waltz for pony

tumblr_oiresb4Woz1ugp61po1_1280time is such a hungry beast / it swallows all my memories

twenty years on a planet is a short long time. so is twenty-two, and twenty-three, and all the other twenties that come with a second decade on this spinny ball. this isn’t the point. the point i’m trying to make is that no matter how much time you spend here, time always wins by stealing some of the things you hold dearest. memories, people, places – time is hungry and swallows them all.

you are my wildest witch come true / i love the way you love and move me

if you’re lucky, maybe two or three times in a lifetime, you get to experience an all encompassing type of love that shocks you more than the last one did. while i’ve been all sorts of unbearable on all the other parts of the internet, i’d like tot take this friday afternoon to be unbearable here. i am in the midst of the most splendid of loves, and i’d like to write about it because there’s nothing i do like write about my feelings.

my love is a wonder in himself; he is brave and caring, kind and understanding, and smart and free flowing. he believes in time and patience, and believes in love. he believes in love and believes in me, and friends, what a joy it is to have love itself believe in loving you.

he is the closest thing to purity that i’ve ever had the good fortune of coming across. see, purity as a blank slate is overrated. a purity born from experiences and mistakes, from a flawed person keen on a self understanding – this is the purity i’m interested in. i love him for his multitude of selves, for the ones he’s come to resent and the ones he wishes he could have back. i love him because he is purely himself, and because he is always changing to be better.

tumblr10

like anyone, i love being loved. i crave the close touch of another, the tenderness that comes with the touch of pinkies. i would trade very little for the two a.m whisper of “i love you,” and even less for reruns of that 70s show with him. with him is my favorite place to be, which is a lot to say for a girl who makes a drastic move every two years (check my record). i love the soft sound that tells me that i’m beautiful, not because i don’t believe it otherwise but because i love the goosebumps i get from believing it. i love how my whole body reacts to words coming out of my favorite person. i love him.

it’s not just two of us, we’re three / you, the hungry beast and me

in this vingette of my life, it is me, my love, and time. and for the first time, i am not afraid of its passing. for the first time, i am excited to grow older. for the first time, i am excited to be here for longer. this time, the time is ours, and i love it. i love him.

love and light,
shalom xo

mother’s day blues

Today’s a hard day for a bunch of people. These family-oriented days are a tricky one because of how families work, and I always feel particularly strange when it comes to them.

Mother’s day can be difficult, but all I’ve got to say is that whatever your feelings are today, they are right. They are valid.

If you’ve lost your mother, or if you’ve never had a relationship with yours, today can be difficult. If your mother is toxic, abusive, unaccepting, or has thrown you out for being who you are, today can be difficult. However you feel, your feelings are valid. Despite the card you will not write or the phone call you will not make, your feelings are valid. To mothers who have lost their children, mothers who have strained relationships with their children, people who long to be mothers — your feelings are valid. My thoughts go out to you.

Be mindful of those going through the most today. Be kind. Be aware, be compassionate, be understanding.

Happy mother’s day. Happy Sunday.

love and light,
shalom xo

could this be earth?

this was written for “white” by frank ocean (& odd future at the time). i’m not sure what this is other than prose for “white”. listen to “white” below.


if a gravity wave hits a rotating thunderstorm, the thunderstorm can spin up into a tornado. nothing around the thunderstorm receives a warning beforehand. what gets swept up, gets swept up. i looked at her. i was swept up.

when someone puts their hands on you, their lips on yours, their body on yours, there’s little that holds you down. little is more important than trying your best to stop your body from betraying your mind: do you focus on the feeling or the memory? which will be preserved first? which will stay longer? i don’t know where i was, or how i hadn’t been carried away into another world where i could balance the two. i slept, and gravity kept me around.

after the big bang, scientists thought that the universe would slow down in its expansion thanks to gravity pulling it together. it hasn’t, though, and the universe has only expanded faster than ever before. for this to make sense, the theory that the universe contains enough energy to overcome gravity must be true. i revelled in the dark energy, and expanded ever outward. she rested in gravity, and stayed.

in the dark, she pulled me together. i woke to touches lighter than the part of me that stayed in space, and to everything around me being more than i remember leaving it. i fought for my brain to remember rather than my body, but i lost. the silence that was once lonely held me down and i asked questions of love, light, and space. gravity doesn’t give answers.

the thing about a tornado is that the start is hard to remember. i know that there is damage and that new buildings are rising where old ones were levelled. i know what i hoped for before, i know what i  danced to during, i know how i slept after. i don’t remember the start. i don’t feel the same as i used to. my brain doesn’t betray me anymore. i forget things like tornadoes, first loves, and time-specific dreams.

we’ll all fade to grey soon on the tv station.

to the one who broke my heart | honest letters #1

A friend of mine is posting a series of twenty-two honest letters to people in his life. I find the idea extremely brave, honestly, and I also really need to say what I need to say to some people, regardless of whether they can appreciate it or not. So. Here are some honest letters. Shall we?

Oh, love.

I remember falling in love with you hard and fast and with every part of myself. You are still the happiest time of my life so far. I remember longing to be with you when you left to get water, and I remember sitting in your lap hoping that I’d always get to see you looking at something from under your eyelashes. I remember the way that you thought your hands were too coarse to be good to hold, and I remember the silly half-mouthed kiss you gave me when I told you that I thought they were lovely. They are lovely.

I know you didn’t break it on purpose. I know. It was more of a civilian casualty: things were flying everywhere and decisions had to be made and the tornado that is my head didn’t help your balance either – and then you dropped it. It broke into three pieces that I broke further. With every drunk text and every “I just miss you” and every textpost and every “Just, call me if you miss me back, okay?” I dropped what was left. I shattered the fragments that you unintentionally left behind, and dissolved the rest of it in alcohol and tears and sweat.

