Archive for the ‘Writings’ Category

Dark blankets shadow the night

A moon, ever glowing, ever white

Hidden and removed from my sight

Lost to me, sadness, my only light

Sinking, swallowing, feeling alone

Tired of listening, hearing me moan

No ring, no message, no telephone

The sound of silence, the lingering drone

No one around to see me weep

No human touch, my hand to keep

Tangled emotion locked away deep

From pit to pillar, my love does leap

Away from them, myself I did shove

Thought of my actions only for love

Hurting, aching, longing to see their face

Smell their hair, feel their embrace

So difficult on my own it has been

Many aches, many nights, my tears unseen

So it draws near, the end that is nigh

Each dragging day, ending with a sigh

So close you are, so far away

Why does tomorrow always feel like today?

And yet soon I’ll wake up and so it shall be

Finally, you here with me

The concept of impatience is a rather interesting one when you take the time to delve deeper into the inner workings of the human mind. We rush through hours only to wait days… We spend our whole lives trying to get somewhere as fast as humanly possible and yet we only ever get anywhere at the time and place we are supposed to.

I’ve spent a few days conceptualising my thoughts into a coherent piece of writing on the subject and was listing various examples of being impatient when a prime example happened in front of my very eyes on the train. A stand off in the rail doorway. You want to get off. I want to get on. Let’s waste time in a face off while others climb on effortlessly at alternative entrances. So what did either of us gain? Absolutely nothing but annoyance for the rest of our journey home, the train still arrived at its destination at the exact time it was supposed to.

We are impatient even when we don’t realise it. Driving along you may find yourself cursing the traffic light because it turned red just before you managed to get through it, not stopping to realise that had this light been green, the next would’ve been red anyway. Aggravation reigns and we arrive at our end destination at the exact time that the universe intended… Either way, would it not be easier to be thankful that you arrived rather than annoyed at the inevitable waiting?

We watch our children grow in anticipation of the next event… Their next birthday, the next Christmas, the next family holiday or another year at school. We forget to live in the here and now, focusing on what’s coming instead of what’s already in front of us. Ignoring the fact that ageing is measured anyway and the children will only be that age in that particular moment, never again. There is no time to waste on anything but the present and yet we become the parents impatient with their dawdling around a shopping mall or rushing them through homework, we become the parent holding one hand tightly and dragging them along as they trail behind doing the very thing we cannot seem to get right into adulthood – Living.

Every day we exist through impatience. We rush through breakfast, push through traffic, race to our desks, hurry through the day, escape through the door at the end of the day and then relay home again until finally we make our way to our beds… Not understanding why we are so worn out at the end of the day. The elevator will not go any faster by pushing the floor buttons multiple times, the train doors don’t open any quicker if you push the button repeatedly before the lights come on, your dinner won’t cook any faster when you’re watching the oven and the kettle won’t boil any sooner while your fingers tap the counter. You’ve risked your life impatiently running across the road before the pedestrian crossing light is illuminated, took a chance on an orange traffic light, ran across a train track. We leave the house and cannot remember if we turned the hair straightener off or not, blaming it on OCD instead of lack of attention. We speed walk around instead of stopping to take it all in. We skip the song before its finished in anticipation of the next one. We read the back pages of books before we’ve even read the blurb. We speed read to avoid reading the full article and abbreviate words in texts because we’re too impatient to write out a full word. We rap songs instead of sing ballads, we break dance instead of waltz, we order take out instead of cooking, we shower instead of bath, we drive instead of walk and we are too busy doing all of this that before we know it, we wake up as a middle aged human being realising that all we did is speed to this point of existence and anything of substance was lost in the stream…

I am tired of being impatient. I’m tired of being tired… It’s difficult to let go of what’s been tattooed into your very existence, it’s almost impossible to back track to before fast paced was normal. The thought of doing everything at an average speed instead of the rate of knots is daunting but it’s the resolution I intend on keeping in the forefront of my mind in 2015. To be impatient is to be ignorant and inconsiderate – to be impatient is to the detriment of no one but yourself – to be impatient is a rather lonely existence I’d like to pass up on. To be impatient is merely to exist.

Slow down, no one is going to slow down for you, no one is going to thank you for speed reading through life and at the end of it all, no matter how fast or slow you may be going, it’s at the exact pace it’s supposed to be so you may as well enjoy the ride.

