"Always" -- Tariro P. Mbiba

I hate the word always. It carries with it so much disappointment and failure when used negatively and so much pressure and expectation when used positively in a statement about an individual. What most people don’t realise is that the use of the word always gives the impression that there is no hope for change.

Just the other day, I was told that I always think of myself first and I never put other people’s needs before my own. This statement was heavily imprinted on my heart for months as I repeatedly asked myself the question; “Always?” You see, the use of the word always entailed the thought that there was no hope and brought about the idea that in my entire 16 years of life, I had never done a selfless deed or had a selfless thought. I had always thought of myself as a caring and selfless person and the fact that one person pointed out to me that I am ALWAYS selfish made me question everything that I thought I was. Before I knew it, my entire perspective of myself had changed. My thoughts were that if I always have and always will be selfish, then what was the point of trying not to be?

The common misconception is that the use of the word “always” serves to encourage change but in most cases, it actually deletes any hope of change that was previously there. This in itself can destroy the self-esteem or outlook on life of any student or individual aspiring for success. One word can ruin a life so choose your words carefully.

--Tariro P. Mbiba

"The Alert Secret Agent" -- Matukx

It is before dawn, the sun is still soundly asleep within its fluffy bed of mist and yet not all souls are well rested. One is beginning to emerge from its slumber sleep- ready to begin the day before day has even begun.

He beats the early birds in catching the worm because by four o’clock he is already up and running. His main aim quite clear – beat the sun before it rises and break the rules while there are no spectator ions present.

Slowly he peers through the small opening of my door and he sees that I am in gear number five of my sleep zone. Then slowly like the stealthy thief Sinbad, he tip toes towards the drawer. She, the drawer, holds what he has been yearning for- the remote. The remote is supposedly hidden from him to deter him from watching television during school days, but seemingly, the only thing it is hidden from is the television itself. How does he know where to find it? Well frankly speaking he was always a better seeker each time we played hide and seek.

Slowly he opens the drawer; heart pounding, legs shaking, muscles tensing to the extent that it almost breaks the omnipresent silence. Despite this, years of practice have served him well and he knows well enough how to be silently scared. The drawer squeaks softly but being the little genius he is, he caresses it slowly to quiet down, meanwhile his line of sight is towards the sleeping giant, in case she awakens from slumber. However at the slight glimpse of the remote, his eyes bounce back to the front of his head and he grabs it, quickly, but not too quick to make a sound, and with a wry smile on his face, he cries- triumph!

As the clock strikes six, once again he has to revert back to his mission. Once again he uses his acquired skills as he murmurs “The only way to survive in this household is to become James Bond.” Therefore he returns the remote, cautiously placing it in the same position as it was before. Four centimetres from one side and ten centimetres from the other, he is applying his mathematical skills. Yet again, he coaxes the drawer while closing it and this time it obediently obeys because it has also gotten into the system.

By 0601 he is in his blankets. Eyes closed firmly so as to seem deep within the sea of sleep. Despite this, he is breathing quite heavily, his lungs still contracting and relaxing violently, reeling from the return mission to my bedroom.

I wake him up; first time he remains still, avoiding to seem too alert and when I shake him the second time, he starts to emerge from deep within the bed where he had immersed himself to give the scenery a more believable setting. Thus the day continues on!

-Matukx

"Extract from an Insane Anonymous Meeting" -- zvipoc

If you’d asked me what I learnt last term when I was a senior in high school, I would have told you that I’d learnt that time in lessons went by much faster if you talked to a friend. Perhaps I would have told you that  I learnt that the best place to sit in class is right at the back, to the left of the classroom and as close to a window as possible. There was always something more interesting outside than in a trigonometry lesson. I definitely would have told you that I’d learnt to spend as much time at school as possible because home meant parents and parents weren’t as much fun as the boys at school. No. No they weren’t. Parents meant forced homework and forced family dinners and forced chores and forced talks and forced everything else. No. I preferred to be at school with Bobby.

Hello everyone. My name’s Emma Gloss and I’m insane. I had a baby at the age of nineteen, exactly a year and a half ago today. We named her Sky. I had just started university then and I was doing an accounting course that I quite enjoyed. Sky’s father travelled frequently and sometimes my parents couldn’t take her so I often took her to school with me. I would make sure she was sufficiently fed, that she had on a fresh diaper and that the window was slightly open to allow for some fresh air so I could leave her in the backseat of my car. I mean, we’ve all had to at some point, haven’t we? Lessons were only thirty minutes long so I’d always found her just as happy as I’d left her. The year went on, the material got more and more complicated, lessons had to go on longer and longer and I continued to leave my daughter in the car. I mean, what would a few more minutes hurt?

August the twenty-first, just after midday, I left for school as usual. I was running a little late on the day but I made sure that Sky had everything she needed before I left. What mother wouldn’t? That time, however, just that one time, I didn’t open the window. The next thing I knew, I was in a hospital listening to a doctor explain how my daughter had got heat stroke and died.

The words “crazy” and “insane” started flying around a few months after Sky’s funeral. It had started with the windows. All of a sudden I felt the need, almost like a craving to open every window in range of my gaze. I wouldn’t let it be closed. I wouldn’t let Sky die. Not again. Not my baby.

My obsession with windows quickly expanded to car doors and then fridge doors and then church doors and then any door at all. I began to run around the neighbourhood every morning at 5:45 am to open all the neighbours’ doors. It was the same time every morning, like clockwork. A few weeks after that habit began, I couldn’t sleep at all knowing somebody’s door or window was shut, so I’d run. I’d leave my home and run to wherever I thought a door or a window would be closed. I started to think I could hear Sky crying from behind the closed doors. At first, Sky only called from around the neighbourhood, and then more and more each day, I found myself running further and further until my body gave out and I had to be admitted to hospital .After a careful psychiatric evaluation I found myself in Kupenga Mental Institution.

