diane young

 

hello friends. i started class again this week, which was great. i also had a very fun series of anxiety attacks and stress vomiting episodes, which was less fun. it’s a friday afternoon, and i’m feeling shit – per usual – and now i’m going to take apart a song that tears 2013 shalom out and makes me feel less shit.

pals, today we’re diane young.

i’ve been trying to keep my brain in a healthy space mostly out of necessity, since i got here. i don’t have immediate access to a psychiatrist who gets me, and i don’t have a doctor sister who i can text to come pick me up when i feel some of that good ol’ l’appel du vide. the last week has been an example of spectacular failing not for a lack of trying. i got caught in a stadium separated from the only person i knew and her friend, so ended up sat next to a stranger (a nice man at least) crying for 40 minutes through an anxiety attack. was i ready to be done? you bet buddy. you fuckin’ bet.

dy1dy2

live my life in self-defense, you know i love the past because i hate suspense

diane young is a funny little song. apart from the obvious play on “dying young”, the concept is lost on little to no one. a good time, not a long time; live fast, die young – the ever blessed yolo – as a generation (though i think a sense of this has existed forever) we’re mostly ready to be done with the living of it all.

there’s not much to look forward to if you’re between the ages of 18 and 30 these days. pardon me, alright – let my excessive optimism or mental health rambles take a break. the obvious aside, we’ve inherited a mess. all we do is live in suspense. will you be able to eat tomorrow? how close are you to not paying your rent this month? if you had a dollar for every dollar you owed in student loans, you know you’d still be broke? i guess the reason everyone hates millennials is because millennials hate everything because we’ve been dealt one of the worst cards.

my biggest kink is financial stability. student loans paid off? kinky.

dylaurabeckman.com

maybe the kennedy curse has a clause written for millennials, only discoverable at the ripe age of “well, shit. responsibility.” maybe all we are doing is waiting about for the grinding we’re doing to turn impossibly turn into something that isn’t exhausted piles of dust. maybe i need to get out of this mindset? maybe? yes.

where there is no hope in the future, there is no power in the present.

we’re all out of control, all playing a role. while modern vampires of the city is an album all about death, we’re still here. even if it’s somewhat flakey, somewhat torturous. whether we’re torching cars or dancing in the street or running from the government. we keep doing it. i suppose dying young can’t change our minds, so baby, we’re right on time.

love and light
shalom xo

painkiller post

am i in a lot of pain? yes.

are these painkillers on top of me? also yes.

a tiny revelation that has come from texting all of the people in my phone, eating a bag of nachos, losing and regaining various levels of feeling in different parts of my body, and trying to feel drowsy but feeling just…woozy instead: people can suck, but if you’re good, you can be good. you can be good, and not suck.

everyone is so so worthy. everyone is worthy of effort and companionship and unconditional love from somewhere. everyone is worthy of consequence. everyone is worthy of sleeping in their bed of worms sometimes. everyone is worthy of malaphors. (malaphors are craaaaaazy yo i love them)

it’s alright. the world is a mess. apocalypse now? maybe. building blocks of our reality falling out of the sky like that light in the truman show? absofuckinglutely. but it’s alright. one day, some boss ass pal is gonna wake up and remember that they can do that thing they’ve so badly wanted to have been done. i hope we’re all that pal one day.

my head is in my shoes y’all.

love n light
shalom

New Year

It’s almost midnight, and I am reporting live from my bed thanks to an obnoxiously strong wifi connection. Did you know that wifi stands for wireless fidelity? I learned that in 10th grade.

I just made my lunch for tomorrow – read: I just put all leftovers from last week into a container to microwave at school tomorrow because I am done spending money the way I have been because I am broke – and I’m thinking about how this week could go.

I was at home for New Year’s Eve for the first time in more than 10 years this year (last year?) We usually go to a church service (which I have mostly always objected to because FRIENDS. HELLO MOM MY CHURCH FRIENDS ARE NOT EVEN HERE.) but there was some tension and strangeness, so I got to watch Guardians of the Galaxy and Home with my sisters, and then climb up to our rooftop to watch the fireworks.

I listened to this song on repeat for many reasons: (1) It was so perfect. So cliche. Living the dream. (2) I love Layla. Mostly because I can sing most of her songs well. And because her lyrics make me remember things I thought I couldn’t. (3) It gave me a lot of hope, and said what I needed to hear.

