Tuesday, 25 February 2014

Right to rule 1

"Whenever I feel bad, I use that feeling to motivate me to work harder. I only allow myself ONE DAY to feel sorry for myself. I ask myself, 'what are you gonna do about it?' I use the negativity to fuel the transformation into a better me." - BEYONCE


Tuesday, 11 February 2014

First English homework - "Write a Journal Entry as a mother of a young man who has been conscripted in the Vietnam War in 1965" 

Short and rushed. Ahh, Nicole, manage your time! 

February 5, 1965

Bless my son! Today is the day. Conscripted from the ballot, he strutted up the office steps strong, never faltered. It's an honour for the family; we have a beacon of pride. Although I do fear and worry for him and I do pray that he returns to me as he is, I know it's a duty he must fulfill. For our country he will fight, for our family he will survive. Jaylen, my son, may you seek courage and bring back honour. 

Wednesday, 27 November 2013

One Planet, Two Worlds pt. 1

It feels like it's been days. It just might have been. I normally use the sun to tell the time of day but it hasn't shone in a while.
I stopped trying to open my eyes a long time ago; the wind and rain just made it impossible. 

I pray that she is safe, my mama, wherever she may be. 
She was holding my hand and carrying baby Carlo at the same time. 
Moving out in the streets, past the cementeryo was hard. 
The rain turning into waves, attempting to wash us all out - I kept going under but mama kept hauling me back up. She was so strong.
She didn't look tired nor was she crying.

The wind was so powerful and people kept pushing. But I did not dare let go of her. We pushed on towards the hills.
We walked 'till my feet ached.
We walked 'till I could no longer stand. 
We walked 'till my I couldn't feel my legs altogether. 
No, by that time, I was already one with the gushing water.

A crack of thunder split the black sky - deafening our ears; our soaked heads turning towards the  roar - and before us, the church came falling...

The people then screamed and swarmed. 
A man stumbled then fell - right onto where my mother's hand linked onto mine. 
Then we got separated. 
I now found myself fighting against two different seas: one of water and one of man - both were just as hard to swim through. 

I felt the the punches and kicks as the crowd rushed. 
Felt claws and knocks each time I stumbled and crawled along the river/street.
The flooding of mud and voices proving too much for my ears and too much for my own small voice to be heard.
A brute force slamming against my face. Again and again.
Then I slept.

I awoke with my arms already clinging onto this pole. I looked around but I was already alone. 

'Papa God, I really need you right now. I know that I haven't been the best daughter or the smartest student but if you are listening, please forget about me...
I want an exchange.
Please save my family and my country instead."

Sunday, 24 November 2013

She said so...

She told me my writing stinks. Okay, maybe not those using those exact words but I got her point anyway. Though, she did state that I was once good, once upon a time. And so I was advised to start this...whatever THIS is...
"Might help," she said - I do hope she's right. 


The music moves me.
My own form of expression.
It is my lifestyle. 

I had lost my touch. 
She told me one afternoon.
I did not mean to.

Just how can I write? 
I lack the motivation.
Fear criticism.

Though I want to try. 
But where the hell do I start?
Damn, guess I just did.

The small girl complains.
She can't handle this big world.
She needs to grow up.