So a quick fast forward to the present and a repeat of the question about what I learnt last term at the Mental Institutions School for The Insane.

Last term I learnt not to look at my roommate because every time I did, she drew secret government codes on the wall and then licked them off. Doctors didn’t like having to pump crayon from a sixty year old’s stomach. Last term I also learnt that it wasn’t alright to miss my daughter the way I did, that it wasn’t alright to feel guilty or killing her the way I did, that it wasn’t alright to love Sky the way I had. Last term I learnt that there were accepted methods of grief and acceptable ways to handle loss. I learnt we don’t always have the freedom to choose. Last term I learnt to leave people’s doors and windows closed, even when I  heard my baby die behind them.

zvipoc

"Out of the Bubble" -- Langa-Rose

When I read the “out of the” part of the title I immediately concluded that the phrase would end in “box” but alas, my dreams were shattered and my heart dropped. My world turned to grey and the sun no longer shone. My head hung low and I could not bring myself to face the world any longer. All my aspirations for the future dashed to pieces by the absence of that three letter word.

Putting my deep depression aside,  the funny thing is that once you’re told to think or write out of the box your mind instinctively recedes even further into the comforting darkness of the very same box and all of the possible ideas you could have had are trapped. They are trapped like a beautiful butterfly in the cupped hands of an infant. Strange thing the mind is, huh?

Anyway, out of the bubble…the usual thing comes to mind about society having to open its eyes to the many horrors that exist and take place every day, every minute and every second. I think about the constant instruction to step out of our sheltered existences and face reality. I agree totally but this is one of those tasks that are easier said than done. Wouldn’t you prefer to remain in the vacuum-like safety of your bubble than face the frightening statistics of child deaths from starvation?

 Langa-Rose

"The Legend of the Pox" -- #R.T.S.

Mary lay in her bed, feeling as itchy as ever. She had the chicken pox and she was not feeling too great. Not only because her skin was covered in huge, pus-filled pimples but because she felt alienated.

“Julie!” She shouted.

“Yes, Mary?” Her sister answered, rushing into Mary’s room.

“Where did the chicken pox come from?” She asked as though she was angry at the source of the disease.

Julie smiled, grabbed a cushion and sat on a chair next to Mary’s bed. “Well Mary, it’s a long story.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, giggling.

“Alright then. Back in the day, way before grandma’s grandma was even born,” she began, “there was a farmer who owned a large farm with all different types of farm animals: cows, pigs, horses, ducks as well as sheep. But his best thing was a large barn filled with chickens of different types. The farmer fed them all the time, looked after them more than all the other animals. They were his favourite. He even washed them with expensive shampoo.

One day the farmer received terrible news, he was bankrupt which means that he had no money because he had spent all of it on his chickens. He couldn’t look after all the animals and he had to sell some of them so that he could keep the farm. He sold his pigs, cows, horses, ducks and his woolly sheep but he kept his favourite animals – the chickens. The only problem was that he couldn’t look after his chickens as well as he had before. Without all the grooming, the chickens started to fall ill. All their feathers began to fall off and soon the farmer had a large barn full of featherless chickens.

The chickens weren’t too happy about this situation. Without their feathers, they felt cold easily and they also weren’t protected from mosquitoes and other insects. The chickens didn’t understand that the farmer didn’t have money to look after them; they thought he forgot to look after them so they hatched a plan to get back at the farmer,” they both giggled at the pun, “so that he’d remember to look after them. They went to the chicken witch doctor and told him to curse the farmer with chicken skin instead of his normal human skin. 

The witch doctor did what he could and the farmer was cursed.

The next morning, the farmer woke up with gross white and red pimples all over his body. He went to the doctor but the doctor was unable to help. All the doctor did was to name the skin rash ‘Chicken Pox’ because the farmer looked like he had chicken skin on him. The farmer was never healed but the doctor caught the pox and it spread all over the world. The disease was passed on to children, their children and down to their great grand-children, right down to us. Now, the curse has grown weaker so not everyone gets the pox. That’s where the chicken pox came from. The end.”

Mary lay still, looking at Julie with a dazed look. “What does ‘bankrupt’ mean?”

#R.T.S.

"What we learnt first term" -- a collection of writers

What I learnt last term

Last term, I learnt that people tell the truth when they say that sixth form is hard. I never believed it. I mean, five subjects can’t be that bad, but I was wrong. Last term, I learnt that I do more homework for those five subjects than I ever did for the ten I had last year, and I had Geo last year. That says something!

I learnt that my bag can be heavier when I only have three subjects, plus a free period, than it was when I had five subjects and eight periods in one day. Last year, I learnt that sixth form is hard.

Sibo

Last term, was an interesting term indeed. I did a lot of things, learnt a lot of things, the highlight being athletics. At Aths, you cannot afford to slack, neither should you be seen being too ambitious. This is because, if you slack, you won’t do well in your event and might even be replaced, but if you are too ambitious, people will think you are campaigning to be captain. This reminded me of schoolwork. When you slack at it, you achieve nothing but bad grades, but when you work hard and actually pass, people think you want to be a teacher’s pet. Moral of the story is, YOU CAN NEVER PLEASE PEOPLE, SO JUST DO YOU!! J

Tarisai Dahwa

Last term I learnt to reexamine my choices, choices I had made about my future. It was as if the forty year plan I had laid out for my life in a somewhat gridded fashion had been covered up in a coat of thick black paint, blinding me what once made me feel so secure and challenging me to explore several great opportunities. I learnt to plan, not by using the little I thought I knew, but by anticipating the much I knew I could achieve.

