Symphony of the Self: Navigating Chaos in Johannesburg

In the intricate tapestry of my past, I once was a sheltered simpleton—a tender seedling yearning for nurturing sunlight and serene stillness, desperately seeking refuge in a world teeming with chaos. Peace was my sanctuary, a shimmering oasis in a parched desert of clamor, where I sought solace from the relentless storm of existence. Like a gentle breeze stirring the leaves of a slumbering forest, I craved the soft whispers of tranquility, both within my soul and around me.

In my quest for inner peace and extraordinary individuality, I found myself in Johannesburg, a city that pulses with the vibrant heartbeat of life—a landscape of contrasts where ironically, the echoes of my quiet longing feel like distant relatives, mere shadows in a bustling crowd. This place, a kaleidoscope of frenetic streets and unyielding energy, became my new canvas—a fresh slate on which I hoped to paint a new beginning. The air vibrates with an electric hum, a cacophony of voices and visions that envelop me, and yet, amidst this grand symphony, I find myself yearning for my own melody.

Choosing to uproot my life felt akin to a bird taking flight, leaving the warm nest of familiarity in pursuit of uncharted horizons. I longed to cultivate a garden of possibilities amid the urban sprawl, to plant my hopes in the rich, fertile soil of this diverse city. Yet, as I navigated the crowded streets, I began to feel like a solitary cloud drifting across an expansive sky, searching for a place to settle, caught in the ebb and flow of city life, devoid of direction and hungry for guidance.

The weight of expectation presses heavily upon my shoulders, a cloak woven from the threads of uncertainty and aspiration, each strand a reminder of the dreams I carry. The very notion of peace now eludes me; I am both exhausted and terrified, ensnared in a crossfire of insincere friendships and tumultuous emotions, rather than dancing joyfully in anticipation of what lies ahead. Each step forward feels like a precarious balance on a tightrope, where the ground beneath me shifts with every breath I take.

I have been beaten and broken, pushed to my limits and tested in ways I never imagined possible. The thrill of the unknown lured me in, while the echoes of my former life whispered caution, haunting me with memories of the comfort I left behind. To live on the edge is to tread carefully along perilous paths of wrong-doing, defying societal expectations of marriage, children, and family, carving out a life that is distinctly my own. It means navigating the jagged rocks of hard lessons learned and bearing the heavy burdens of mistakes made.

In these past three years, I’ve lived more than I ever thought possible, dancing precariously on the edges of depression and flirting with addictions that transformed into all-consuming shadows, darkening my once-bright path. I stumbled upon a love so fulfilling, yet I found myself questioning it in the name of fleeting fun and playful distractions. The thrill of the chase often threatened to overshadow the beauty of what I have, leaving me grappling with the bittersweet pangs of potential regret.

Professionally, I’ve soared to heights I never envisioned, achieving milestones that once felt unattainable. Yet, beneath this facade of success lies a relentless grip of debt, a heavy anchor that drags me down just when I feel I might rise. How did I let it slip through my fingers? Where did it all go wrong, and how did I fail to notice until it was too late?

Standing on the precipice of this past chapter, I now realize that my quest for peace was never about retreating into silence or hiding from the noise. It’s about finding harmony within the vibrant chaos that constantly envelops me, a delicate balancing act of joy and sorrow. Johannesburg, with its bustling streets and pulsating life, is a symphony, and I am learning to play my part, striving to weave my own notes into the grand composition of existence.

As I continue on this journey, I know I must be ready to embrace both dissonance and beauty, to navigate the complexities of my life with courage. It’s an opportunity to carve my own place within this rich melody, transforming my experiences into something meaningful. I remind myself that this journey is still in its infancy, and I remain determined to compose a life that resonates with authenticity, even amidst the chaos.

Failure is not a final destination; it’s merely a chapter in the story of my growth. As Helen Keller wisely said, “Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.” No situation is permanent, and I refuse to let setbacks define me. I will continue to embrace life with open arms, learning from each experience that comes my way. I will rise to conquer my challenges, transforming obstacles into stepping stones, and I will thrive amid the vibrant chaos that surrounds me, crafting a narrative of resilience and hope.