I miss you every weekend
miss your faces every day
miss it when you are naughty
miss all the little things you say

I miss seeing you in the morning
miss brushing your hair at night
miss begging you to brush your teeth
miss fighting about the light

I miss how cute you can be
Miss seeing your big toothy smiles
Miss you being grumpy
Miss all the moments that you’ve cried

I miss everything about you
Miss just being your mum
Miss how you smell, touch and feel
Miss everything you’ve done

Not a day goes by that I don’t miss you
Not a day goes by that I don’t see
the emptiness that comes with
You not being with me…

siobhan 3a

I had every intention of boarding this train to write a blog to rival the best of them. A piece of work that would have each and every reader rivoted from the very first line. A piece of writing that incorporated only the most sophisticated of writing styles on one of the most controversial topics I could find. A blog that would perhaps one day be recognised by a blogging council and maybe even win an award, the blog that would get me recognised in the blogging community and not just writings of a misunderstood mind. The truth is that the blog I am talking about doesn’t exist because, well, it just is not me.

When I started writing, I fooled myself into believing that I wrote for myself. That writing was therapeutic and it was the only way that I knew how to channel this big personality. For a time I believed that my thoughts and pieces were written for me and me alone, I kept written and printed copies of my writings and referred back to them when I needed inspiration, motivation or when I just wanted a reminder of why I was as dark and brooding as I was. Then social media flew onto the scene and suddenly writing was not just for me anymore, it was a way to get noticed.

I spent a lot of time lonely growing up… I was constantly surrounded by people and yet never had I felt more alone than in my early teens. I was not looking for attention, I was not trying to mimic the ‘wannabes’ that surrounded me. I was just a really confused kid, I did not know where I was going and chose to forget where I had been. I liken myself to Hank Moody’s Becca in Californication sans the guitar playing. I was an emo kid, before emo kid was cool. I was a black sheep before being a black sheep was mainstream. I tested the waters of many a label before I realised there was no label for me and I tried to put myself into many boxes knowing that there was no box I would be comfortable in. I spent hours pouring my confusion, my thoughts and my misguided aspirations into words on paper. It was only when the idea of a blog or social media arrived that I realised my writing could be put out there, that someone somewhere may understand what I have written and perhaps even identify with me… Maybe someone out there was like me? Maybe I did not have to be screwed up on my own…

I remember the first time I put a piece of my own writing on the internet. Long after I was chastised in my English writing class for submitting a piece of work based on the fight between good and evil, the unwritten book of Revelations that I was told was blasphemous and earned me an F for that particular piece of writing. Long after I had started writing poetry and started writing my own book (numerous times may I add, I still have not gotten that right). I became part of the 5FM blogging community and suddenly there were people around me, anonymous ‘people’ that were interested in what I had to say. They were encouraging me to post my writings online. They wanted to READ my most private thoughts and for some unknown reason, I was willing to give it to them!

I remember how belittled I felt when the criticism started, suddenly every one was a writer and I had the grammar police critiquing my English more than people were actually commenting on the subject matter. Surely these people should care about what I have written? Surely the importance of the content far outweighed the fact that I put a comma after the word and (Which is now acceptable I believe). I did not write to become a writer, I was writing to heal myself. I was writing because I wanted to make sense of my thoughts. I was writing because, I had nothing else to do. Now that I could write and post these writings online, it was time to have a concrete shake and deal with the criticism – Suddenly my misguided self medication was not for myself anymore, I was writing to please the people in the PC. I was writing because I wanted to get noticed, I was writing because I wanted someone to care.

How ‘special’ I felt when these bloggers started giving me positive comments, like I was doing something right! This only encouraged me to post as much as possible online and I felt like people finally understood me, I was not alone anymore. How ridiculous a thought that I was seeking approval from people I had never met (Some that I still am in contact with) instead of those closest to me. I was completely misguided in feeling comfortable posting my most emotional works on a blogging site when I could not even share these with friends or family.

