die young

this is cross-posted from the other side of paradise, a blog i wrote for class this semester.

every night, you’re terrified of what you won’t become.

i am. i am terrified of the space that lies between could have and have done. i am terrified of the day turning into the night without having anything to show for it except a sunburn. i am terrified of the chance that i have of being here and being nothing. i am terrified of potential and how heavy it weighs, so i run. i become a professional athlete drinking in every experience like it’s about to be the last bit of water before i reach the finish line. i run from the fear of not enough, and sometimes, i run fast enough to forget why i’m running.

the goal isn’t so much to die, but rather to remove the issue of not being remembered by not being here at all. everyone wants to be something, make something, leave something – but if you die young, your obligations become zero and there’s no expectation for you to. death is an option – a seemingly beautifully freeing option – but is it the answer?

perhaps. but maybe it isn’t. maybe there is more to life than the imprint you leave. maybe there is beauty in the simplicity of being. maybe being here, and being you, is enough. maybe being you is enough.

so, do you wanna die young?

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A Tribute

This is a tribute.

A tribute to every single human being in the universe, everybody who has ever experienced death, a tribute to anyone who has ever breathed his or her last, a tribute to a person who is alive.

This is a tribute to Ndaba Ndlovu, the little boy who was killed by his mother when I was in grade 6. A tribute to Jake Kritzinger who left us on August 1st last year. To Jennifer Fields, the six year old daughter of my science teacher who went into cardiac arrest. To Mekyla Viviers who took her life on June 21st 2011.

This is a tribute to my mom, who has seen incredible pain. A tribute to Muadi Ilung for passionately blow drying her hair every day. A tribute to Jessica Craven for shamelessly loving science. To the two people Russia who visited my blog. To Tanya Meyer, for finding herself. To Meghan Duran and Jessica Baylis for living with me. To Allison Beachy for running four miles last week.To Phoenix Falconer for making a video with me on grade eight camp. To Taynita Harilal for not being captain, but for being Tay.

In my year and +- four days of blogging, I have found out some extraordinary things. I’ve found out that the darkest days have light in them. I’ve found out that life can end without anyone’s permission. I’ve found out that getting up is sometimes he only way to stop dying. I’ve found out that some pain doesn’t go away.

Penultimately*,I have come to this conclusion:

As people, we are constantly moving. In and out of this world, through phases, to bigger and better things – we move. Always. Tanya Meyer once delivered a speech that began: “We live, we die, and in between there is time.” And friends, that’s the biggest deal. There is time. If you’re reading this, the chances of you having the same life experience as a six year old that were cut ridiculously short are slim. But you have had your own. We don;t all get the same amount of time here on this planet, but we do have a little. A lot can happen in a year. A lot can change. Suddenly, your best friend isn’t so close to you anymore, and suddenly,some people have been dating for two years, and suddenly, you move schools, and suddenly, you gain weight. The beauty of this lies in the time it takes, whether, in hindsight,  it is considered to be wasted or not. There is life, there is time, there is hope, there is death, there is love,there is light. There is.

Am I sure? Hell no. I am sure, however,that this year of blogging has helped me to believe in what I say more. Thank you for being here, and well done for living. Here’s to another year.

All my love, Shalom xxx


* credit goes to Jessica Craven for teaching me how to use the word penultimate properly, even though it was a conversation about who the head pimp was.

Scoot on ~ straight and fast

 

Recently, and I mean four days ago recently, I found out that a book to film adaptation of Looking for Alaska would be made.

Reaction 1: oh

Reaction 2: OHHHH

Recation 3: WHAT EVEN IS THIS LIFE OHHHHHHHHHHH MAAHH GOSH JOHNNNNN

According to Mr. Green himself, he only agreed to the making of the film so that all of us would shut up about TFIOS. Confused? Well, I’m sorry. Google maybe? If, like the majority of the population fortunate enough to know what TFIOS is and what it’s about and have read the book and or seen the film – I’m talking to you!

So Looking for Alaska is p-r-etty amazing, and if the criers cried buckets in TFIOS and if the criers are real people, then every cinema that will show Looking for Alaska, as well as every household containing a human being who will read the book or watch the film should get a sudden supply of mops with the specific purpose to  mop up tears. I feel like that should have been written in code but I’m quite useless at that so NO! 😀

Anyway, one of the taglines for the movie is, “Straight and fast is the only way out.” If you haven’t read the book, I guess you’ll have to interpret that for yourself. If you have, I think you’ll thoroughly understand the intensity of this statement. My intention of this post isn’t entirely clear – not even to myself – so I’m just going with whatever crap  comes to mind. Sorry.