Chapter 2: There She Goes...

She sauntered into the kitchen and yanked the cupboard open which gave a loud moan.

Tequila? Vodka? Ah both- Perfect.


Making her way back to her room, she reached her hands out, letting her fingertips trace along the grit on the unpainted wall as she walked. Her mind wandered- if her memories would remain intact, what's the afterlife like anyway? Heaven or hell or will her soul linger? Will she see Nana?

Stop thinking. It is time.

Her room door clicks closed softly behind her. Should she lock it? Perhaps- she turns the key, no- she unlocks it. They will have to break the door down. Just lock it- It makes the plan fail proof if someone shows up earlier than expected.

The multiple bottles and boxes of pills took her months to acquire, the extensive knowledge was found within the deepest depths of the web- look hard enough and you shall find. Her arms engulfed the stash in her cupboard and then let it slowly slide through onto the floor as she settled down against the wall opposite her bed. She had already counted them- 263 in total- she popped a few here and there when she couldn't sleep.

From all that she had read, mixing a cocktail of drugs is almost always unsuccessful as the body senses and rejects anything that resembles poison- alcohol for example- and then you would just regurgitate everything. This was the trickiest of methods with the highest failure rate. Her decision was to keep to two types- Barbiturates and the lithium salts that were prescribed to her but she had stopped taking long before.

She took a deep breath...

Inhale...
Exhale...
Inhale...
Exhale...

She collected four capsules in her hand and stared at them.

"Colourful like candy, potent like poison. Half yellow and half blue, these tablets are meant to help people but today they're going to kill you...."

She placed them on her tongue, took a large swig of tequila and tipped her head back.
She felt the searing burn of the tequila first in her throat and then in her chest. She gasped. It was so much stronger than she had anticipated, yet so satisfying.

There's no going back.

She deposited more pills into her mouth, each fixing themselves on the dry surface of her tongue. Another gulp- gone.

Her thoughts were racing. The tears were flowing. The regrets were replaying.

More... Faster... She felt herself going into a frenzy.

Don't. Stop. Now.

The pills had started to take effect. Her head felt heavy, her body felt loose.
Hand to mouth. More.
More.
Her vision blurred drastically, her heart raced and her mind whirled, her heavy head had begun to loll from side to side.

She reached beside her for more... Nothing.
Her fingers crept left, right, around her, under her legs ever so slowly, she had downed it all.


Had she just ingested 264 pills? Holy shit.

She collapsed to her side, her body limp and her mind dazed.
Peace... She thought.

No.

She could feel the nausea coming on, the feeling was making a mad dash all over her body. She was going to throw up any second.

It's happening, I took too mu-

And then... Nothingness.

Chapter 1 : The Beginning Of The End

She may have had it all... 

But all that she had wasn't what she wanted.

The quote echoed incessantly in her head, fueling her self-hatred. I'm such an ungrateful child, she thought. Her parents had provided her with the best of everything- a stable home consisting of a supportive family and the freedom to morph into her own person with minimal pressure, comfortable, somewhat sheltered but free from hardship. What was wrong with her?

Her mind her mind her mind. The computer inside her head sans the serotonin firewall, inevitably allowing a virus called depression to take over.

Tired of life, tired of living, tired of trying, tired of breathing, tired of being; she assembled her thoughts and cast them onto the page before her- blank, the brightest white and so new- if only her life could be as such. Although it only goes one way, and soon this page will instead be contaminated with her ugliest thoughts and last words. The heaviness within her eased with each word she jotted, as if the paper was taking away the weight of her thoughts.

The Note...

I am unsure as to when the push became a shove that I have finally decided to write this, but the creation of this note has been along time coming, the postponement of which has been due to my inability to express myself in the way I know best. Strange how words elude you during a time of need. Every other time there'd be a surge of thoughts through my now feeble mind. My passion for words- my love for writing has failed me too. This marks the beginning of the end. The escape from life as I knew it- an utter and complete waste of time.

