The Past Few weeks/days

Firstly, I'm glad to be a part of NaPo. The thing is; I'm alot more motivated because I really enjoy poetry, and when I write it, the words and ideas just flow, unlike NaNo (I get writer's block).
...Yes, so, so far it's been great. I haven't needed prompts yet but I'm sure that I'll make use of them at some point. Today's poem was inspired by the prompt to write an Epithalamium. I decided to just write about something close to a wedding scene instead. :) I feel like it went well.
Whenever I write a poem I think about what I need to add, so that, if someone possibly publishes a collection of my poems long after my death, students like myself can find something in there to analyse and question and perhaps learn a little bit of me with every poem. I think I've learned to incorporate this sufficiently.

On a more personal note; life seems to have changed since i turned 17. I feel like the world carries a different air, and I carry a different ambiance. I feel slightly more matured. Not much has changed: there is still the 7th grade type of drama dragging along my side, there is still my isolation at home, however, I feel like I've somewhat learned to drift well in this forlorn setting. The statement, "Headphones in, World out" makes a lot more sense now. I feel like music is the only thing that has really been keeping me going over the last few weeks. Emotionally, these weeks have been hard. Hahha. Yeah, I found out a lot I didn't really want to know, I've been fighting with a friend. Urghhh. Friend fights.. silly. Perhaps I should get into a bit more detail about this.

On a Friday night out, celebrating my birthday, a friend confronted me and made a statement that well... offended me. Being the person I am, my first response was, well, anger. So, I tugged her on the jacket and sprouted some hurtful words. Indeed I did, and I'm not proud. I did apologize, ofcourse... however, I did not apologize for what I said because I still stand by every word I said. I apologized for the violent act.
Anyway.. Seems she's not talking to me. It's hurtful, yes, however, I kind of don't care. I sort of feel as though there is a more mature way to go about everything and if this is how she chooses to deal with the situation then perhaps it is better we keep our distance? ... I'm really looking to surround myself with positive, more mature people. I mean, my friends are mature, definitely. It's just that I sometimes feel as though they act like children, purposely. I do too (what a hypocrite), which is why I want to be around more mature people, so some of it can rub off on me.

Anywhoo. - This is getting way to personal now.
A short briefing on life at the moment:
I got the lead role in a small production, I'm excited and nervous and stressed, all at the same time. There's tons to be done and learned in a very short span of time.
I've started exercising more regularly now and my body feels great. Yes, I am tired and aching, however, the release of 'happy hormones' as I call them, has been good on me.
I love my new camera. I can't help but take pictures all day of everything. My flickr is finally continuosly active which is majorly exciting. I'm excited to share my passion.
On the downside, the workload in school has been piling up and I've been slacking. I have a ton to do and a ton to catch up (and writing this right now is wasting my time :/) .. but I'm confident that I can do it all.
I chose an overseas summer vacation over a new phone for my birthday. So now I'm sitting with this tiny phone, which I hate, which at this very moment (for the last 5 days actually) has refused to send texts. Now I'm even more lonely than before.

As you can see, I'm more uplifted and spirited lately. I haven't cried in awhile, even while Taylor Swift was playing while I took my bath. I'm proud.

Things are pretty dandy at the moment. Let's see what tomorrow blows over... - Leaves change.

PS ;)

NaPoWriMo: Day 3

   Of Veils and Nuptials 

Neatly the strands are caught up
In a doughnut shaped figure
At the top of the cranium
Of a woman whose face hides
unidentifiable, under a veil. 

                               

Tightly the lips of a pale figure
Are pressed,
covered in red muck 
That mannequins apply to find
Male figures and a veil. 

Golden shines the halo around her finger
Symbolising a bended knee and a movie scene,
Of rolling hills, and fresh air, and serenity
And smiles, and laughs, and cries
Of a moment veiled in awe.

Eagerly chimes a voice
Across the Basilica
Alive with proud relatives,
Of the mannequin who stands and cries
“Yesss!!”, hidden under a veil. 