The sentence, “Yeah, you’re gonna be somebody” is repeated fourteen times in the song. At the beginning of 2016, I wanted nothing more than that reassurance. I was waiting on Canadian universities to give me a chance, and for my father to do the same. I was ready to go and be somebody across the ocean. I was so deeply in love, and I couldn’t shake myself from wanting to be somebody the exact way I thought I would be.

Fast forward to May 2016, and we see that I am heartbroken. The Canadian universities did give me the chance I wanted. I got in. I did my part. My dad didn’t. He flaked at the last minute, and I am somewhat stuck in a law degree for at least the next three years of my life at my current university. I cried a lot. (Thank you, UBC. It means a lot that you wanted me.)

The year so far really has been an understanding of what there is to lose. I’ve lost lots. Not nearly as much as I could have lost, for which I’m eternally grateful, but still lots. I’m still struggling to come to terms with the fact that things can go tits up no matter how hard you work. Beyonce was right.

lose.gif

It’s not the first day of a new year anymore, but I am still feeling broken (if not more) and I still want the same: I want to be somebody. I want to make something, leave something, be something. Having anxiety over leaving a legacy and creating that very legacy is a spectacularly painful and exhausting chunk of my psyche.

All this aside, I have an audition tomorrow. (Today?) It’s for a community theatre group. I’m nervous out of my mind. I don’t know what that has to do with anything about me being somebody, but I hope it makes my head a little less foggy. I don’t know. Perhaps this week will be more reflective than I’d thought it would. In all honesty, I should go to bed and stop researching portable chargers and earphones to buy online. It’s after midnight and I’ve got to be out of the house before 6 AM.

hi lovers lost behind us
hi lessons we failed to learn
hi those that tried to mould us
and tried to change us for the worse

can’t flee from bygones
no shaking off the truth
just a first understanding
of what we have to lose

you can’t cover over holes
you can’t burrow deeper down
yeah, you’re gonna be somebody

to being somebody.

love and light,
shalom xo


featured image from my-sweet-love-addiction.tumblr.com

Sea Skies| Blogmas Day 8

Oh, Shalom, it looks like you missed day 7! You are a bad blogger! Why bother continuing?

Well, I took a day off yesterday. That’s what happened. I made cookie dough, and ate too much ice cream, and listened to my favourite CD, and burned Sandalwood incense. I’m doing a lot better today.

Today, the sky looked like the sea. At 7pm, the sky was the most magical sea blue; cloudless and glorious. A little earlier on, it was overcast and swirling with blue-grey anger. It was glorious.

I believed in magic tonight. Not Christmas magic, I don’t think, but maybe! The sky was so encapsulating, and I was just whelmed by how brilliant everything was. I think the perks of a summer Christmas include post pool pot bellies, FESTIVE CROP TOPS ( the order is really up to the individual), and seeing the fake snow in kids’ displays that I totally don’t fight to enter. Totally. I’m not a fan of the heatwave and the 38°C mornings, nor the mosquitoes that DEVOUR ME DAILY. In any case – I’m whelmed.

whelmed

I guess I’m just grateful today. Grateful to myself for having taken my meds, for my South African Christmas, for lukewarm showers and citrus hair conditioner, and for my person for having feels about me. I’m working on Christmas cards tomorrow, and I think that I’ll become a 100% stereotype and listen to a Christmas special album version next to the tree.

Good luck to everyone writing finals! I hope you make your own luck & that you trust in yourselves.

What’s your plan for tomorrow? AND DO TELL ME, ON A SCALE OF 1-10, HOW FESTIVE ARE YOU FEELING?

Love and light,
shalom x

 

 

my youth is yours

what if we say goodbye to safe and sound?

It’s always a whirlwind. It’s a crazy amount of everything you’ve always wanted to feel and everything you’ve been told only “stupid teenagers” do. It’s breathing when another person does and trying to recreate the moment that the two of you stood with baited breath, words hitched on either of your tongues, thoughts running amok in both of your heads.

when the stars start exploding, we’ll be fireproof

It’s “we’ll weather this”, it’s “long distance will work because we’re different”, it’s “I can’t tell my parents about us” and “I want to do this”. It’s every fear every adult has thrown at you, and anything that can and will happen to the 21st century relationship – it’s what you won’t allow to happen to you.

cross your fingers; here we go

It’s every single BuzzFeed article about how to make things work, every single #relateable post from Tumblr that was tweeted about that you saw on Facebook. Every day is a risk, love is risk, art is risk – and you have and always will be determined to create a masterpiece.