I write this with a heavy heart, then again, this heart has been under strain for as long as I can remember.To feel this way and yet still be incapable of crying is the biggest curse, how else do I release this sadness? A sadness so consuming that my mind became paralyzed and soon enough a victim of my self-abuse. I sat in silence, frozen and hopeless, as these parasitic thoughts took over, eating away at my zest for life. They were so loud and so overpowering. My inner demons were realized, and they reigned with all their might. I was normal on the outside, all smiles and full of jokes, worry free and motivated, but my mind was diseased, and disintegrating at every passing moment. 

I've now reached that point where I'm  tired of the obligatory smiles, and the feigned normality, I'm tired of my feelings and my hopelessness. I'm tired of trying and believing that this too, shall pass.. I'm tired of applying myself wholly to every situation and not receiving anything in return. I'm tired of people and the countless times that they have let me down. I'm tired of this world and its injustice. I'm tired of the guilt that consumes me each time I consider how fortunate I actually am, yet its not enough. I don't deserve this. I don't deserve to live or be loved. I have deemed myself unfit to be in this world. I am tired of being.

Words also fail to express how deeply sorry I am for letting everyone down. All the lessons and luxuries, all the experiences and exponential amount of favours, all that now being a waste. I have failed you all once more. I'm so sorry for giving you all a hard time as of late. I'm sorry for resenting you all because of my mistakes. I'm sorry for not listening all those times. I'm sorry for spitting those harsh words at you. I was defensive. I was sensitive, my spirit was withering away and I tried to hold on to every last bit of it. That's when my instincts would kick in- to protect the little I had left I'd put on this tough front, my sharp tongue was my armor. The pain caused by the insults would trigger my unstable mind and its surge of bad thoughts that as a reflex I'd attempt to hurt you all in the same way.

With that being said,  I feel that it's time that I bid you all farewell. Leaving this place is bitter sweet. Bitter b'cause I'm leaving all you wonderful people behind, I will miss you all immensely. Sweet because I can finally escape this hell I call home. I'm merely a shadow of the beautiful soul I once was. I'm damaged, I'm broken, I'm empty inside. I cannot stand being alone with my thoughts. There's just too much to say. It's really too much work. The path to recovery seems long and rough. I just don't have the energy anymore. I don't see the point to living. I'm afraid of life. In the words of Kurt Cobain- "It's better to burn out than to fade away."

C'est La Guerre- This is War...

And I have lost.

Tears splashed onto the paper menacingly and mixed with the ink. The words smudged and became a blur as the tears soaked through. She folded the paper once, twice, thrice and walked to the living room. She sneered at the irony of the name... The livingroom- now containing the final thoughts and last moments of her life. She walked to the table and hesitated, only for a second, before placing the note next to the orchid that her father had bought her mother a few days ago. The orchid looked as sad as she felt- the leaves drooped down, the petals, albeit being bright and semi-fresh, had fallen away. She knew that it was well taken care of- her mother had researched ways to look after it and did things by the book. Why was it dying?

The Time Of Your Life...

You've heard the phrase before- Life Is Too Short,

The go-to mantra with the versatility of a white crocheted blanket. 

It cushions our fall once we have realized the consequences of our actions... Life is too short- Live with no regrets.

It softens the blow of an offensive comment, a nasty act or the weight of disappointment that falls on your shoulders when you have been let down... Life is too short- hold no grudges, forgive and forget, let it go.

It dulls the echoes of societal standards... Life is too short to be a lesser version of yourself.

The metaphorical security blanket that it is, it encourages you to take a step further, to speak a little louder, to be a little braver.

I assume that I'm not the only one who has failed to question the origin of this phrase. Just so you know, some etymological sites suggest that is has been quoted from as early as the seventeenth century.

"Life is too sh'rt, mateth, but so is thy penis".- Something that was probably never said in the seventeenth century.