Arlana Panduleni Shikongo

NaPoWriMo: Day 2

 Let Run Rain

Let run rain
On a dewey day,
When the sun strains skin
With ultraviolet ray. 

Let run rain
On the glowey Sabbatum  noon,
When the posies sway in the breeze,
As the butterflies emerge the cacoon.

Let run rain
On a moonlit night,
when the clouds scatter far
As the jet’s surface reflects light. 

Let run rain,
on the face of the pained,
When ardour is broken,
As a heart is drained.


Arlana Panduleni Shikongo

NaPoWriMo: Day 1

     I am a sinner

Can a sinner hear the church bells?
The calling of men clad in cloak.
Who sprout prayers of a God,
a manifestation of human requisite for vindication.

Can a sinner touch the blessed water?
The holy liquid
Blessed by the kiss of a Messiah
Who hides behind a fabricated religion.

Can a sinner kneel before the crucifix,
and pray to the sculpture of the corpus
of an entity much higher,
than the universe in its enormity.

I beg to differ, before thine Christ.
For I am a sinner with no belief,
In a manifestation of mankind.

So let the Pope sprinkle me with the Holy Water,
and let my knees run bloody before His corpus,
and let the church bells try to carry me to the light.

I am a sinner.
I cannot hear the church bells,
I cannot touch the blessed water,
I cannot kneel before the crucifix.
I am a sinner.


Arlana Panduleni Shikongo

Happy Birthday to the Blonde Wambo!

So, today's my birthday! 29th March! -

It's just past 9pm where I am, as I'm writing this ofcourse.. and I was about to do my homework. Then I thought, "Screw it, this is my only birthday for the year. I'll do my homework when the clock strikes 12!". - Being in IB, I will probably regret that tomorrow.. Hahha. But hey, "IB Procrastinate now, IB screwed tomorrow"... <-- That's the motto! ;)

So, 17th Birthday huh? Oh, I'm fancy. ;)
How did my day go, you ask? Well, I'll write it out for you.
(Warning! This could get long, and soppy) 

It was 11:59 when I opened my journal, still dated 28th March at the time. In that moment a tear ran down my face. Not because I was sad, or scared or anything of the sort, but because the year most people hope to hold onto forever, was slipping out of my grasp. 16, the year I traveled on my own, encountered so many life-changing experiences, met people I never thought I'd meet, made friends way beyond what I expected I could attain, learned things I wasn't happy about, met people that broke my heart... Thought I fell in love for the first time (which I now know was probably just, you know, hormones).. Seen places that took my breath away, seen things, heard things and met people that inspired me; realized my dreams, became who I really am... 16. That was the year I really grew up. That was the year I actually had to stand up, and for the first time, take responsibility. That was the year I saw 8 shooting starts, that was the year I discovered my passions. That was the year I realized my real dreams, and not what people wanted or expected from me. That was the year I met someone I can still cry about today... cry about, because they made me happy. Actually, that was the year I met alot of people I could potentially cry about. A single tear, streaming down my cheek, carried all this. A single tear... my life was playing out for me. 16 was gone... dead and GONE ; DEAD and gone.. - in that moment, those were the single words I wrote on the pages of my journal.

It was 1am by the time I finished up my German homework. 2hours to my actual birth hour.. - I was getting reading for bed. As per usual, I had my night lamp on and 'How I Met Your Mother' playing in the background so that I wouldn't have to sleep in silence and feel...well... alone. I was staring at the sky, thinking about what this new age would bring to me. Hoping to get what I've been wishing for on all these shooting stars. Just then, my zany, eccentric sister bursts into my room to wish me a happy birthday. I was smug. See, things with me and her have never really been great; but at the end of the day, a sister is a sister. She sat down and talked to me. Explained all these little mysteries I question about my personality. She explained why I am the way I am: why I'm so emotional, why I'm so lonesome, why I grew up with the lowest of self esteems. She decoded me,, to myself. For the first time, I felt like I had a sister. For the first time, I knew she really loved me. Her tears washed away all the resentment I'd ever carried, and her honesty made me realise that I had someone I could trust. I had someone I could confide in. I had the sister I'd always wanted. She crawled into my bed and laid with me, chatted awhile before I dozed off. I was 17, and I had found the one thing I had longed for, for the longest time: I had an older sister, one I could love. I had INDI.