Hilina Da Costa Gomez

Last term I learnt that things change with time, including people. I learnt that my view of world and what is around me had suddenly shifted, definitely for the better. Last term I learnt that there were certain things and people I could no longer waste my time on and I had to realize what is truly important. I learnt that life was how I choose it to be and fate was not the path chosen for us but rather the path we choose for ourselves (megamind).

I learnt that it had become literally impossible to do homework in form time since form- time time had been taken away .I learnt that free periods were actually study periods, we had been lied to. I learnt that it was very possible to get a band six mark (0-5) for a literature essay .I learnt that there was far more to school than just school and I loved it!

The Lorax

  

A new year usually means growth, going into a new form or year however, last term I learnt that going into L6 at Arundel felt like completely restarting high school; new uniform, new subjects, new timetable and new responsibilities, all these new things making me look like I’m in form one again. Last term I learnt that I should appreciate every minute whether it be doing homework, sport or spending time with family and friends. It is important to do all those things with one hundred per cent effort and love because you might not be able to do those things for a long time.

Matipa Mutoti

I learnt to always have a good weave because people are always looking at that I learnt to do homework on time and to always be honest with teachers, because they know when you are lying and they will get the truth out of you in the end 

Yoncé

AS is real. I never understood when people said, ‘’ A level is the hardest level of education”. Now the picture is clear. I learnt how to plan my life, how to manage my time wisely and that a ten minute break should always be ten minutes, in fact start planning to leave the area after five minutes. I learnt about the people who are important to me and the people I can live without. I also learnt that all homework must be done, if it is not done you shall find yourself in a predicament.

Nicole Moyo

I learnt that absence does indeed make the heart grow fonder. I learnt how to look as if I’m actually thinking in my Thinking Skills lessons. I learnt the importance of friendship. I learnt how to focus my energy on the things that really matter. I learnt that everybody makes mistakes. I learnt that the small voice inside my head is not actually as small as I thought. Last term, I learnt a lot.

Langa-Rose

Usually learning has a lot to do with education and stuff which is why I am expected to write about that. But that has always been my life and hence would not be worth my freewrite. So last term I learnt more than just the usual. I learnt things that have changed me, helped me to grow. I learnt things I would never learn in a Chemistry or physics lesson. I learnt more than I get from a text book or novel. Last term I learnt a lesson....

Butterfly

New lessons, old lessons, ones I’m still learning:

I learnt that people are complicated and love is hard.

I learnt that there are many important things in life but you need to figure out and focus on what is most important for you. Or things can get very messy.

I learnt that people can be cruel and mean one day, but then, so beautiful and human the next.

I learnt that safe places are almost impossible to create.

I learnt that what you see is sometimes not what you get. Accepting and living with that is not east.

I learnt that space is healthy and being alone can be healing.

I learnt that the sky looks more beautiful the higher you climb.

I learnt God holds it all together.

Miss Bell

"Write in the voice of a child" -- Fiffiem

When I grow up I want to be a doctor.

The dream that we all have when we are growing up. Perhaps it’s because we are born in hospitals and it seems natural to want to be a doctor.

When I grow up I want to be just like her.

Every child has their own personal hero, if only they knew how hard it is to have someone looking up to you.

My life is not fair…

Hold it right there what are you going on about? 

Well all you have to do is wake up go to pre-school  come back, play and sleep. I have bills to pay- homework, a job to keep- being a student and worst of all my stressful  life to deal with.

Fiffiem

"The Mall" -- Matipa Mutoti

The mall – a place for shopping and activities. A place of excitement for a child getting a new pair of shoes and a dreaded place for a husband who has to hold his wife’s shopping bags.

I, however, see the mall as a cultural and social centre. A place specifically designed for us, as humans, to interact with each other and to see how diverse we are – yet similar in many ways. One would not notice this without an agenda at the mall but simply as a fly on the wall.

Entering the mall is entering a different world. The white, fluorescent lights attack my eyes causing brief blindness. Eventually, my eyes pick up the hints of yellow, brown, black, silver and the granite on the pillars. The cool air forms mountainous bumps on my once warm skin. I can smell the ammonia in the cleaning detergents used on the already clean tile floor as I stake out a place where I can become invisible. I find this place just in front of the Apple store.

I stand against pillar with my palms at my side. I move my fingers feeling each granite tile and groove where another tile begins or ends. My back begins to cool as the tiles absorb my heat – I become comfortable.

I look up to my left. I observe the sign of the iconic bitten apple illuminated by white, fluorescent lights looking even brighter against the black background easily grabbing shoppers’ attention. The clear, glass walls allow anyone outside the store to see those inside the all white store. I easily notice two people in the pool of white; a teenage girl wistfully looking at the latest MacBook Air as her mother looks at the iPhone 5C with the same expression on her face. I notice that even though I am not the same race or nationality as they are, I am still able to empathise with their desire.

Boom! The sound of metal dropping to the floor grabs my attention. My eyes follow the sound to the oak wood furnished Parrot’s Cafe to the left of the Apple Store. The waiter who dropped the tray looks relieved that there was nothing on the tray – or any customers around to see - and hurriedly walks away. The warm, brown furnishings give the cafe a relaxing, homely feeling in contrast to the mostly steel and aluminium Parrot’s Express Counter across.

The Express Counter serves a variety of food to cater for many nations and cultures. Beep, beep, beep. The microwave door of the Express Counter opens and seconds later, diffusion causes me smell a warm, blueberry muffin – my favourite. The smell hits the back of my throat giving me the illusion that I can taste the muffin.