It is a versatile line that has been adopted by most common folk, the advice given in haste when comfort is sought, a phrase that is rarely doubted or questioned, the justification to any action that is otherwise not advisable.

Albeit there being an element of truth to it, the line in itself is very subjective. I often ponder exactly how long man would like to live for,  in the case whereby he considers his predetermined lifespan to be somewhat insufficient. Would he say that life is short at 80 years old?

Life is short for those who are taken away from us too soon. It is their untimely death that gives us the impression that life is short, and reminds us about the sheer unpredictability that is the sister of fate.This is not the motto of the dead, it is the belief of the living who were not ready to see them go.

We say life is short when we actually mean that life is unpredictable. Your life story could stop mid-sentence. We are unaware of which waking moment is our very last. This is the subtle reminder that we are not allowed to take life for granted.

Yes, LIFE IS VERY UNPREDICTABLE, but to me, life is far from short. I believe that we are given enough time to serve our purpose and to live our best life. It does not make sense to allocate a general duration to something that can barely be estimated. 

It is due to this unpredictability that makes life a rat race. Get off your butt and do as much as you can! Quick! Get educated, fall in love, have a family, make that paper, build an empire. Its just you against time.

I must admit, this post went in a completely different direction from what I intended. My initial thought was about how when times are bad, life is a never-ending stretch. Things fall apart, the feeling of hopelessness never goes away and then somehow everything works against you. You begin to wonder, is it an odd stroke of bad luck, or is this a life-long curse? 

When you're exhausted from trying and trying and you realise that life is not for everyone, the biggest lie that you will hear are those three words. Life. Is. Short. It irks you when someone uses those words as motivation to live your life to the fullest, when in fact you wish that life really WERE short and then will for it to happen. Evidently y'all are not on the same page in life, yet alone book, or category. 

So in a popcorn husk, that was what this post was meant to be about. 

I think that I prefer it that this post turned out this way. An independent outlook is mutually beneficial as opposed to a personal post that has been contaminated with negativity.

But I will always be a firm believer of one thing- Life is NOT short. It is merely unpredictable. 

The real mystery is how much time you have left, the real challenge is making the most of it, because at any given time, your clock could just stop.

A life lesson of sorts...

I often find myself lost in thought, pondering the resilience of the human spirit and how some individuals summon the strength to carry on, even in the face of overwhelming adversity. Life's greatest injustice, it seems to me, lies in the stark reality that while some are cradled in abundance, others are cast into the shadows of deprivation. It’s as if the universe plays an arbitrary game, dealing out fortunes with reckless abandon. The lyrics of one of my all-time favorite songs, Swedish House Mafia's "Don't You Worry Child," struck a profound chord within me, revealing a poignant truth: for many, there simply isn’t a choice.

The human body is a magnificent masterpiece, a marvel of nature often overlooked and taken for granted. We forget that it possesses the most incredible survival mechanism—the extraordinary ability to adapt to any condition, no matter how dire. Like a chameleon seamlessly blending into its surroundings, our bodies respond to the world around us, adjusting to the ebb and flow of life’s challenges.

What I’m truly expressing is this: no matter the turmoil we find ourselves in, we possess an innate capacity to work through it. When engulfed in turmoil, it’s easy to lose sight of the light at the end of the tunnel. We often feel trapped in an inescapable labyrinth, ready to surrender, convinced that this moment is the culmination of our struggles. The will to continue can evaporate like morning mist, leaving us feeling hollow. Hope dissipates, strength flees, and our lives appear so battered that we contemplate writing them off entirely, convinced that this truly is the end of the road.

Yet, what we often fail to recognize is that with each passing moment, the fog that clouds our judgment begins to lift. As time flows like a gentle river, our body’s survival instinct kicks in, often without our conscious awareness. We begin to adjust. Acceptance slowly weaves its way into our consciousness, and the weight of stress and worry, like an insidious illness, begins to fade. Our mental immunity rises, fostering rational thoughts that remind us this state of disarray is an aberration, an unwelcome visitor that cannot stay.