Alaska Young is, in part, the representation of most teenagers. Over 20 per cent of teenagers are depressed and or suffer some sort of mental disorder, with increasing numbers in sociopathic tendencies and eating disorders. Alaska Young? Clearly depressed. Also, clearly brilliant. She has a mind like none other, and a thought process like none other, and she’s brilliant. She thinks screws things up. She leaves the people she leaves behind in a state. She’s powerful beyond measure. She’s deeply hurt. She is, for lack of a more mainstream word, celestial.

She’s probably thinking that she screwed things up with her mom again. And she’s furious and she hates herself, and she
decides, ‘That’s it, I’m doing it,’ and she sees the cop car and there’s her chance and she just floors it.”

After all this time, it still seems to me that straight and fast is the only way out, but I chose the labyrinth. The labyrinth blows,but I choose it.

There’s a way out. Your choice – or at least you think it is.

Straight and fast. Straight. And. Fast. Straight and fast.

-Scoot xx


 

 

JOHN GREEN YOU SICK SICK MARVELOUS AWFUL BRILLIANT HUMAN BEING.

 

Scoot on ~ where social insecurities go to hide

So today I thought I’d write to you from my IT class. Being one out of the three people in my classroom environment filled with predominantly oestrogen, my class can be defined as territory for the brave. Okay, maybe I’m being a little exaggerative, but you need to hear me out.

As of now, I have science as my last lesson of the day and I’ve done no homework, I’m going to skip public speaking so that I can get a ride to ballet only to be told that I’m pointing my feet the wrong way and “not to worry, it’ll get better in time”, and then I’m going to get home and be swamped with homework and probably sit on the couch closest to the wireless router in my house and browse instagram, tumblr, and Facebook until my cows that I never have had the desire town come home.

But apart from all that, I have to deal with now. Right now, it is 12.29 pm GMT +2, and I am surrounded by 15 people currently (and hopefully for some or other person) equipped with otherwise shaped genitalia and RAGING HORMONES THAT I CANNOT ACTUALLY DEAL WITH.

Let me be enraged for a minute: IT IS NOT EASY TO BE THE FEMALE OBSERVER! I mean, you’re probably thinking, “Come on Scoot, it’s not that bad.” But let me tell you, THAT IT IS.

To be honest, the title of this post wasn’t planned coherently with this post but the more I write, the more it does. My IT class is full of expectation. Seriously: there are 15 boys to whom the perfect girl is fair skinned, thin, fit, fun-loving, smart, athletic and all in all, Christmas morning.

So, what does that have to do with anything? Well, once the guys are done feasting their prying eyes upon the protruding exterior of my incredibly intelligent IT teacher, they tend to look around them. And on several occasions, I’ve been told that Ashlyn and I aren’t Christmas morning. We aren’t up to scratch, not good enough.

But this is where it stops.

There are so many beautiful human beings – ale and female alike- who aren’t Christmas morning. And why would they want to be? Christmas is a capitalist ploy to extort consumers out of anything and everything in the shortest time frame possible. Maybe they’re Independence morning – loud, and over acknowledged, yet looked over at the same time. Maybe some of these people are new years day, because they bring fresh hope, yet always seem the same as the previous. Or maybe, just maybe, some of these people are nights, and don’t fit into the moulds of perfect mornings. 

But how would anybody know. Nobody ever asks.

Now, a class mostly full of penises, (in my opinion the plural of penis is actually peni but hey, whatever the English language says goes), some things are bound to appear. If you’re ashamed of your legs, then these boys will probably reassure you that you should be. It’s the way it goes sometimes.  Or, sometimes, they’ll tell you what I got told mid-2013:

What is actually wrong with you? Because I’m not gonna lie to you and tell you that supermodels have nothing on you or that you’re the hottest girl in the school, but I’ll tell you this: you have got to get over yourself. Because your body is fine and if you keep going about like the world is gonna end if you don’t transform into someone else- it’s probably going to end.”

A 16 year old boy told me this, and I couldn’t be more grateful.

There really are only so many things you can do: live, or die. Both happen, but only one is guaranteed to it’s full potential. (PS IT’S DEATH.) You have insecurities? Get them out. Because not everybody is lucky enough to be dipped into enough testosterone daily to be  reminded of why he or she shouldn’t have them.

All my love,

Scoot xx

Scoot on ~ the grade 11 imposed hiatus

SCOOTON IS BACK!!!