Many years was spent posting my life’s work online… Poems I had written in dark times (Available on this blog under the writings section), stories, pieces, rants, reviews… Admittedly, I wanted to be heard and I still do – I am still here aren’t I? I am comfortable now, posting my thoughts here on my own site for the world including those closest to me to see. Do I still seek approval? Or course. Writing is still therapeutic to a degree but at the end of the day, I am in a position where I feel like I have a voice and I want it to be heard, posting these thoughts online is my way to get noticed and my audience is global. I feel honoured, accepted, approved of when people from all around the world take the time to get interested in my work…

Thanks to the internet, I am not just some dark brooding female holed up in a room with a pen and paper.Thanks to the people who actually give a crap, I still have a blog and even if I only get 1 view a day I know that someone took the time to read what I had to say… and that is worth far more than self medicating with a dictionary. I am not always intelligent, I am not always linguistically superior and I am not always controversial. Sometimes I want to write for the sake of writing, like today, like now sitting on this train when I decided that my award winning blog could wait because my desire to ramble was far more important…

Shevy Xxx


Posted: November 2, 2014 in Personal, Writings
Tags: , , , , , ,

The truth in my dark
The knight to my light
The hand in my hand
The blood in my fight

All that inspires
You’re all that I am
All that ignites
My flame, your fan

A soothing breath
Cool, calm caress
Your scent, your look
Feelings to confess

Clutching my heart
My love in your palm
Every inch of me
Enamored by charm

The ink to my iron
The spirit in my eyes
The strength in my soul
The truth in all lies

Waking moments
So quickly pass
Without you though
They last and last

Life without you
A torture in itself
Periodic separation
Hazardous to health

Hands tightly held
A feeling I miss
It hurts me intensely
Feeling like this

The love in my body
The smarts in my mind
The humor in my bones
The sight in my blind

I love you always
This is my truth
My hands, your hands
Eternally me. Eternally you.

Forever Love_225.jpg

The truth of the matter is that I’m no longer the size I once was, who is right? I’m not proud of it either, trust me. I was most comfortable at a size 36-38 before I had another baby, got married and got fat. I’m not hiding it, I don’t shy away from the fact – more importantly, I cannot ignore it. I don’t make excuses, I’m not big boned, I know where I made the mistakes – I did this to myself but the older I get, the more difficult it is get back to where I was.

Like most women (and men) that gain weight, it’s not something I am proud of. It weighs on my mind permanently – pun unintended – and I’m constantly looking for a new way to lose the weight or shake the fat. This post however, is not about my battle with weight loss (for a change) but instead, how the world makes those of us with a few extra kg’s feel.

Unless you’ve been a little heavier than the norm, you will never fully understand the absolute lack of empathy for those of us who don’t fit in the size zero to 8 range. It’s not like I’m a sumo wrestler but my BMI does classify me as morbidly obese, thus making average life a little more difficult. No, I don’t want your sympathy for my weight baggage but I know for sure I’m not alone in the world and am not the only woman with these issues.

Today I went shopping and like every other day, I battled to find anything that would fit me comfortably. As a size 40 or higher, your options are Donna Claire and their odious sense of style, Mr Price’s very limited range that maxes out at a 2XL and the men’s section of most clothing stores. So basically, you’re screwed. Ok, perhaps I’m exaggerating a little bit but nowadays it’s nearly impossible to find affordable, plus size clothing that are both comfortable and sexy at the same time.

In my quest for a pair of shorts in a comfortable size 44 (yes, I’m admitting it, I’m a 44 / 20 or 3XL) I spent many hours searching in what is spring, the supposed summer season for fashion. I tend to go to stores I know have plus size clothing so first stop was Jet – absolutely nothing about Jet’s plus size clothing is sexy or feminine, in fact, I’m limited to looking like a bag lady when in Jet’s range. The colours are horrid (mustard yellow and first green for summer?!) and almost everything is denim, as if us chunkier ladies didn’t already have chafing to worry about? My next stop was a brief visit to Ackermans, Jay Jay’s and Mr Price – like previously mentioned, anything that looks good doesn’t come in my size and so the brief shopping tour put me in a miserable mood. I then visited Woolworths to see what they had in their range that does go into the 40’s but the sad reality is, they make amazing magic jeans that have panels sucking in the fat and yet nothing comfortable – how hard could it possibly be to find a pair of shorts?! Donna Claire didn’t offer up much short or parachute style shorts that were elasticated, bright red and short enough to show you breakfast.

On my shop today I went into another Mr Price and Edgar’s only to find the issue was the same. Nothing new at Mr P and Edgar’s Penny C clothing offered some office wear and a pair or two of white pants. I’m completely against wearing white pants under any circumstances so they were hardly going to be flattering on me. In a desperate attempt I ended up going into Surf Centre to try on men’s board shorts and even there, it appears larger men would have the same issue – no shorts larger than a 36 (if you consider bigger than a 36 larger).

Finally, by chance I walked into Foschini and came across their ‘News’ range which, thank the pope, came in sizes that worked for us curvier ladies. I was so excited that I bought two pairs of loose fitting pants – comfortable and fairly affordable (not Mr Price affordable). Still though, no shorts. (Note – thanks to my colleague E for recommending News to me).