Just as the body produces antibodies to combat infection, our minds develop strategies to confront our challenges—a plan of action emerges. Sometimes, just as our bodies may require medication to heal, our minds need the nurturing support of family, friends, or a therapist. Gradually, the once-daunting situation transforms into something manageable, and we find ourselves on the road to recovery, guided by the gentle hand of time.

At the heart of it all is the undeniable truth: we have no choice but to persevere. This understanding propels us to seek help or discover solutions sooner rather than later. Life is akin to a car; our souls are the engine, while our bodies serve as the vehicle through which we fulfill our purpose—the very shell that carries us forward. Like any vehicle, maintenance is essential. Each lesson or experience we encounter acts as a tune-up, shaping and strengthening us for the journey ahead. The path may be a bumpy dirt road, but every twist and turn ultimately leads somewhere meaningful.

Remember, life can descend into darkness, but that darkness is not eternal. It is a fleeting moment, a shadow that will eventually fade. Your life is your canvas—an opportunity for growth and transformation. It’s your time to cultivate resilience and enhance your engine. Embrace creativity, positivity, and proactivity. You possess the power to effect change, even if not every circumstance is within your control; you can always alter your attitude towards them.

In life, nothing lasts forever, including our struggles. Like the shifting seasons, this too shall pass. Embrace the journey, for it is in the ebb and flow that we discover our strength and resilience.

Lost in Translation

Ah, how the sands of time have slipped through my fingers! 

It feels like an eternity since I last opened the gates of my imagination, allowing my thought wagon to gallop freely across the vast expanse of ideas swirling within my mind. It has truly been a long, meandering journey.

I find myself... well, a little lost.

You see, there’s a curious tendency in our world to glorify structure over the raw beauty of ideas themselves—the very heartbeat of existence. Why is it that a thought, stripped to its essence, often feels inadequate? Like a diamond in the rough, a pure idea is often dulled by the heavy cloak of jargon, weighed down by pompous words that serve only to dress it up in a masquerade of formality. We edit and re-edit, typing and erasing like sculptors chipping away at marble, but somewhere along the way, that vibrant spark of creativity dims.

We treat our ideas like cherished friends, adorning them in their Sunday best. It’s as if they must don the finest fabric of vocabulary, embellished with idioms and perfumed with metaphors. Why has simplicity become a taboo? Have we shackled our imaginations to the gilded cage of societal expectations?

The pinnacle of superficiality is reached when we feel compelled to beautify our thoughts, to masquerade them in an artifice of language. It’s one thing to nurture our ideas, allowing them to blossom like wildflowers in spring, but entirely another to merely slap a coat of polish on them with a thesaurus. It’s akin to cosmetic surgery; we enhance and embellish until all that remains is a hollow shell—gorgeous on the surface, yet vacant and lifeless beneath. The authenticity fades, leaving only a façade, shimmering yet devoid of substance.

Thus, even our wildest fantasies become ensnared by what we believe is acceptable to society. Our minds, like tightly bound books, are restricted to the narrow margins of reality. Our insecurities, deeply rooted in the soil of our thoughts, cast long shadows over our creativity. We may chant that personality triumphs over beauty, but alas, we often forget the truth: we prioritize the aesthetics of an idea until the soul behind it is all but hidden, stifled in silence.

This, dear reader, is the very reason I have strayed from my greatest passion—writing. I’ve abandoned the joy that once flowed through my fingertips, shackled by the fear of judgment. My mind became a prisoner to the mantra of “Best or Nothing,” leading me to sacrifice my joy rather than face a whisper of criticism, or perhaps a roar.

But enough is enough. The clock has ticked far too long, and I cannot continue this way.

Today, I choose to write straight from my heart. I pour out my soul because it is pure and untainted by the murky waters of doubt and societal standards. I write from my heart because words are the nourishment my spirit craves, and writing is the lifeblood of my happiness. This is my declaration: when I write from my heart, my ideas won’t be lost in translation. In this rawness lies a kind of simplicity that, to me, embodies the ultimate sophistication.