Today, we were going to have an assembly in commemoration of the passing independence celebrations that were held on the 21st of March since that's when my country gained it's independence. We had it today because we didn't have school in the week of the 21st, so today seemed appropriate. The Secondary Vice Principle asked me to read one of my poems she'd heard at the open mic, entitled "Land of the Oppressor" which is basically my brief take on the struggle and Namibia as it is now. Anyway, I woke up this morning, nervous as hell. I thought it was some sort of torture especially because it was my birthday, however, I must say it went well. I got tons of praise from students and parents alike, as well as from a handful of my teachers. School was great today. Turning around each corner I'd here a random "Happy birthday Arlana" from a kid I didn't even know knew my name. A bunch of people wished me, I felt blessed. My class all wished me, it was fairly average, until they all decided to sing to me, at which point I walked away all nervous (being the centre of attention isn't one of my strengths). This girl, (strange girl if I must say so myself... Sorry Zoe :P) called Zoe walked in with a tray of brownies and filled with candles forming a '17' shape. I was close to tears. It lit my heart knowing that this girl, who came from a totally different place, a totally different life, and a completely different culture, who, mind you, has only really known me for about 3 months, could regard me so highly, as to bake for me. I know, it seems trivial now, but I really appreciated the gesture, more than any material gift she could easily have bought. Later on, my best friend, Nash showed up with my friend Ozmar, who I absolutely adore, in tow. Flowers and Lindt chocolate in hand. I was beaming. I couldn't have been happier or surrounded with a greater bunch of friends in that very moment. I was glad to see everyone smiling, and I assume they were equally as glad to see me smiling. There were smiles, brownies, laughter and "Happy Birthday Whore" going around. The energy was good, the atmosphere was good. It was my birthday. My 17th Birthday.

The rest of the day was well... average. I took a nap, watched a few series', cried abit, laughed abit, read a few cards read a ton of inboxes, answered a bunch of phone calls, read and responded to a bunch of wallposts. - You know, the usual birthday stuff; then decided to write this entry on my blog. There was no special dinner filled with speeches from my father on life and growing up, there were no words spoken between my mother and I. Really, there was just me. Alone in my room, admiring my flowers from Jordan, the ones from Nash and Ozmar and the bunch of others from a host of friends. There was just me, dipping into a box of Lindt chocolates and adoring the test of them melting in my mouth. There was just me, taking pictures of the sun shining through my window. There was just me. It was tranquil. For dinner I requested pizza in front of the Tellie while watching 'America's Next Top Model' with my family while my niece crawled around making a mess of our living room; and I got it. Well, something like it. I had my dad eating a burger and my sister and I sitting on the floor devouring some pizza while my niece, well, 'crawled around making a mess of our living room' hahah. My mom was in her room.. Talking to someone about something more important than me, but that's fine. One never really gets to have the world revolve around them for an entire day. :) One of my bestfriend's, more like brother actually, called me and sang me this little song he always used to sing. Yes, Ryan, I remember you singing these weird songs to me in 6th grade. hah. I cried. I didn't much expect him to care, at all. Ever since I changed schools I feel like alot of my relationships have been scarred, but today proved that I still have a bunch of people that genuinely love and care for me.

All in all, it was a good day. Every form of wishful birthday was very much appreciated. I am glad to know that I have something going for my at this point in my life, and that is all the stable relationships I've been able to develop. I never really realised until today, that so many people cared. Honestly, I felt like I was this tiny girl, stuck in this huge world, surrounded by people who I just hung out with... but in actual fact, I have friends. REAL FRIENDS, and there is really nothing better I could have asked for on this day.

Here's to 17. My last year of being an irresponsible teenager, my last year of being careless, my last year of being a child! I'll take a shot to it.

...and come tomorrow. I'll be rocking out at the best club in town with the people that matter most.