“Dankie.” I hear an Afrikaans man that the cashier in his native tongue.

Closing my eyes, I become conscious of the different indigenous languages spoken in the multi-lingual South Africa. I can also hear a French family speaking their language with the same fluency I aspire to speak with one day. I smile to myself, feeling patriotic, as I hear a man speak Shona to the receiver of the conversation.

I open my eyes again and after my eyes adjust to the white light, I make out a glowing  globe moulded from several strips of metal going over, under and across each other a distance away from me but still captivating. The interior designers who put the metal artwork in that spot knew that the mall would be place where cultures meet and mix; from the emotion, food and language. Almost like an airport without the running around.

Matipa Mutoti

"Dear Adult, some advice on how to talk to me" -- Yoh

First of all I would like to say, I mean no disrespect. It is just that it has come to my attention that you may find difficulty in making conversation with a teen, like me. I just have a few pointers, simple and straightforward and you will be pleased to note that they are fairly easy to grasp unlike the modern forms of technology. At this point I will remind you that this is no form of mockery and I mean no disrespect.

People my age are crossing the bridge between childhood and adulthood. It would be nice if you acknowledged the fact that I may not be a child anymore, but I am not quite an adult just yet. I may have a sense of maturity but you cannot expect me to think the way you do. I would appreciate it if you considered my ideas as oppose to instantly shutting them down as naïve ideas. It may be difficult to believe but, we are fully aware that this is the age will make some wrong decisions and plenty of mistakes, however we would appreciate it if you allowed us to do so. For in this we will learn and mature much faster than if you have discouraged our ideas in harsh tones. I am not sure if it is too much to ask for but all we would like is a little respect, which will be returned accordingly.

The second and final pointer is almost as simple as the first. Before we begin our conversation it would be wonderful if you could come to a final decision as to what your role is in our conversation as well as mine. It is a common fact that the relationship between people having a conversation affects the conversation they have greatly. It is unreasonable for you to expect me to be honest and fully myself with you when you continually jump from being my friend to an adult in authority. Likewise it is difficult for me to be jolly when I am treated like an infant and adult within the same conversation. Many a time teens are willing to be an open book to respective adults but they are not sure what they are too old or too young to be doing. They therefore avoid trouble by shutting adults out completely during conversation.

In conclusion I would like to say, the façade presented by teens during conversation is suspended by weak strings which can be broken easily if the previously mentioned pointers are considered. Thereafter, the only requirement is consistency.

Yoh

"It’s gleaming, rich with stars" -- Langa-Rose

I was always told that my future was bright so much so that I began to believe it and as a naïve teenager, constantly repeated it to myself staring at my reflection in the mirror. A similar mirror I now stare into and cringe at the face I see staring right back.

I was never bright and it was a known fact. That’s where it all began. People constantly felt that I needed the reassurance of my ‘bright’ future. I suppose I did, being the spotty, sore-thumb of my group of acquaintances. My self-esteem was just slightly above non-existent. It seemed my luck changed when I began to dance and sing. Of course it was all the doing of my over-zealous mother who signed me up for any class she felt “was the one for me”. It took four different instrumental classes, a judo programme, two cookery classes and bitter disappointment on her part to find the real “one for me”.

I was just as reluctant to prance up and down a stage with cheap make-up smacked on my face as I was to bake double chocolate anything and I entered the dance studio dragging my feet just as I did previously and pushing my glasses further up my nose even more furiously than before. With a bad attitude, as is common in one’s teenage years, I stalked up to the teacher and introduced myself with naught excitement and sat through a speech from a very whimsical teacher that ended with the words “it’s gleaming, rich with stars”, which was her take on our bright futures. These words are forever etched into my memory.

She told us to let loose and let the music carry us. This was not an easy task restricted by poorly-made leotards but boy, did I grow to love it! Dance was my escape where I allowed nothing else to bother me and all the failed tests were left outside the studio. Music was a comfort and feeling the beautiful sound well up inside me and bubble up to the back of my throat made me feel warm inside. With each session it was clear, or so I thought, that dance was “the one for me”.

The freedom was like none I had ever felt. It was similar to running through a field of daisies with the wind rushing through your hair and butterflies gently fluttering by. The inner warmth I felt was like that one would feel pouring heated honey into your mouth and letting it slide right down to every inch of your body. It was absolutely magical and I no longer cared about the layer of make-up we were forced to wear for performances. At this point I began to believe that my future was indeed as bright as they said and even more so as the dance scholarships to various top schools poured in.

From that point I was always enveloped in a cloud of glitter if not physically then at least mentally in a sparkly world of my own. All I ever heard were angelic voices singing, light footsteps on the stage and my mother’s voice telling me how great I was going to be and how proud she was. Then it all went wrong somewhere and I find myself reminiscing, staring sadly back at myself; a struggling entertainer who once harboured the ambitious dreams of a lively teenager. I thought I was going places and I would soon have my name in shining lights all over the world not above the entrance to a middle of nowhere bar. Perhaps there just was not enough space out there for all of us, I tell myself, but surely I could have found my little corner of the world to do what I love best and show the world my talent.

These tears that stream down my wrinkled face from my once sparkling eyes are for all the hard work I put in that has resulted in nothing. My labour produced not a single fruit. I weep for who I could have been and what I could have done. The disappointment is so difficult to swallow after having been told constantly that I had what it takes and now I recall this phrase with such sour memories, ‘your future is bright. It’s gleaming, rich with stars.” Did it really? Did it?