So perhaps my thoughts are dressed in torn sweatpants and mismatched slippers. But who cares? I feel at home in this comfort. As long as my message resonates, nothing else matters.

Written: 23 March 2009

Just Waiting...



As the morning slowly dawns and the sun begins to beam through the light boxes on the top of my modest cell, the periphery of my bed begins to glow. Around the edge of the jail grounds the golden and red leaves begin to whistle in the autumn wind like the sound of a child's toy, whilst the sound of a lash being whipped echoes through the passages of the Borderline cult as if it were a stuck record. I rose to the distant yelps of young women who were being lashed awake. This often killed me inside... Kill, My mind shrivels up and withers away to a crackled bleeding nothingness as it dawned on me that today was my last day. Before any further thoughts could cross my mind the door burst open abruptly and I am dragged by my dirty clothes.

The floor of the execution room is cold and bleak, with cracks dividing and subdividing like the contours of a convoluted road map. I rocked on my heels whilst taking in the scent of the room, which smelled of burnt flesh and a hint of innocence after the previous women who was unfortunate enough to get the electric chair. The walls were off-white, maybe because of all the screams that they have absorbed, the deaths that they have observed, the odours that they have touched and the last dreadful moments of many young, untainted women that it withheld. A fly buzzed around the room anxiously waiting for an escape. It yearned for the freedom, fresh air and sunlight, just like me. At least it had a possible future… I didn’t.

Anna Montez stood at the door. She avoided my gaze. She too was waiting, just waiting for another job opportunity where guilt wouldn’t be gnawing on her conscience day after the day. The dark circles under her puffy eyes exposed her sleep deprivation and the soft sobs, which she expressed in isolation every night. They were often overpowered in the darkness by the agonizing screeches, which replayed and echoed in her idle mind. Those grisly sounds belonged to the women that she dealt with that day who were robbed of their lives for simply fighting for what they deserved.

I approached the rope gracefully, despising myself for walking to my death without much difficulty. They harnessed me up to the dirty rope, stained with the old blood, dead skin, sweat and tears of other women who were forced to leave the little world that they knew without being remembered. Yes, I was one of those women with a scanty voice who tried to make an immense difference. Women are only to bear children and slave to the needs and desires of men. Who was I to doubt the way that my life was supposed to be? I was summoned to satisfy man in this cult and I went against him instead. Now they have to dispose of me before any further inconvenience is brought upon them.

The floor falls below me and my bruised legs dangle in mid-air. The rope saws through my neck like a blunt knife as the hook above me creeks eerily with my weight. My hands are grasping my neck and my body twists and turns vigorously as I defy gravity. Pain was my friend, my distraction and my escape for so many years but now it was too overwhelming. My vision is blurred as warm tears gently stroke my cheeks.

Anna’s eyes shifted from the floor to me. I recognized the desperation, the desolation and the guilt in her marble-like blue eyes. She resembles someone who I know so well, and that person was me. Anna mouthed something but I was too intrigued by her striking beauty and the light that was shining from her to notice what it was. I blinked one last time as I succumbed to the dizziness that took my head by storm. As I closed my eyes forever and my limp hands fell to my sides, I realized that the words that escaped from Anna’s quivering lips were… “Forgive me”.

Anna Montez was an angel who had come to salvage me from the vile circumstances of this faction. God had granted me freedom from this world. Heaven is a better place, and I shall watch from above and wait for the day when Anna would finally speak up and play her role in the battle for freedom and equality. Anna would wait for the day where she finally had the courage and bravery to walk out. The women of the cult would wait for the day when they could finally be the playmakers of their own lives. The fly waited to escape this dull room so that she could fly away and start a new cycle of life. This was the unpredictable cycle of just waiting, waiting to be heard and waiting to be noticed, just waiting to be released. Waiting for our dreams to come true, for our prayers to be answered, for this world to change. Waiting for a better day still to come.



Written: 31st July 2010

In the wake of the 2012 matrics currently concluding their schooling career, memories flood my mind of the time when I was in their shoes. This post is something that I actually wrote 2 years ago, the title being :

As I approach the end of my schooling career.....



