all the things they said.
the lessons and advice that have stuck.
Lessons. I’ve got one heck of a love/hate relationship with them. I’m so thankful for them, they lead to my growth and my development as a human. But more often than not, the learnings aren’t easily reached and definitely aren’t gained in my comfort zone. My most meaningful lessons have been learnt under the most strenuous, painful and uneasy spaces of my life. They have come in the shape of heartbreak, addiction, mental health struggles, conflict and rock bottoms. It has also come in the form of beautiful people that I believe were placed in my life by God - the ones who are always willing to be upfront with me, to challenge me, to tell me what’s truly on their mind and to love me through all the way through the mess. It can be difficult to follow the advice they have for me, as I can be rather stubborn and immovable when it comes to my preconceived ideas. “I learn best by making my own mistakes,” I’d say to anyone who was trying to lead me to the places they know I deserve to be. But instead of simply learning lessons, I’ve almost ruined my life time after time. Now I’m eager to follow the advice of those I look up to. I’m almost desperate for someone to just tell me what to do, although I do have my own moments of defensiveness if I’m told something I don’t want to hear. It’s a process, but I’m glad it’s a process I’m open to. In the discomfort, there is growth. - Tendani, 31
"Don't grow up too fast."
A sentence that i took so lightly
Not knowing what was hidden in the midsts of its perfectly wrapped cover and bow
Since i was a child i had convinced myself that growing up came with freedom and clarity
But my experiences was anything but that
As i grew older i forgot how it felt to be joyful, careless and understood
The drawings i perfectly etched on to the pavement with wet chalk
Being lifted off my feet when my mom came home
And paintings that always found their way to the wall of my dad's office
I want to be there again.
It feels like i’m longing for a place that never existed
A feeling i’ve never felt
A memory that never happened
As i grew older my memories of the happiness i felt started fading
washing away like rain to that perfectly etched chalk drawing
If i’d known that this is how it would be i wouldn't have tried to change myself
Alter myself to someone considered as mature
I’d stay childlike, have no care in the world, excited to wake up to my mom
To go to school and see my friends
To laugh at silly things
And most of all to acknowledge what i have to offer
That i have a place in the world
I don't need to be hard on myself just to hold a balance
To be me and my inner child
Jules✨ - 15.
“gargle this.”
i did.
“now spit.”
i did.
looking up at him with hatred, the humiliation of my own misgivings enveloping me like a tumulus – that was where the shadow liked to lurk.
i looked through the window glass, and there perched in a banyan tree was a lark.
“they symbolise daybreak” he said, with his hands busy tucking away his disinfectants into his first aid kit.
i scowled.
he went on, “shakespeare’s sonnet 29, ‘the lark at break of day arising / from sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate.’”
i looked away from him and back at the lark.
with a mouth still full of blood i smiled.
the lark flew away.
- Nani Misbah, 18.
when i was in grade 6, there was this grade 8 girl, olivia, that constantly came into our class to greet out teacher. i loved our teacher and was in her class a lot, so i ended up spending time with olivia too. i thought she was kinda alright, really. a few days later i was in class with one of the really cool girls, and while talking to her i recalled something that olivia had said that i thought was really important. she turned to me and replied, "it doesn't matter what olivia says, she's weird." my eyes widened and all i could say was "oh." that was the moment that i first understood. - zarge, 17.
over the years many people have given me advice. most of the time i haven’t taken it.
“but what’s the point?” i’d spit in the face of a counsellor.
“you have no idea what i’ve gone through.” would drip out of my mouth like venom.
“i wish i was dead, anyway.” was my response to anyone who tried to help.
i had let what had happened to me determine who i was. i let the way that i had felt determine who i was. i longed to return to the earth and to pretend that i had never even existed. i wanted to go back to being a concept.
“i’ll never be truly happy. it’s not possible.” i told people.
“i’m going to die alone, and that’s how i want it.” i wrote to myself.
“i’m sorry to all those who had to perceive me.” i wrote in what i hoped would be the last thing i’d ever write. it wasn’t- and neither is this.
over the years, the one piece of advice that made me the most angry was: “good things come to those who wait.”
“well- i’ve been waiting.” i’d scowl.
“how long am i supposed to wait before you all realise that you’re liars?” i wanted to scream.
“too bad i won’t be around then.” i’d sigh.
i want to go back to the little boy that sat in his room staring at the ceiling plotting his own death and telling himself that good things wouldn’t come to him because he couldn’t wait that long. i’d like to tell him that good things have come. i’d like to tell him about my friends. i’d like to tell him about the man who plays with snakes as a living. i’d like to tell him about the woman who has two little dogs that loved him the second he met them. i’d like to tell him about the seventeen year old who comes to him for advice and tells him that they love him. i’d like to tell him about how much love he has to give. i’d like to tell him about the music he makes. i’d like to tell him about his passions. i’d like to tell him about how he’s learned to love the stars. i’d like to tell him that he deserves the best. i’d like to tell him that good things do come to those who wait.
i’d like to tell him that he can wait.
i’d like to tell him that he does wait.
i’d like to tell him that it does come.
i’d like to tell him that i love him,
and that he deserves it.
- dylan, 19, addict.