Langa-Rose

"Find a kid. Use them as inspiration." -- Sibo

Short, thin and malnourished; Tom Nkosi had never been the kind of kid that anyone liked to play with. He was shy, dirty and, above needy, something that had earned him a bad reputation amongst the neighbourhood children. Born into a home without a father, he had grown up with a mother who preyed on men on a daily basis to stay alive, abusing alcohol like it was her life support. She was wrecked, in every sense of the word, but one thing she remained sure about in her life was her love for her only son. Tom was all she had in life and she loved and cherished him deeply, the way a mother was supposed to. When she passed away from a kidney failure, Tom was left stranded in the world, with nowhere to go and no one to turn to.

Alexander House Children’s Home was nothing close to luxurious. With about fifty children being catered for by money that could barely keep one suburban child going, it was only a call away from being shut down. When Tom arrived, he wasn’t treated any differently from the children who had been there all their lives. He got the same food, same set of rules and no grace period to learn anything. Life had admittedly taken a worse turn, if he was going to be truthful. Two months passed by before he started making any actual friends. Tapiwa, Joe and Bill were the kids feared by everyone in the Home, and when they took notice of Tom, he didn’t have much of a choice but to join into the clique.

The friends that Tom had made were the kind of friends who looked out for each other. They were a family in their own right and they stuck by each other through thick and thin. By the time that Tom was sixteen, he was no longer a shy boy. He was a feared individual who lived and preyed on others’ fear of him. It wasn’t long before he got attached to alcohol and drugs. Every chance he got, him and his friends would steal money and waste it away on alcohol and girls for a good time. They were caught, several times, and punished but nothing seemed to slow them down, but when Tom turned eighteen, he was faced with the same problem his mother had encountered.

Tom had a failing kidney. Donors were looked for to try and save his life, but no help was coming his way. He was at the bottom of the list, with at least a hundred other patients before him waiting for the same organ. In the weeks that followed, Tom suffered immensely and he couldn’t help but think about the times that he had seen his mother suffering from the same thing. His brothers kept the faith alive for him, praying for his recovery, but Tom knew that the end was nearing, and it was coming soon. Tom had entered into a broken world, and at a young age, he left the world the same way that he had found it.

Sibo

"A love story?" -- #7

He looked into my eyes and I could tell he was about to say something serious to me. Nigel got down on one knee and held my hand firmly but gently. The man I had been dating for six months was about to say four words every girl waits their whole life to hear. The four words that sound like a harmony to the ears and give you that warm unexplainable feeling inside. In a split second I started to imagine a diamond ring; wedding bells; the perfect dress; a honeymoon in Spain and all these images made me feel blissful and excited.

“Will you marry me?” he said. The four words that were supposed to sound like a melody to my ears sounded like a cacophonous chorus. The four words that sounded almost meaningless to me brought me back to reality and put me in another trance and I started to imagine getting married; getting a job; getting a mortgage; having babies; paying bills; being stressed; having meaningless fights. I looked deep into his brown innocent eyes and I knew the answer to his question but I could not say it. Tears started to flow down my cheeks as I dreaded to say the one word that would change everything.

I looked into her eyes and knew she was the one. I got down on one knee to ask the girl I loved to spend the rest of my life with me. I was very nervous and scared and was hoping to hear the one word every man wants to hear. I took a deep breath and mumbled the words “Will you marry me?” As soon as I said the said the words I felt weird and uneasy. I stared at her waiting impatiently for an answer. Her cheeks turned crimson red and tears started cascading down her face. A part of me was hoping she would say “No”. I suddenly realised that the woman standing in front of me was not meant to be my wife.

Sadness and depression immediately took over my soul. My heart sank when I saw her crying and I knew they were not tears of joy.

“No” they said to each other simultaneously. Nigel got up and hugged Mary. He held her in his arms like it was the last time. They smiled at each other and walked away from each other.

#7

"Who am I?" --Kundai Chiremba

Everyday we live, we face an unknown danger. Our past threatens to ruin our present and stomp on our future. How hard is it to accept who you are and love yourself?

If you were to know me as the person I really am, would you still think the same of me? Each layer of me has its unique story hardened over time, representing a phase of my life long gone. Peel each layer off and see me as I truly am. Would you still look at me with such a kind eye? I, the owner, do not know what lies beneath.

I feel the numbness set in as I go about purging unwanted memories and destroying any traces of them. They are the truth I evade. They hold the key to finding who I am and who I want to be. These memories lie in the deep, dark recesses of my soul where they will remain until I am ready to face them. When I am ready I will reach into the abyss that my soul has become and seek out the forgotten memories.

Each day as a new layer forms I learn more about what lies beneath. I catch brief flashes from my past as I struggle to suppress hoards of memories kept at bay by the fear of knowing something that could either destroy me or build me up. Sometimes it feels like a ray of sunshine is beaming in the darkness probing the dark for a glimmer of hope. I secretly wish to find parts of me that vanished alongside the memories I trample on. How bad could knowing the truth be?

 Facing our fears is one of the hardest and scariest tasks we have to go through at some point in our lives. Each person will fight their own battles. While some will leave the battlefield as victors, some will return defeated. It is the will to carry on when everything seems to be failing that will determine the true victors in these raging wars. Our state of mind ultimately decides on whether we succeed or fail. 

With each day that passes I wonder what would happen if I let my guard down. Am I scared of who I will become? I will only know when I face that fear. When I am ready I will open up my soul, let the sun shine through it and wander into the forgotten realm. I will seek out all the truth I need to know. I lost touch with the person I thought I was when the first layer formed and continued to lose a part of myself as each new layer was formed. I will find who I was and I will know who I am. I will no longer hide, I only seek the truth!

