Bravado

This week has been something.

I went from crying for seven straight hours to not crying at all. It may not seem like a world altering change, but when your eyes are suddenly unpuffy and nobody’s asking you what you’ve been drinking for the whole week, it makes a bit of a difference.

I was stuck with an English essay that provoked procrastination from every crevice of my being. The essay topic was alright, but one of the short stories that we were working on just…ah, it did nothing for me. It was (a) more of a novella than a short story, (b) had a rapist as the narrator on moral authority. I just got very tired reading it. It’s an excellently written story, though. I think that everything happening in my country about rape culture at the moment made me a little apprehensive.

I just submitted my essay a whole 12 hours before it’s due. I’m feeling quite accomplished. (This is a lie. I am not.)

I’ve got a little bit of time tonight because I am neglecting my law & philosophy readings. I feel as though my room is conspiring against me: My doorknob sliced my finger when I entered, and now it won’t stop showing me that in less time than I can adequately comprehend, I will have been alive for eighteen years.

Eighteen doesn’t seem like a long time, and birthdays don’t seem like a big deal, but if you’ve been around this little corner of the internet, you’ll know that I don’t do well with birthdays. The ABEC (Annual Birthday Existential Crisis) comes to town a month before my birthday, usually. Being the Americanest American to ever American, my birthday is on July 4th. (The bitch is early this year.)

I think this has all started because I’m listening to my favourite music from 2013. I loved Lorde in 2013. Everything she sang made sense to me. In 2013, I was a 15 year old in 10th grade struggling with physics dating a twin boy. I wanted to dance more than anything, I wanted to sit on tennis courts with my then-boyfriend and his brother, my then-best friend and our little clan, drinking out of paper cups. I wanted to be able to describe my year as the feeling of wind on your hand when you stick your arm out of the car window on a roadtrip.

Today, in 2016, I’m still faking glory. I’m trying to convince myself that when the lights come on, I’ll be ready. I have been ready, for the most part. I’ve fooled everyone into thinking I have been, at least. Every day is a pill tipped back, every day a brand new story. Everything is for the applause, in the most selfish way possible. Does that make any sense?

I’m walking to 18 slowly, and it’s running at me. I’m trying to find my own bravado before it crashes into me.

I’m also going to move to New York in 3-ish years.

Love and light,
shalom xo


featured image from this 8tracks mix

THE FINAL COUNTDOWN: 4 DAYS LEFT

I KEEP GETTING HIT BY PANIC WAVES AND I DO NOT APPRECIATE IT

I walked around school with my camera today, and I recorded little pieces of footage that I’d like to remember. It seemed strange to a lot of the girls – after all, I was taking 20 second videos of once shiny black school shoes shuffling to class after a meeting that DID NOT NEED TO TAKE UP MY ENTIRE BREAK. Yes.

The video footage aside, I had conversations with some of the most radical ladies I have ever had the privilege of meeting and talking to. We talked, yelled, debated, and laughed about drunk adventures, whitewashing in our school, the plight of the black woman in the world that we live in, ridiculous hair regulations, and why some boys are So. Thirsty. It was brilliant, and despite the 32°C temperature (that’s 90°F?) we managed to disturb the peace and have a phenomenal time.

I got emotional and nostalgic. As expected.

It pained me to think that whether I like it or not, this week may well be the last time I get to have these conversations with these people. I think it’s a shared matric sentiment: the thought that the people who you’ve loved and lived with for more than a quarter of your life will soon go on and create new lives, often without you, is nerve wrecking. And sad. Mostly sad.

This week, if not this entire year, has made me cherish the people in my grade more than I have in a long time. The class of 2015, the ‘black badges’ – we’ve never been favourites. We’ve probably seen the most high school dropouts and caused the most trouble for all of our respective schools. 1997 (for the most part) must have been a crazy year. Just saying.

In any case, high school as a whole has provided me with a lot – bruises, failures and heartbreak, as well as conversations I’ll miss and points of view that I’ll treasure. I’m going to keep recording this week, and hopefully fewer and fewer people will shy from my lens.
Eugh. Lasts and goodbyes are hard to navigate. I’m going to pretend to study, like the rest of us.

Love and light,
shalom


featured image from http://projectgrad2015.vpweb.com/Announcements.html

THE FINAL COUNTDOWN: 5 DAYS TO GO

This is a brief lil’ post-a-day series for the next week or so regarding my last days at high school. That sounded way, way more intense than I initially intended.


So, I’m finishing high school in five days. Well, not really, but technically. See, I won’t be a student anymore -my valediction is on Thursday- but I’ll still have to come back to write my final exams for four weeks, I think. I’m not sure. All the shit is terrifying.

I keep thinking about how I’m going to deal once school is over. See, I hate school, but it’s also pretty much the only constant I have in my life. If I didn’t go school, I wouldn’t see my friends, eat, or exercise because lord knows, those stairs and my thighs have had an appointment. Also, I’m a little stressed out at the fact that nothing is concrete for me at present? Like, the majority of the students in my year have plans: Finish school. 2 month break. Get results. University. I’m kind of in between every single one of these phases, like: Finish School. Retake SAT. Find job. Work. Get results. Send results to McGill. Find out if accepted into McGill. ET CETERA.

To cut a long and particularly haphazard story short, I’m tired and terrified. I don’t know how I’m going to take this week, or why I’m not studying for finals, or what I’m going to be doing at school tomorrow. I don’t know.

Essentially, I’m just really tired, and I want cuddles and a high speed internet connection.

In a word: Ugh.

Love and light,
shalom