prom in five months (actually, I don’t think I care about this?), I don’t know how to be less tired.

It’s no surprise that I’ve been reduced (?) to my truest form: a teary eyed sixteen year old girl, eating shortbread and avoiding reading because “Gatsby was supposed to be FUN not a fricken’ chore”.

I have no idea what this is.

I have no idea what I am.

The existential crisis has been rather intense, as of late.

love and light
?

S-a-t-u-r-d-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-y

Aloha, Scootonerinos!

That, friends, was a Louise SprinkleOfGlitter referenece. I think I’m starting a Youtuber greetings pattern here.

I’ve been really busy, and it’s quite ridiculous seeing that the things I’m busy with are little things that should not take too long to complete. Except if there are exactly 43 million of those little things that follow you everywhere. I’m not kidding, this grade eleven thing follows me into the shower  (don’t forget your physics assignment), into the bathtub (did you really think that your essay was due tomorrow?), under the blankets (oh, yeah, that rehearsal is today), and even in my tea. My schoolwork is working its way into my tea, and I can’t drink a hot beverage without thinking about the fact that I have an anthology due in two weeks.

On the topic of the anthology:

How it  works: You’re given free range on topics and you have to choose one that (a) you enjoy, (b) you can relate to, and (c) you pray you’ll finish. The project is assigned in January and is due in August. You have to write a preface of  1000 words, compile 3 songs, poems, fiction extracts and non fiction extracts, and write your own original poem, all related to your topic. The reading takes a while. The writing takes longer.

How it works for me: I only have to do one of each category, seeing that I joined the school about one and a half months ago. It’s a pleasure to do – my title is Life, Interrupted. It’s about fully functioning in a ‘functional’ society while living with mental illness. IT’S EXCITING. It’s also due on September 15th, the same day as a speech for Drama, and the week after my history project is due.

ABOUT HISTORY AT THIS SCHOOL

I’ve never failed a test. Okay, that’s a lie. I’ve failed math tests before, but that’s because I’m usually horribly useless at the numbers game, except if it’s the maths used to create the graphs John Green made use of in the novel, An Abundance of Katherines. You can read about it here. I failed a history test at my new school, and I’m not blaming it on adjustment issues or whatever. The thing is: I don’t fail history. EVER. I failed thoroughly though, not a half-assed fail. 19/50.  38%. THIRTY EIGHT.

After a discussion with my teacher (generally knows what’s in the textbook and doesn’t know much other than that) and the head of department (knows stuff and seems to love history a lot) they concluded the following:

  1. I haven’t been taught to think in the correct way
  2. I have a limited vocabulary
  3. My old school must have had a low standard of teaching

Problems I have with their observations:

  1. what?
  2. what?!?!????
  3. oh hell no – what??

Yeah, that happened on Thursday and I’ve never been so angry in my life. I don’t think I have – I even cried (?) so I think that that’s an experience that I’m forever going to hold with me. Hopefully, my resentful sentiments change with time – like 20 years of it.

In other news: I HAVE 15 MOTHS LEFT OF HIGH SCHOOL!

Today is also day 100 of my #100happydays challenge. I’m having very mixed emotions about it. It’s also also my smallest little sister’s 13th birthday today! That’ll take some of the attention off and I’m truly grateful for that. This is her on the day I got Getrude (laptop). Selfie game level 43 000: taking the first pictures on a new computer that isn’t yours.

picture015

 

I’m tired, people (and anything else reading this – there is a Dog with a Blog so we can’t be discriminating here). It’s 1:18 in the morning and I fixed the printer and have a planner for September (?). Here we go!
Screenshot (68)

 

Later/whatever/other teenagerism

-Scoot xx

 

Birthday.

FIRST AND FOREMOST, I’VE BEEN OFFICIALLY VEGETARIAN FOR A YEAR TODAY!

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.