He has been shut out of this familiar place for ages, maybe it’s time I opened my doors. I need him! When I am lost in the darkness within me, he is the light that guides me onto the righteous path. He has seen the person I truly am, yet he chooses to love me. Each time I let him in he, takes with him a layer when he leaves. Through him I will be able to define who I am.

I am a beautiful, unparalleled being and nothing will ever change that. I am perfect in his eyes, he sees through all my imperfections and he still loves me even though he knows what lies beneath. I am unique and I will not be discouraged by a world which sees life from a different perspective. Facing my fear of the truth has set me free, I will never submit to fear again.

Fear will hold its victims hostage until they break free from its bondage and fight it. By knowing who I am, I have set myself free. Fear will never overcome me, I will fight for what I believe. Fear will only exist where there is a lack of faith and where it is welcome. When the world seems dark and you find yourself losing your way, remember who your Father is. The Lord will always watch over us regardless of who we are.

Kundai Chiremba

"A Thank you note to Arundel" -- R. E. Mandiveyi

Dear Arundel,

I have taken it upon myself to thank you for the five years of struggle, labour and oppression that have molded me and many other students into respectable and nearly, fine “ladies.”

Our volatile relationship began when I first stepped on your lush, green grounds in the chaotic year of 2008. I, a naïve chubby eleven year old, was deceived by your excellent use of propaganda,  appropriately used for your Open Day.

Thank you Arundel, for making our lives five times quicker by limiting the different hairstyles, and choices of hair colour. Your legislation of anti- hair expression laws have benefitted in making us uniform and plain in comparison to our Chizi and Helenic counterparts. I would also like to thank you for the dull and unimaginative colour palate of our uniform. The harsh, hideous brown blazer makes a striking and sharp contrast to the slick blue of the Helenic and Peterhouse uniform. In effect, we come across as distractingly unique.

Another thing to give gratitude to is your commitment in depriving us of our cellphones during lesson time. You deprive us of the amusement and delight that a cellphone provides. This has the positive outcome of forcing students to concentrate in class, living through an agonizing lesson filled with boredom- and no Whatsapp.

Many students can be grateful for Arundel’s success in altering the diets of many individuals. The meagre amounts of food we receive at lunch has taught us to eat less than what we ought to, assisting in helping students like myself who are on a Weight Watches diet plan.

Lastly, you have succeeded in oppressing us with cart loads of work and tests after tests, forcing us to deprive ourselves of indulgencies like TV, videogames and the internet. The couch potato in us has been purged. We automatically “Woman-up,” taking it upon ourselves to do the work diligently and on time. Well, we try.

When I leave your exceptional institution, I will be grateful to know that I was transformed into a full fledged Arundel lady. At least I hope so.

Best regards

An Arundel student

R. E. Mandiveyi

"When teachers are absent" -- Tarisai Dahwa

The classroom feels weird, something is missing. The first few minutes are awkward and tense at the same time, people are kept in suspense, ‘Is she coming? Is she not?’ The excitement builds up after ten minutes, pupils are filled with so much joy at the thought of a free lesson, well, that is, until, the replacement teacher walks in.

Let us rewind to some years back, Form One. When a teacher was absent, oh what a joyous day it would be! Some students sat and did nothing, some chose to sleep, whilst others would roam around the school like lost sheep. However, the student no one liked would always make sure this happiness was short lived as she would make her way to the front office in a desperate search for her teacher. The same thing occurred in Form Two.

When Form Three arrived, the students had formed some form of alliance with each other. They would not go call the teacher, no matter what. Instead, a mini party and a forty minute “bonding session” would be held in the teacher’s absence. The same went for Form Four. Some sort of  ‘anti-lesson’ feeling was spread amongst the students.

Now they are in Lower Six, a completely different story. When teachers are absent, there is no mini party to be held, the students do not bother to call the teacher. But instead, students find themselves continuing with the lesson as if the teacher were there. They find work to do, and they do it. They need not be instructed to do it. After all, that is what is expected of them. They co-ordinate themselves as a class, the best way possible, and help each other to get on with whatever work they have to do.

However, there is now that one student that, instead of going to call the teacher like in Form One, makes noise and disrupts everyone else who is trying to be productive, when the teachers are absent.

Tarisai Dahwa

"I Wish My Teacher Knew" -- Nicole Moyo

I wish my teacher knew how hard it is to concentrate for an hour. How hard it is to keep up with homework, study and have “fun” at the same time. I wish my teacher knew how hard I try to be the best student.

If only they knew what I went through to hand in that one exercise they said was simple. I wish my teacher did not assume. I wish they knew I tried. I wish they knew how it hurts me when they shout at me or put a rude comment at the end of my three paged essay I tried so hard to work on.

I know they were students before and they felt the pressure. The question is “Did they like it?” If not, why are you doing the same thing to me? Let me be my own person, work at my own pace. Let me volunteer to answer a question. Do not ask me to answer a question if my hand is down because that is a sign that I do not know the answer.

I wish my teacher knew how obvious it is when they have a favourite student and they claim to be diplomatic. I wish my teacher knew that some of the homework they give is just too much to handle. Holiday homework is an example. It’s that time when teachers go wild with homework and expect you to rest and study for spot tests on the first day of school.

I wish my teacher knew how sometimes we just need to rest. Just a break from everything. Just a day to wake up and not do anything. We students know you count down for end of term too. It’s not a bad thing.

Well, I wish my teacher knew a lot of things about me but I guess we all don’t have time for that.