we’ve no time for getting old, mortal body; timeless souls

It’s making a decision to never stop doing the little things, a promise to yourself that you’ll never end up like your best friend’s mom, crying over a broken marriage and a broken man. It’s an acknowledgement to yourself that despite all of your only eighteen years here, you know what’s good for you. That you know what you want, what you need; and that what you have has got to be the best of both.

a truth so loud you can’t ignore

It’s the moment you realise that this is not forever, but it is all you have. That you’re more than warnings and false starts, that “you are what you love and not who loves you”. It’s the moment that you surrender to yourself – your young, idealistic, opportunistic self. It’s all you. It’s all youth.

a truth so loud you can’t ignore
my youth, my youth, my youth
my youth is yours


happy tunesday! this piece of writing was based on troye sivan’s “youth”, for which the lyric video was released yesterday. blue neighbourhood is available for preorder here, and several tracks become available upon preorder, including “youth” and “talk me down“. i’m a big, big fangirl. sue me.

love and light,
shalom

 

 

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

 

On Being a Mediocre (but not really) High School Student & Person

<<prompted by Jessica Craven’s post here>>

I used to be clever.

Screw clever: I was brilliant. I started talking at 3 months of age, and I could read when I was two. I was sent to several educational psychologists because at the age of five, I was ready for grade two. I had an impeccable memory, I didn’t forget anything. When I was eight, my teachers would give me extra books to read and then would send me to the other teachers for more, because I would finish 30 page books in 10 minutes.

My point? “WAS”.

I think that people don’t realise how difficult it is to feel like you’ve gotten less intelligent. Granted, it’s believed that losing intelligence can’t actually happen, but it’s easy to feel that way. Using myself as an example for the tonnes of other students like me, let’s carefully look at where thing went wrong:

Everything was fine, kind of, until grade six: I was quiet, got into competitions, beat myself up when I wasn’t first, absolutely adored my title of “Smartest Girl In The School” and was constantly looking for ways to be better than my main competition: a boy named Slade. Granted, my unusual sadness scared me a little from grade five, but it was okay – I was still clever.

Grade seven came, and I started to feel the effects of depression. I felt lethargy at its worst, and felt the most lonely I ever had, up until then. I got my first detention. I tried to cut my hair (DIDN’T WORK). I tried to accept that I wasn’t pretty so there was no need for me to talk to anyone. Then I tried to talk to everyone. I tried to be friends with the pretty girls (DIDN’T WORK) and I tried to be friends with everyone (DIDN’T WORK). I tried so hard to be popular and became the confidant of many, the carer of most, but the friend of none. NOT. ONE.

My grades started slipping. I remember a meeting with my head of year, because I wasn’t in the top ten in the grade. I was 13th. From 2nd to 13th after 3 months of hardly eating, trying to become less less less, utter loneliness and extreme confusion. I was told my slacking was unacceptable and that it didn’t look good. I was externally apathetic, but internally sobbing- I just wanted to be enough. I was sad because I wasn’t as special anymore.I was just at school, not even mattering. But I was still smart enough to laugh it off,I was still brilliant.

Most people have the people that they leave primary school and go to high school with, or the friends they’ve had since they were tiny. I never had that. I never had anyone who was my friend; I just knew everybody because I talked a lot.

High school came about and I tried to create a new name for myself – Shalom became Scoot – and went to a completely different school than my brother and sister. I tried desperately to re-invent myself.  I coasted through grade eight and nine and was a B student, shocking all of my primary school teachers. I studied for subjects I enjoyed. I laughed at the ones I didn’t. I was still put into the ‘smart classes’. But then, I noticed something: I wasn’t as smart as they were. 

I started thinking, “what if I studied? Would I be as smart as Nina? Or Jessica or Sarah or Tamsyn or Slade, all who managed to stay smart?”

I found myself in trouble: I had never studied before. I felt no need. All of these people had spent their time working hard, and I hadn’t. I had been great, or at least alright, without the work they had to do.

Then, grade ten. Read: the first year I failed a subject (kinda).

I got really bad at maths despite my new attempts to work hard. People laughed at me and my efforts because I got moved into a weak  maths class. I studied ridiculously hard and only just managed Ds when I would get a B+ without any effort just a year prior. The people I sat with? All super intelligent. All taking AP classes, while I barely managed to stay in school. All swimming, while I choked – despite my flippers and floaties.