Hey guys! After about a week and a bit long hiatus, I’m around again! Let me present you with some simple facts that I’ve learned in the short week or so that I’ve been back at school:

  1. School is still school. You can dress it up, mark it down, give it ribbons, add electronic sign boards, get new security guards, appoint new teachers, DO WHATEVER. School is still a place where you get taught things, 50% of which you’ll forget should you go a year without looking over them. Regardless, it’s happened. Oh well.
  2. Math is STILL MATH.  I don’t know what I was hoping for when I got back to the hell pit. Maybe I was expecting a new teacher and a sudden vast understanding of this whole number thing. Guess what? NOPE! I did get a new teacher though – one that doesn’t tell me to practice my trig to become a plumber.
  3. People don’t change. And I know this is pretty generic, but I’ve found out most recently that it’s true.People change some of the things that they do, but they themselves do not.  If someone was -for lack of a better word- mean, at one stage, then the chances are that sooner or later they’re going to be mean beyond the point of being excusable. Can I utter my words of advice? Especially if you’re like me,  put yourself first. You may be a lazy selfish ASS at home, but when it comes to other people, you might be a people pleaser. STOP. Forgive them – for yourself.
  4. SCHOOL IS OVER IN A YEAR AND A HALF FOR ME. That is scary and that is all.
  5. I think too much. About stuff that’s strange. Random stuff. Like why one teacher looks like a vampire and sometimes wears his wedding ring (?) on his pinky finger. Also, about this blog, and when I’m going to write, and what to write. And about ballet, and how people can be really bad drivers. But that’s all in the scheme of things, in terms of the way things go.

I really have to go do some math now, OR I SHALL BE FAILING ELEVENTH GRADE.  That’s bad, if you were wondering. I’ll be back sooner rather than later, dependent on the life stuff and other things you don’t care about. Go forth and prosper! 

All my love,

-Scoot xx

Scoot on ~ introvertedness and seemingly meaningless chitter chatter

Oh, hello there! You, with the face? Unless you don’t have a face, that’d be awkward – but still! Come one, come all to the Scoot’s gonna fail her maths final and is back to her blog after 3 weeks party!

I have missed this. Not the heat from my laptop dangerously warming le thighs, but this, this platform. I guess I’m back partially because I’m procrastinating, and because Jess updated today, and also because I met one of my followers last weekend! She’s twelve years old and asked me to write something for her, so I guess this is for you Alenshka! Not this specifically but this in general…you get what I mean x_x

So I have a tendency of blabbering on about nothing while valuable people make meaningful contributions to society, and also to those of us who live on the internet and make no meaningful  contribution to society. I blabber a lot. In Afrikaans, I’d be called a babbelkous . Regardless, I like to blabber. I like to talk too much and yell a lot and get yelled at for talking too much and yelling to loud and causing a general ruckus…okay, maybe less than I thought.

I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be introverted. I guess for the first couple of years in my life in school, I was introverted. I used to love hearing what people had to say, I used to need time alone to regroup, I used to take great pleasure in teaching other people things I’d read, counting people ahead of me, observing behaviour, and having conversations with myself.

Funnily enough, nothing’s changed. Though if you ask anybody who thinks that he or she knows me, you’ll learn that introvert is often the absolute opposite-last-world-ended-all-dictionaries-destroyed-no-more-words-crazy-dilemma-we’re-all-secretly-dead word to describe me.

I’m crazy loud. I know, it get’s to people’s ears, and sometimes to the people themselves, but what can I do? I like to talk, I like to sing, I like to live most days! And with good reason, I mean I think it’s pretty amazing that one day you weren’t even thought of, and in the next ten years you’re fighting with your parents. Okay, perhaps not the best example, but still: life is insane, and totally harsh and ridiculous, but lovely nonetheless. (Sorry about the bold. I love that word. Nonetheless. Eep!)

Back to my struggle of intro-extra-upside-topsy-turvy-vertedness, I don’t really know what I am. I don’t know what makes me not introverted, apart from the fact that I love people, and I love to be around them. Okay, so maybe I know. I guess I’m just not willing to accept the label of ‘extrovert’ for some strange reason. I’ve always hated labels. Somebody puts you in a box and it takes a really long to get out. And once you finally do, you’re put in another box, and another, until you finally break out of all these boxes, only to be put inside one inside the ground.

Anyway, that’s really all I have to say today. I have to study, though I’d much rather go outside. It’s drizzling, you know those pathetic little storms that keep rumbling on with their thunder, and tease about with their periodical raindrops? That kind.

I’m glad you read this, because if you do, it means that you can read. And some people can’t. And no, I’m not saying that because I live in Africa: I’m saying that because I appreciate reading, and because you should too.

You’re fabulous. And you’d probably think that’s obligatory for me to say, but it’s not. I genuinely think so – I mean, you read this far.

All my love, all the time

-Scoot xx