Nicole Moyo

"If I could change school" -- The Lorax

If I could change  school I would most certainly start with its view. School would no longer be an institution that promotes over competitiveness, the idea that only the most talented will ever get anywhere in life and only those who are clever and aware enough will get the best out it. School would take a whole new different turn.

If I could change school individualism would be the motto. I would remove the label that comes with the association with the school. Students would no longer have to conform to what the school motto requires them to be, instead I would let them decide their own values, after all not everyone has the same view about what is important. I would turn the school into a place of self discovery where students would learn about self acceptance not selfishness or pride but just to accept themselves, fully and truly.  With self acceptance they will learn to accept others too.

If I could change school, I would teach students to recognize their voice, so that way they can distinguish it among the other six billion voices in the world. I would teach them to not allow the world to change them because it will be harder for them to change the world. They would learn self esteem and to celebrate each day that passes by. If I could this change school I would make it more liberal and allow students to make their own choices without limitation.

If I was able to change  school there will be no more thinking skills, the only skill that would be taught is that of thankfulness. I would paint the place pink and splatter the walls with ink. If I could change school I would make sure that students are known not, for what they do but for who they are in what they do.

"Dear adult: some advice on how to talk to me" -- a collection of writers

Dear adult, here is some advice on how to talk to me.

I find humor in those that find no fault  in the phrase "in order to talk to a teenager, you must think like a teenager". One will never be able to think like another, this is due to a small gift from God called variation. Assumptions can not be made, draft ideas can not be drawn, on how teenagers think or how we do or what we will do. If you want to talk to me, you should not act like you have known me all my life. That's the simple rule. Further more,do not shout, I am sure I will be able to hear you, you do not have to act like we are in different rooms, I bet I will understand you more if you speak to me in cool, calm and collected manner. What? Why are you speaking so fast? There is enough time for you to finish your sentence. Lastly, and this is probably the most important point, do not speak to me like a child. I will value your input in my life but I will not be ruled. I live for myself and for no one else and if you want to talk to me, you must understand that. I am not unapproachable, in contrary, I am quite the opposite. I would love to talk to you and get to know you, and for you to know me, all you have to do is to listen to my advice.

Steve-O-o Mhlanga

Dear Adults

REF: SOME ADVISE ON HOW TO TALK TO US

It has come to my attention that if you want something done or a change you have to do it yourself first and so I am writing this letter advising you on how to talk to us, teenagers.

I am sure that we all desire the pleasure of people acknowledging that they have heard and understood our motives for doing or saying certain things. It is quite de-motivating when people automatically label you as ‘incorrect’ or ‘irrelevant’ because you are not the one in authority or are younger and not as wise based on your age.

I am a young lady, a child just as you once were and one I day am going to look back and look at what I achieved. A house cannot stand without a firm foundation and therefore our foundation is dependent on you remembering that for you to help us, we have to let you. This can be very easily achieved by five easy steps:

Firstly, do not mark us wrong because we are ‘immature’ because we believe the world is our oyster and there are endless opportunities. We experiment a lot and that is how most discoveries were made and we would therefore appreciate it if you let us have a say in our own lives and the choices we make. Give us alternatives and do not just talk to us in black and white. We do understand that you were young before but it is only fair to not limit us because it may benefit us where it did not for you.

Secondly, I believe that it is only fair for you to understand that we are only young once and that  we are going to live each day to the fullest not wishing to bring harm to anyone, but rather make the best out of every day as if it was our last. This only further emphasises that you should give us alternatives and not limited options.

Thirdly, do not pretend to be our best friends just so that you can have a daily dosage of teenage drama. It does not work. Teenagers can smell hypocrisy from miles away. Instead of building up a relationship that only strains it and you immediately lose our trust. We do don trust easily and therefore if you break it, earning it again may be impossible and you will only earn a bad name for yourself. We desire a true companion, who doesn’t try to please us but rather is who they are and does not try and get into our heads.

Fourthly, we are big headed and love trying out things by ourselves and having our decisions considered. We need elderly figures to be there when we fall. We are like puppies, fragile and full of enthusiasm. Life is not a bed of roses so we are always going to be pushed around and are going to fall. You do not have to lift us up but just knowing that you are there makes us feel that the support is there. When we were five you pressured us to learn to ride a bicycle, and you were there always to help us get up every time we fell, until we could do it on our own.

It is a similar story now; we need your indirect help each and every day when we fall and encouragement to keep pushing until we can balance on our own. This we will also carry with us, helping our children.

Last but not least, we are rough diamonds. We are still learning to control our tempers and acknowledge that sometimes we are also wrong. Sometimes it is hard to understand why we are being labelled as wrong, because of the belief that once a teenager, you are arrogant. This therefore concludes that we need patience and your understanding.

Could talking to a teenager be made simpler?

Yours sincerely

mamo

First thing is first, you do not have to raise your voice at me especially for petty issues. I get it that you have been on this planet for a longer time than me but do not think of yourself more superior than I am. It is simply degrading and makes me feel so worthless. It just makes the situation worse than it already has to be. Do not treat me like I know nothing and everything you say if of a greater level of intelligence than anything I have to say. In order to have a conversation, I should also be allowed to express myself. Whatever I say seems wrong to you or it’s not what you want to hear, but it’s what makes sense to me so don’t make me seem or feel stupid for the things I say because frankly, I make mistakes just as you do. Don’t make yourself seem perfect. One thing you have to realize is that im actually growing up and im an educated eighteen year old girl who reads fifty shades of grey not because I have to but because I want to. So don’t sit there and judge me for reading it when there are a million of other things about you that I could sit and judge you about but frankly im to busy caring about my own life rather than yours. You have to understand that it’s my choice to do what I do, and the last thing that I need is an adult telling me what I can and cannot do instead of letting me make my own bad choices and decisions and learning from them. I don’t understand what makes you an adult or what an adult is. What criteria do I have to be to fit into the one of an adult? Is it my dressing, my age, the way I talk? All I know is that we were all put on this earth to serve a purpose. So next time when you want to talk to me, don’t put yourself at a level that’s above mine because we are equal.