I’ve come a long way from being the living embodiment of Tove Lo’s Stay High. I do miss you, still. I miss singing for you, and arguing about breakfast. You know this.

You know that I love you. You know that I always will.

You know that I have no sense of self preservation, and that if you came back with a piece of the broken heart that I left you with, I’d be on my hands and knees looking for fragments that had been missing for a year or three; that I’d dedicate myself to drawing up equations concerning where I can find exactly what we’d lost; that I’d cut myself down to size, again and again and again.

You know.

I can’t do that, though. I miss you, but differently now. The only science I was good at was our chemistry, and we both know that an attempt at complex mathematics would be better suited to you. You’re not too into maths, though.

I’m sorry about how things turned out. I’m sorry that nothing ended like we hoped; with off white walls and early morning espressos. I miss you indefinitely. I love you. I’m sorry that we’re finished, but we are. I know that now. My drunk heart knows it now. The pages of my journal know it. The Internet knows now, and so do you.

Stay well, and take constant care of yourself.

love and light,
shalom xo

good job, tumblr. | connect

Before I start this post, I’d like to let you know that my little sister decided today that “Draco would really love the game Whack-A-Weasel. I bet every Malfoy has a Whack-A-Weasel machine and laughs whenever they play.”

So, Tumblr. If you don;t know what Tumblr is, I would suggest keeping it that way. Because once you get sucked in, you’re likely to never leave. Buuuuuut it’s also possibly the best thing in world, and I would never forgive myself if I didn’t.

Tumblr is a “microblogging platform and social networking website founded by David Karp and owned by Yahoo! Inc. The service allows users to post multimedia and other content to a short-form blog.” (Thanks  Wikipedia.) In short, Tumblr is  a place where people are 980 times more offended by regular people, where everybody is the same age whether you’re twelve or fifty-two, and where you will literally learn enough to change the world. Tumblr has about 50 million users, who can know as much about you as you want them to know in a matter of seconds. Fair warning: 39 million of them are angry and get very, very short with people that offend them with anything (read: everything).

But why are you talking about Tumblr, Shalom? 

I ship it.

Well, today, Tumblr went a little crazy with a shipping marathon. No, the people of the internet were not packing fish into boxes and sending them across the ocean. Is it strange that that’s the first thing I think of when I see shipping? Possibly. ANYWAY. Shipping. Today.

Shipping, initially derived from the word relationship, is the desire by fans for two people, either real-life celebrities or fictional characters, to be in a relationship, romantic or otherwise. Tumblr is brilliant at this.  Today, a I got asks (messages from Tumblr) shipping a friend (read: giant. crush.) and me. And then I got more. And we talked about it, I guess, and we both ship the ship. I don’t know if this means I’ve outed my crush on my crush to my crush. Possibly. (Why crush? Why not passing fancy?)

In short: Good job, Tumblr. This ship may well sail.

love and light,
shalom

Lucky

Some disclaimers:

1. I am female.

2. I write from whatever perspective I want.

3. I am not actually a boy named Adam.


 

I’m very lucky. Her name is Jenifer and she uses strawberry scented shampoo.

I like to go on walks with her – she likes to walk. I usually hate being alone but I love being alone with her. I don’t know if that makes any sense – I tend to lose most of my sense when I’m with her. She’s like a drug, I guess. I feel like I’m on every drug in the solar system when I’m just standing next to her, and holding her hand usually sends me into a neighbouring universe. Heaven knows that she’s not out of this world, but she must be something special.

We’re both so ordinary, actually. I don’t know why. We both tried to be different at one stage; she got a piercing and I stopped wearing a belt on my jeans. It didn’t work, for me at least. She still has her piercing. It’s beautiful, like every other part of her. The whole of her is so, so beautiful.

They say that you don’t forget your first kiss. I think that’s a lie. I forgot mine. I think it was in a movie cinema and horrible. I do remember kissing her, though. She was holding my hand and I thought I was going to fly away. I liked her, and she liked me, and we both knew. We were sat on a carpet in her living room, and I couldn’t think clearly. It made sense. She was in front of me. Jenifer. What else was there to think of?

Between the skin on her hands and wrists and the voice that she had, I don’t know which was smoother. She looked at me very closely, and I thought I’d screwed up, but instead, she laughed. She laughed her beautiful Jenifer laugh, and tried to cover her face with the hand that was intertwined with mine. “I like you, Adam.” I forgot how to speak, as expected. She laughed more and I replied, “I know,”.

And then, it was like everything that I thought was good and right in the world was in front of me. I was taken by the smell of strawberries that wafted towards me, and the feel of her hair between my fingers. She laughed, and kissed me. By the time her lips touched mine, and I felt the muscles in her face work towards a small nervous smile, I was so far gone into a world where only her and I existed. Adam and Jenifer world. Full of kisses and strawberry shampoo and hand holding. I smiled, at a loss for words, and she giggled, and we both laughed more than we had in weeks. We lay on the carpet, close to the TV. There, with her head on my chest and my hand running through her hair, I asked myself why I was in the situation I was in, where she had come from, how she was so beautiful. I couldn’t answer myself. I figured I was lucky.

As my mom came around to pick me up, she skipped beside me as I walked to the car.

“I know, ” she whispered, as she kissed me on the cheek. I didn’t know how it could have happened. I didn’t get it. I couldn’t make sense of it. Then again, it may have just been a Jenifer effect.

“I like you, Jenifer,” I said. Then, I got into the car while she greeted my mom.

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips,

We should just kiss like real people do.

                                                 -Hozier


Love and light,
Shalom X

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.