I still remember the day when I entered school for the very first time, with soft blue ribbons in my hair, my uniform crisp and new and with the brightest smile that I could manage. I remember the hopes of making many new friends and the dream of being the class star. I remember the fruity smell of the fresh lunch that our parents had lovingly packed for us and that intense fear of what could happen whilst we were away from them for the very first time.

Twelve incredible years have passed in the blink of an eye. It was like living life on roller-skates, we were guided through the mud, the puddles, gravel and through the hills in becoming experts, while our fingers were interlinked with those of a teacher’s, first very tight, then slowly we began to loosen our grip and the time has finally come to let go. At last we have mastered the skill of balance, work and play, friendship and love, rights and responsibilities, rules and freedom. We were sculpted into bright individuals who are now ready to carry the weight of the world on our shoulders.

As I approach the end of my schooling career. I reflect upon what I have learnt thus far. School is where my life began. It was the minute world that I grew accustomed to whilst on my path to independence. We were presented with the opportunity to be who we wanted to be, to try and try until we have achieved our goal, and to take risks and try something new, whilst still under the safe wing of our teachers.  The success and downfalls which I have experienced have created who I am, and the bad experiences were learnt from. In fact, they were probably the most significant ones to me.

What I shall never forget is the vegetable patch that my class had created. For me, it represented our relationship to one another. We were once strangers, but now family. Just like how we nurtured the plants from seeds and took care of them, we sowed the seeds of friendship and let it evolve to something extraordinary. We took care of each other. We grew close to one another and our friendship flourished.

School gave rise to the basis of a blooming social life which grew to become the experience of a lifetime. All it took to start a life-long friendship was a sweet smile and a simple “Hi”, and then it built itself upon common interests, juicy secrets, and inside jokes. It influenced the way we walked, the way we talked, how we dressed and what we did. We learnt how to trust one another, support one another and accept each other. We touched each other’s lives in a very positive and rewarding way and we will soon part ways to embark upon life’s greater opportunities and wonderful lessons.  My class is the thing that I shall miss the most as we stand as proof of being “All for one and one for all”. The flame of our friendship shall forever burn with the fuel of our fondest memories and the hard times that we have together endured.

 As I approach the end of my schooling career, I’m presented with the final opportunity to make my mark in the land of youth and knowledge. My childhood has finally come to an end, where I now leave the youthful city of my comfort and enter the wilderness of my future. I plan to utilize all that I have learnt from teachers who have shared their knowledge and years of experience, and who have devoted their time and patience to ensure that we were the best that we could be. I will work consistently to pay tribute to my parents who have made numerous sacrifices for me, to ensure that I have a brighter and more contented future.

I plan to make every day count, to appreciate every moment and take everything that I possibly can from it. I would like to hear those around me and be heard. I would like to notice the finer details of every moment, and be noticed. I would like to create doting memories, which I can reflect upon and smile later in life. I want to enjoy the essence of my youth. I want to surround myself with those who make me smile, laugh and happy. This is my chance to break free and set my sights high. I strive to be the creator of my own destiny and orchestrate my experience of life. This is my time to create my life and then let go and live it. It is not too late to become what I might have been. If I want my dreams to come true, I must not oversleep.

This is just the beginning...

Friction.......

When you rub your hands eagerly.....

In anticipation of what might become...

Friction....

Gives birth to a spark.

A glowing ember.... A  luminous dot of life... A trace of energy....

An attempt to reignite the fire inside...

The passion to express yourself...

To free your thoughts and liberate your mind....

With words...

Words as bridges...

Words as comfort..

Words as weapons...

Words. Are. My. Weapons

With words I can heal....

With words i can  protect...

With words I can wound....

Friction....

As I put pen to paper..

Friction....

Creates sparks...

Sparks fly...

Incandescent specks of ideas, theories and opinions...

Sparks meet paper..

And the paper ignites...

Finally

The flame within...

Its alive again....