For now, I'm off to reflect on the last year, and see how I can make this one better.

To those of you that have kept reading, thank you. I've shared more of myself with you, than I have with people I've known for longer than 6 months.
...'Life is a war; Faith is it's sanctuary'... I have faith in myself, my friends, and my choices. So, I will make it through any struggle. <3

 Arlana PS

We're all somebody

We're all just somebody,
trying to find somebody.
A body within a body.
Creating something from within,
Something more to what's projected outside.
Something more than what they dictate you to be.
They place identities,
They make me, who they want me to be.
I can't let them identify me,
as the girl who took on the role,
as the girl who gave up her soul,
to pursue fallacious promises
publicized by the glamour of mannequins
Of woman with shapely figures,
and skin like silk,
drenched in chemical waste.
At the end of the day it's all about the creation,
of a face,
of a body,
of a being.
Send me a letter, noted with an "F"
For the day I can be myself,
and be free...
in a world morphed by society.

Written: Arlana Panduleni Shikongo 

Is it possible to not know something but feel it?
Can man really make love, but not give it?
Who are we to take but not cherish?
To reap but not share it.
The paths that we've sown,
We'll walk alone.
For a selfish man, cannot feed his own
And when the hungry aren't fed, they'll move on.
A soul is a keeper,
For the life of the weaker;
In the dark it will seek her,
And triumph the sins that eat her.
For even when alone we're together
Like birds of a flock and a feather.
Regardless of the end, the time, the weather,
Empathy is for sundry complexions of hide and leather....

Written: Arlana Panduleni Shikongo

Opportunities are always at hand. -

Today, I started drama. Officially started Drama. Exciting isn't it?
........No.

The reasons I decided to start drama are, well, plenty.
As a child, I'd always loved morphing into a new character, taking on someone's life problems while letting mine brew in the darkness. I enjoyed galloping around, singing and dancing (like in musicals), and putting on a serious face for a few minutes when I'd lie to my mom about how my new Science teacher hit me. Adding tears always added that much more of an "ummph", but naturally, the task was challenging.

Today, when the drama teacher asked me why I decided to do drama, I choked. I literally choked. My throat dried out, and everything just disappeared. Naturally, I was able to blurt something out about acting, and morphing and blahdi blah blah blah. But, it was lacking substance; It was lacking me.... it was lacking MY emotion. I ended up saying that I love film, and I want to be a film actress. Which indeed is true. I LOVE FILM. I love watching a scene, seem natural and relate-able. I love hearing actors and actresses speak in a monotone voice because they get to blurt their lines into a microphone instead of having to yell and be conscious about sound projection in a 10 000 seat filled theater. I love the natural air to it... I adore it. I mean, the soft whimpers in The Black Swan, or the romantic tat-tels* of Noah and Allie in the Notebook. I mean, isn't it brilliant to be able to watch something and feel as though you're having a conversation with your friends. Isn't it lovely to know, that a whisper is a whisper and a shout is a shout? I say, it's marvelous.

Now don't get me wrong. I LOVE THEATER too. I think it's just exquisite. I love how those performers are able to get up on that stage, storm in as their characters, and get it all right in one shot. Heck, I applaud them. It take alot of courage and confidence to be able to step up in that intrepid manner. However, when it comes to personally taking on the task, I'll step back into my little shadow. I do not carry the confidence to perform infront of a crowd of people. Imagine, bright lights hitting you in the face, a bunch of lines to recite without any whatsoever type of assistance. Live. That's insanity. Okay, well.... Not insanity. Having experienced this once before, I reckon it's lovely. The feeling of knowing you're going and going without a glitch, the feeling of knowing that your presenting art, within yourself, viewed by hundreds, and most importantly, the reaction of the audience to your performance; the tears, the laughs, the applause. It's a rush indeed. Now picture a 158cm short girl, with short hair and dark eyes, bent over spine, head down.. barely carrying herself. - Do you see this potential in her? Barely. I'm not saying I have no confidence. Oh, I've got plenty but definitely not enough to stand infront of millions and make mistakes. I can, unfortunately, not deal with a bruised ego...or, not at this point in my life.