Yoncé

Firstly , when talking to a teenager, especially in my age group, try not to say too much, in fact maybe just don’t talk if it’s not necessary, but if we have to exchange some words then…

Talk to me in a calm voice, a voice that makes me feel comfortable and safe around you don’t make me feel afraid of you because of an unpleasant tone. Talk to me with respect, if you do, I will gladly return the favour and speak to you with utmost respect and care, if not, well, be prepared for a mouthful!

Secondly, don’t speak to me in a dull and boring tone, otherwise you will enjoy watching me fall asleep, for this to be avoided, speak in an up-beat tone, throw in a few jokes and sarcasm, this will get me interested in what you have to say and I might actually respond well to you.

Also, try not telling me what to do, this will make me rebellious, and instead of listening, I will do the exact opposite. And lectures don’t even go there, in my opinion you’re just wasting your breath and racking your brain for intelligent words that I probably don’t understand. Avoid comparing us to other people, most adults tend tell us we are unique, but that seems to be forgotten when someone does better than us in class.

Lastly, talk to me with love, this will make me open up to you and the barrier walls between teenagers and adults will slowly come down, this will show you that we’re not so dark after all. You just need to speak to us in an appropriate manner and that we will respond well to. Instead of raising your voice, raise an issue. If all these steps are followed, teenagers and adults will be able to engage in frequent, friendly conversations!

Kajal_A

Dear Adult,

It’s come to my attention that there is a communication barrier between adults and teenagers, which could potentially be detrimental to our development. So I’ve come up with a few tips on how to talk to me, well, teenagers in general really.

We can understand most things, and most long words but if you want to keep us interested, try to use simple phrases. However, don’t dumb yourself down – we’re not babies, and that’s one sure fire way to lose our respect. The fact that we’re talking to and confiding in you is something worth appreciating – it takes a lot of courage to talk to an adult. Don’t ruin it by making it about you, and put yourself in our shoes before you judge us.

We respond well to humour so try to drop some of that in to the conversation. Out of politeness we will laugh at all your jokes, no matter how bad, so it’s only fair that you do the same- it’ll make us less self-conscious. Be expressive- sit facing towards me, this way I’ll know I have your full attention, and try to use your hands, this will engage us in and draw us into the conversation. And just a heads up, we can tell what an adult thinks just by their facial expression, it’s like a gift we have, so be careful about how you look at us – a reassuring smile is usually the best.

Also, try not to talk down at me but talk to me. If you are going to give advice, give advice that you would give your friend not your child, this will make us more likely to tell you more because we see you as a friend. Nods of your head in appropriate places reassure us that you understand and that you’re listening. As a teenager myself, sometimes all we need when we have problems is someone to listen to us, not judge us and smile, letting us know that everything’s going to be okay.

And when we’re deep in conversation and have a disagreement don’t refer to my responses as ‘talking back’, I am merely ‘explaining myself’.

If you follow these easy tips, the next time you talk to a teenager will be a breeze. I give you a stamp of approval.

Until we have to talk,

Chloe

Chloe Arumainayagam 

"Should teenagers give up their sleep for studies?" -- Matipa Mutoti

Teens are faced with a lot of things that compete for their time, especially with such little time in the day. Older siblings having to look after younger brothers and sisters, clubs, sports teams and activities, school and even spending time with friends. There is simply not enough time to do it all. Therefore teens find themselves giving up something to make time to study. Far too often, it is sleep that they give up.

Teenagers have started to believe that it is crucial to study for those few extra hours into the night assuming it will be beneficial for them. However, they do not realise that they cause themselves more harm than good - physically, mentally and emotionally.

Sleep is an important part of any healthy human being’s life. It is required for the body to rest and recuperate especially after a long day of exertion. With little or no sleep, the body is unable to do either of those possibly resulting in stunted growth and development.

Furthermore, one might think stunted growth and development may be a small price to pay for a possible 100% at the end of the day but that is not the case. Sleep deprivation can lead to heart attacks, high blood pressure as well as ageing skin, strokes and diabetes.

Students who sleep less than six to seven hours a night find it harder to concentrate at school. Due to the lack of rest and recuperation, the body will begin to automatically shut down even though the mind wills it to stay awake. This causes situations whereby the student falls asleep during class. Not only will the student have the tendency to fall asleep in class; they will also lack focus and concentration therefore forgetting what was taught to them in class. The student has to use his or her own time catching up therefore creating an endless cycle which is hard to break.

Teenagers are generally very hormonal. Lack of sleep intensifies the emotions caused by the hormones making them emotionally unstable. This instability can lead to depression which is becoming common amongst teenagers.

In addition, research has confirmed students who study more tend to earn higher grades. Teens have the perception that to have more study time they must sleep late but they are wrong. It all depends on how the teens manage their time. They should try and balance everything they do equally and  keep that schedule constant.

Teens also feel peer pressured by what their peers are doing. At schools like Arundel, girls feel like if they are not waking up early and sleeping late studying then they are being lazy therefore will not  get good results at the end of the year. Teenagers should stop this competitive mentality and acquire study methods that do not put their lives at risk.

I believe that teens should not be sacrificing their sleep for the grades they want to achieve but should not procrastinate and manage their time well. Is it really worth risking your life over a few tests?

Matipa Mutoti