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

l.i.f.e.g.o.e.s.o.n

as of march fifth, i am twenty for twenty applications and rejections. life goes on.

i committed to a camp and a week-long kid’s ministry  holiday club thing on sunday. life goes on.

the logistics of my moving continents in less than six months are terrifying and fuzzy. life goes on.


i spend silly amount of time thinking about songs and when i want them to play in my life. for example, i have a very specific vision of me moving into my shared apartment in new york city after i graduate from college, and playing “this is the beginning” by boy. i make little music videos about my life and about what i want my life to be in my head, and very near lose my mind when the song matches up perfectly. i’ve thought about the song i want playing if i’m a runaway bride, about the song i want playing when i figure out i can do what i love for a living, and about what i want to be listening to when i get on a plane to visit my mom.

despite my extravagant time-wasting song thoughts, finding a song that describes the present is hard because i spend most of my time in my head and not in the moment. i heard this song for the first time in 2012 but i’ve had it on repeat for the last four days. it makes for a lil shake up in my brain that i need.

as a person, i’m used to having high expectations and being disappointed, then trying to avoid that disappointment by having no expectations and somehow still being disappointed. i’m used to feeling like death and wanting to desperately step out of my skin for a day or two. i’m used to wondering how on earth i’m still here, and i guess it’s because life goes on.

life goes on.

i have really little money and just a little more sense, but i know i have heart. i have an awfully massive amount of heart, and if that’s what has kept me going my own way the same way life goes on in its own way, then that’s what it is. i have heart and a bunch of tired, and life goes on. right now, that’s all i know to be true. everything else is a big hazy mess of real & not real dissociation games and feeling like trash and not being physically able to fix it and feeling all of the anxiety in the world in agonising three minute bursts.

life goes on, i guess.


the other day, i talked to my future roommate about where we’re going to live this fall. life goes on.

every day, donald trump does something to incriminate his entire administration and inches closer and closer to impeachment. life goes on.

i’m not as sad as i used to be. these days, i can notice rapid cycling. l.i.f.e.g.o.e.s.o.n.

love and light
shalom xo

currently

currently, i am trying to figure out how i want to look, what makes me feel good, why i don’t like my body & my face, and what i can do about it. i am trying to figure out if the way my body moves is alien to me because it has never moved like this, or because i’ve never noticed. i’m not sure how much of a difference it’ll make.

currently, i’m growing old trying to get into college and to make sure that neither of my sisters have to go through the long winded process that i am currently going through (to self: shalom, have you emailed mrs. hind for your sister?). i am trying to find work for the american summer, because…well, point five. i am unsure of what the future looks like from as early as june, and i don’t enjoy the uneasiness that comes with it.

currently, i am trying to make my way into freelance writing because i’m broke and because i really want to write. so far, a byline from women’s republic (a start up magazine that i am honoured to write for) looks possible. i’d like to write for the establishment, though. i need to get on that.

currently, i am dealing with the fact that i don’t have clothes outside of sleep shirts, a pair of jeans, and sweater dresses. i’m becoming more aware of how i think i want to present myself, and i think i need clothes for that. there’s a running joke in my family about me and becoming a nudist because of my lack of clothes, and it sounds like a joke, but oh, the possibilities….

currently, i am broke. as usual. i didn’t get the job at lush which sucks so hard. i am trying to scrape up R200 because i will not miss vodka party if you paid me. i mean, maybe if you paid me. seeing that i’m broke, and all.

currently, i am lonely. i’m not in school, so friends from school are (1) far and few between to begin with, and (2) in school. it’s a bit shit, the lack of platonic and romantic partners in my life. i need friends. and maybe someone to make out with. or maybe just some sleep.

currently, i’m putting on a pair of joggers i stole from a friend (she let me keep ’em tho, tell ’em ash) & going to run errands for my mom. am i going to lament over the price of tampons and yoghurt? probably.

there’s a lot going on right now, and i’m trying my best to ease into it. with my track record, i probably won’t. you’ll find out, though. chronic oversharer and all that.

love and light,
shalom


featured image from death to stock

Old, Old Literature in a Brave New World

My new English tutor is interesting. Granted, there are several other words I could use to describe him more accurately, but I’m going with interesting because of the way he’s made me think about things that I hadn’t had previously.

I met him on Friday, after arriving late to the first tutorial our group had with him. As a bit of an icebreaker activity, we were told to introduce another person in the group to him, and they us. (to him. Is this good English? Yikes.)

My introduction (thanks Tory) let slip that I was (a) in love with, and posthumously married to John Keats, (b) that I adored the Romantic poets (but mostly Keats srsly he’s my guy), and (c) that this blog existed. I helped with the last bit.

The point of all this rubbish background info is to let you know why the fresh hell I’m writing about this, and what the actual heck I’m writing about. What the tutor, whose name I was fortunate enough to miss (but I think it’s Ian?), said was that he’s of the opinion that poetry pre-1900 should be ignored as it’s irrelevant now. Or something. The Romantics (stab to the heart), Victorian poets – the lot. His reasoning was sound (and valid) (#IntroToPhilosophy FLEX) though: can Wordsworth and his bridge musings seriously teach us more than a Palestinian woman’s commentary on the situation in Gaza can?

Composed Upon Westminster Bridge, while lovely, really doesn’t do much for us in 2016. Unlike Wordsworth’s “calm so deep”, The Palestinian situation isn’t going away any time soon, and it only makes sense for us to focus on issues like that, right?

I’ve been having a think about this over the weekend. I’m reeling from a week that consisted of an average 5 hours spent on crying a day, and believe it or not, questioning the relevance of poetry periods has helped a lot.

The title of this post was a pun, but only to me – I’m starting Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World tomorrow. That’s it. I chuckled.

love and light,
shalom xo

featured image from http://e2ua.com/group/london-wallpapers/

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.