So, how do you think a girl like me can overcome a situation of the sort? Striving to make it on the big screen while intensely yearning for the adrenaline rush of the stage? Simple: Glee.
Acting on screen and on the stage has become possible. Like Lea Michele, roles of a theater actress in a soap or other type of novela has become common.. - Annie from 90210 as another example. Thus, if I desperately wanted to play the role of Daisy in 'The Great Gatsby' I could so easily write the script, produce the screenplay and have myself well on the way to broadway and the big screen in one shot!? Oh, hello Cabaret.

All in all, an artistic soul like myself will find means to pursue and fulfill all my life long dreams, regardless of how I go about. Whether it be producing my own theatrical scripts and having them roled on set with the camera, the lights, the "ACTIOOOON!!!", or publishing a novel of short stories and poems; I will make it to broadway, I will make it to the big screen, I will have a platform for my poetry, and I will publish my short stories and be credited with a novel... All in one go.

Sincerely,
Arlana PS

Footnotes:
*(Tat-tel: the soft whispering of lovers into the ears of another, accompanied with gentle nibbles on the ear)

Taking a better look...

Sitting here, I wonder. - "why do I only have two followers on this blog"?


I have 135 page views, and only two followers. Could this mean that my writing contains nothing substantial for my readers? Does it mean that the poetry, and the knowledge I sprout carries nothing for the people reading my blog?

While questioning this, I look back to where this started. As a child, I tried to keep a journal. Experiencing so much pain and confusion in life, and having no one to talk to made it important for me to have somewhere to write. However, writing felt like a vacancy. When I physically wrote everything down, I felt like it had to have a certain poise. I felt like it had to carry immense vocabulary, and intense meaning and it became too tiring. My journal and I had an on and off relationship at this point. That's when I started scrap booking. It was a means of keeping busy, and keeping my mind off alot of shit that bothered me. Also, it was so much easier to cut out an image of a woman crying, and knowing that it carried a whole other story within me. Soon after, I discovered computers, blogs and photoblogs When I discovered computers and typing, I moved to electronic entries. I created a file and named it "Diary Entries". This wasn't a very wise decision since I shared the same computer with my siblings. In my innocence and foolishness, I trusted them not to lurk into what was meant to be my sanctuary. Obviously they did. I only realised this when I discovered that my Diary would always come up in the 'recent documents', even if I hadn't opened it for weeks. That's when I stopped.

I'd stopped writing for a long time. I just didn't know where to put down what I felt. There was all this emotional turmoil inside me. It just lingered there, until one day it decided to escape through violent outbursts. Throwing things, hitting things, screaming out; all this in my own privacy, ofcourse. I couldn't let mom and dad see me lose my composure. I was the smart child. The level headed, over achiever. At 10 years old there was all this pressure to be perfect, and never disappoint my parents, and all this depression aswell. A problem had started bubbling under the surface. At this point, I learned to occupy myself to distract the thoughts, and cry at night when I was alone, in the darkness and silence of my own room, where no one would suspect a thing after a weary "Goodnight, I'm tired". I continued to scrapbook. Destroying one and the other in more violent outbursts, or for reasons such as "it isn't perfect". Perfect: at that point it meant, "Not what mommy or daddy would like", or, "not what my friends would consider cool". Don't get me wrong. My parents were great. They gave me everything, but everything couldn't make up for a real family dynamic. Everything can't make up for no family dinners, or family camping trips. They didn't realise that that was what I really wanted until I was about 14. Anyway, my sister had bought me a pink rose book. - She said, "do with it what you'd like". She bought my other sister the same one, but only in lilac. She used it for lyrics. So, I figured I'd use mine for scrapbooking. Surprisingly, I still have it. It started out with scrapbooking, and moved on to poetry... My talent and interest for poetry only came later; but eventually, I stopped. It wasn't good enough.