I’m in grade twelve now, and I’m still sad that feel that I’m not as brilliant as I used to be. Simply because I used to think that I could move mountains with my mind, because I was told so. I was told I would change the world because I would have the potential to do so. And all of a sudden, my mind switched off. I don’t know how or why, but I wasn’t smart anymore, and people tried to make it better by assuring me that I was smart, just not at school. That didn’t help at all, because I SHOULD be smart at school – I used to be.

I should still have the potential for brilliance.

This year, I’m trying to do well at school, because it does matter to me. I’m trying to get better at eating, because I value my health. I’m trying to have a positive outlook because I want to manage my depression better. I actually care, people! So many people think that I just waltz around, looking into people’s faces, giving sound advice, saying “wow! Cool! Lovely, wow!”  and pass through.

Learn this: I AM NOT JUST THAT.

Last week, a foolish boy called me a shallow character. I stopped, and looked him dead in the eye and said,

“I am not a character. I am not shallow. I am a hurricane with more brilliance inside of me than you will ever dare to find, and I am stronger than you will ever know.”

Dramatic? Yes, God yes. But true. I felt so powerful, and so plainly honest, that it couldn’t have been anything but the truth.

I tell people this:

Another person’s beauty is not the absence of your own.

I’ve decided that it applies to brilliance too.

I’m still brilliant, and that’s all I’ve been trying to get across. I refuse to treat myself as less, and I refuse to be treated as less.

apologies: this may have been a load of utter, utter crap.

love and light
s

On Why University Students Know More Than They Think They Know

HANDS UP FOR THE LONGEST TITLE EVER
(alternately titled: it doesn’t matter)

Today (tonight?) I stopped by my old school.

I’m not entirely certain that stopped by is the correct term, seeing that I was there for roughly five hours. In any case, I came to a couple of realisations, conclusions and utter WHAT-THE-HECKLING-tions today. Allow me to fill you in, friends.

1. People are more viscious than you think they can be.

Granted, we all love a skandal, but the amount of shade-throwing and utter hate that goes on in high schools is fairly ridiculous. Is there a reason for this? Possibly. Am I aware of it? [insert obviously not meme]

2. There are so many people in the world to love.

Ugh. I feel like a sappy, and hungry (but mostly hungry) wreck. Most of the people I saw tonight -even the almost accidental run in with some twins- made my metaphorical teenage girl heart swell. Sometimes, it was a swell of sadness. The most of it was an “I’M SO FREAKING EXCITED TO SEE YOU AND YOUR LOVELINESS” swell. In any case, my heart is so full, but there are still so many people to see. Hence, title of paragraph,

3. University students are quite flippen’ rad.

I had the pleasure (PLEASURE LET ME TELL YOU!) of sitting in front of four students in second year, all studying accounting majors. They were the greatest. Apart from chats about the Sims with Kyra, Sim murder wth Kyra and Chen, rapid fire talk with Bradley and an utterly, utterly beautiful Daniella, they made me fully (mostly) grasp something that’d been swimming around in my brain for a while:

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if you had a full colours blazer in high school. It doesn’t matter if you were the nerdiest of nerds and landed up studying accounting, because you’re freaking great at it. It doesn’t matter if you hated high school. You’ll still love  the annual crappy-but-exceptionally-talent-filled showcase. You’ll come every year that you can. It doesn’t matter if someone told you you weren’t cool in high school because you were a chess champion. Know why? YOU ARE STILL A CHESS CHAMPION. Nothing of that sort matters because the right people and energy really make the sun (moon) (artificial light that’s also beautiful) shine out of your face, and in this case, you both look and are lovely.

 

From left: Chen(Lillian), Kyra, Daniella, Bradley. Also known as "the cool uni kids I've dubbed my cool friends without asking".

From left:
Chen(Lillian), Kyra, Daniella, Bradley.
Also known as “the cool uni kids I’ve dubbed my cool friends without asking”.

Granted, being relatively ambushed by an aspiring teenage blogger who had too much coffee with her medication this morning is something that should matter. Tonight, however, it was all marvellous and wonderful and everything good I could have hoped for.

I have masses of History homework. Hell, I have masses of all homework, and it’s 00:32.It’s already Friday. Intentions to complete said homework exists. Making these intentions into actions into reality? Debatable.

Have a beautiful Friday, darlings.
shalom

there are so many things a new year can possibly bring.

that being said, a new minute can also bring hope; a new day inspiration, a new week depression. new years are supposed to bring joy, prosperity, and excitedness.

friends, i am excited.

there is so much of this world, so much in it, too. this year, i’ll be throwing so much out into the world. at least 40 pages of applications to universities (11 so far) will go out across the world – to the uk, the usa, and south africa. everything that you write your name on is a piece of you, you know.

i’m going to be in my final year of high school. well, i am. i am in my final year and i’m going to have to work harder than i ever have before. i’m going to do a lot of head shaking and nay saying. i’m going to have to look out for myself.

on that note, without further ado:

shalom’s points for 2015, vol. one

+ drink more water. just do it.
+ laugh genuinely.
+ work for yourself.
+ remember that the world is still yours.

+ slow down.
+meditate.
+run. just run and when you’re tired, come home. but run if you need to run.
+ be self sufficient.
+ save R1000. without any help.
+keep lib balm on call.
+light candles whenever.
+remember to put on lotion!
+take care of your hair.
+do your  maths homework.
+ask for help.
+ take your medication when you need to.
+talk to people before you get bad again.
+talk to people because they’re lovely.
+  do your part to make your dreams reality.
+remain hopeful.
+wear more arm candy.
+stop apologising for your existence and preferences.
+be lovely and kind.
+

thank you for a beautiful blogging year of 2014. i can’t wait to see what this year brings, and i’m sending lots of nice things your way. *super brain transfer*

So speak of all the love we lost, and what it cost us,
Left us beg our breath to stop but we kept on and
We were strong. We stayed bright as lightning,
we sang loud as thunder, we moved ever forward.
We are not our failures. We are love.

The Castle Builders, La Dispute

love and light,
shalom

Shining

Please note that I just had an idea spam and I haven’t written in a while because junior year. I will be back soon, sometime this week!

I’ve always liked my eyes better when I cried.

When I cried, they weren’t that mud-brown-almost-black that everyone said they were. They were different, shiny. Shiny? Yes, shiny. I suppose everybody’s eyes shine when they cry – it’s the tears. I just so happened to like mine.

“It’s here!” my mom called out. She was in the kitchen of our two-room apartment, and she had just gotten an email regarding the job she had applied for. I dragged as much of myself as I could into the kitchen with my fingers crossed.

“Okay, are you ready?” she asked, fingers waiting to open the document.

“Ready as ever,” I replied, trying to sound more enthusiastic than deadpan.

Don’t get me wrong, I wanted my mom to get this job more than anything. I wanted her to be happier, not to have to travel 40 kilometres every morning , not to be wary of the crazies she worked with.

I was just so used to disappointment, I couldn’t help but not get my hopes up.

She clicked the mouse- once, then again- and the screen was filled with text. And then I felt it. Hope.

I had the craziest hope that the letter would make my mom smile, and make her jump, and make her happy. I had the hope that something would have worked out. I had hope. Odd, since I hadn’t felt hope since That Night.

That Night was the night he left. He said he needed some cigarettes. He just didn’t come back. When he left, I was seven – innocent enough to be changed, but smart enough to see the truth. My mom had said, “Maybe he got lost, and right now he’s coming with a big present for you.Everything will be fine.” He got lost alright. Lost in a world where my mother, myself and him didn’t coexist. I guess he just decided to find a way out. Good for him, I suppose. Good for him. My mother didn’t lie to me again after That Night.

My mom started to read in her usual overly cheery voice: “Dear Mrs Tapenden, we regrettably inform you that the position has been filled.” Her tone didn’t change in the slightest as she continued. ” Your application has been unsuccessful. Your time is appreciated. Keith Roger, Design and Co.”

“Well, I guess it’s not time yet!” she said, voice thinning as she skipped towards the small excuse of a living room. I couldn’t believe it. I’d allowed myself to feel hope, and nothing had happened. But somehow, my mother kept her faith. I couldn’t understand it. I couldn’t comprehend why she had to keep doing something. I felt the alien sting of tears in my eyes and began to think of something else. Math. Breakfast. Jude Law. Jack Frost. Selena Gomez.

Nothing was working.

So I cried. I let all 17 and a quarter years of myself cry.  I looked into the microwave, and saw my eyes. There, I saw my mother.

Let down. Beat up. Mud brown.

But shining. Still Shining.