Years passed, I cried. Crying always brought me guilt. I'd sit there, and cry, and cry more because of the guilt. The guilt came from feeling under appreciative. I'd say to myself, "You sit here, with warm covers, food and everything you could possibly need, and you cry because home isn't what you want it to be, friends don't treat you like you'd like them to", and as I got older, "...and because you're lonely" became part of it all.
Even crying became hard, but when you're sad, there seems to be nothing beyond crying. I'd always feel better after a good session of crying. Sometimes, one session could keep me on a positive path for about a week. Maybe even 2. Thereafter, it all came crashing down, and depression swept in again.

Back to the point:
I knew there were millions of people out there who felt what I felt, and were just as confused as me; roaming the internet for answers to life. That's when I realized I could start a blog. Blog about my day, how I felt, and how I dealt with it. Post my poetry, and maybe have someone relate to it. That's when I started, "Timely Told Thoughts". - I was excited. Excited to share, and excited to mean something to someone far and distant, and perhaps help that girl, who like me, felt like jumping off a cliff, not jump. Maybe, I'd be lucky enough to get the boy who wanted to swallow a tub of drugs not swallow it, because I didn't. Maybe, the girl who pierced her skin for the thrill of the pain, would realise it wasn't such a bad thing after all. That was my mission... and I knew my mission was reaching it's aim when I realised that this page was actually getting views.. But I still asked myself, "only 2 followers"? Could it be that people are scared to accept that things are wrong, or do they feel like my writing is not deep enough? Do they feel like I only scratch the surface without cutting too deep? If that is so, they need to realise that for me, cutting to deep would hit a vain* (Note the spelling). A vain* that could lead me to spiral back into the dark burrow I'm attempting to escape. I need to stay on the surface to keep breathing, but when you analyse the surface deep enough, you'd realise that there's more to the surface than just that.

All in all, all my blogs are an escape. My journal is an escape. My poetry is an escape. I get to escape this whirlwind of a life, I get to escape the sadness, and I get to escape the depression. I get to dissolve the facade I put up in my everyday life. I get to be me...: I get to be Arlana, or Pandu. Or both at once sometimes. I get to be the person I can't show outside of these places: the journal, the poetry, the blogs. -
...therefore, even though I have only two followers, I actually need no more.. Regardless of how many people follow what I write here, I am certain I am saving one person. I'm saving myself from that edge, from those pills and from that cut; and by saving myself, I know I'm saving someone else too.

PS

Sometimes we sit around and wait for something that isn't there. -
Does it ever happen that something just appears? No. We need to make something appear when we need it to.
We need to make the moment beautiful when we want it to be.
We need to make sure the light highlights the golden strands in her hair, and her frame is perfectly in the middle of the on coming wave before we snap the moment.......we have to make the moment.
Life is a moment. A long, outstretched moment, made of smaller moments,that are made of smaller moments.
We take a smaller moment to build it up to a bigger one, to build it up to a bigger picture.
As this year comes to a close, I've realized that life gave me moments, 31 536 000 seconds worth of moments, and I've made use of less than half of them.. I wasted a whole set of moments on unnecessary unhappiness, worrying about what people thought and said, and pleasing people. I wasted moments on people that didn't care much about me.. - I wasted a year of moments, my life, god given moments.
...Next year will be different. I'm determined to find happiness in every moment given to me. The few moments I share with siblings, my niece, my parents...and naturally, my friends. Moments in which I can see someone I love smile, and snap it, maybe. Moments where I see people I love cry, and snap it because it is a result of a happy moments... Sadness means you were happy, and now that your happiness is gone, you're crying for it. Fact remains, there was something making you happy. There was a happy moment, and no doubt another happy moment will be made from that sad moment. -
I'll embrace any chance I get to do what I love, be with who I love and just..love. I will love. I will embrace any chance I get to love. I'll open myself up again because being closed up, it sort of just makes a moment run away. I'm not running away from moments any more, I'm not running away from life any more... - 17 years it took me to realize I deserve happiness, and I plan on reaping all the happiness I missed in those 17 years.
....I love you mom, I love you dad... I love you life. :) xx