I read an article when searching for statistics on weight and obesity in this country and globally. The sad fact of the matter is, medically you are considered obese even though you’re not that overweight. According to these stats, 40% of women are obese in our country. I guarantee you that equates to 40% of the female population being a size 38 or higher – a size I consider healthy, beautiful and for me – comfortable.

I get it. People don’t want to promote a fat lifestyle. Society doesn’t want to encourage or enable us to be overweight, and by health law with good reason but at the end of the day I don’t want to be fat and this is a daily battle for me. A daily struggle with myself, physically and mentally. It’s hard enough to deal with the weight issue when dealing with so much scrutiny from others, must the fashion world and the clothing industry make it so much more difficult for us by limiting our wardrobe to hideous colours and limited range – is that all we deserve? Is that all we are worth?

So I ask you, sans shorts and with tears in my eyes, where is the 3rd X? Why do I never find anything decent larger than a 2XL? That’s not entirely true, a little gem of a shop called Retrospective located in Brooklyn Mall do stock my size in their swing dresses that are brought in (Hell Bunny) for which I’m extremely grateful BUT for the rest of you commercial fashion houses, for goodness sake would you just cater for us bustier and bootiful women?!

Guys and gals who’ve experienced the same thing, tell me your thoughts? What do you wish would or could accommodate you as an ‘abnormally’ sizes human being?


Let’s be real. We are not idiots and so I would hope that most of the world’s internet using population participating in this wasteful and useless challenge would realise that pouring ice cold water over your head does not in fact cure ALS, cancer or any other disease for that matter. It is just another way for not so interesting people to gain a little popularity and just a little bit more online attention.

Many of my friends have already participated in the challenge and I have also been nominated myself. The truth of the matter is, it is not a challenge… in fact, if you consider dousing yourself with a precious resource like water a ‘challenge’, I would hate to see how you react to washing the dishes.

Firstly, we need to understand why the ALS ice bucket challenge came about and what exactly it is in aid of. Can those of you who have done the challenge actually say you understand its purpose? And no, the purpose is not to gain internet notoriety along with other mindless drones completing the challenge on a daily basis. Do we as a population not have better ways to show our interest in charity without pouring a bucket of water over our heads unnecessarily and walking away as if nothing ever happened? Also, it is called an ICE BUCKET challenge and more often than not, I do not see any ice. Just saying.

Let me help you out a little… What is ALS? It is not many Al’s standing in one place and no, you are not about to use Al’s ice bucket. In fact, there are no ice buckets being used as far as I can tell. Pretty much any bucket will suffice it seems, including those that look like they’ve been used to wash the kitchen floor since your mom passed it down to you when you left the house.

ALS – Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. Basically a motor neuron disease that leads to muscle tissue wasting away. I can think of another word for it, horrid. So, would pouring ice cold water over ones head not be a little insulting to ALS sufferers in a way? Do you think that for just a few seconds you understand what it is like to not have use of your muscles because you are too damn cold? So, the challenge is this. Pour ice cold water (not ice) over your head to make people aware of ALS (Not seeing the correlation but anyway) and then challenge others to do the same and should they not complete the challenge within 24 hours, they then need to donate to a charity or the ALS association. So, you are guilt tripping your friends and family into contributing to a charity, which they then do and post themselves doing the challenge AND donating money to charity because they want to be a hero. Did you not get the memo? One or the other. Not both, just one. It doesn’t stop there, oh no. To make sure people understand how much we care and know about ALS, we then go and post a screenshot of our donation onto Facebook because heaven forbid people think we have no soul and lie about our donation.. because, all of your Facebook friends would totally judge you if you didn’t. Right? It is not over, your cousin and his Varsity mates then decide that the ice bucket challenge is far too boring and choose to throw in a wheely bin and an ice cream truck… that is an ice bucket challenge. Next level. But your poor friends friend who featured on the daily mail screamed so loud when the cold water hit her face that she dislocated her jaw – And now she is more popular than ALS because she is on the Daily Mail. Winning.

Do you see the ridiculousness here or is it just me?

Since when did being charitable mean that we have to do such a stupid challenge? Is it too difficult to contribute to a charity without having been nominated to do so and surely you would think that charity starts at home. Before doing the ice bucket challenge for a disease you know nothing about, can you truly say that your family or your closest friends are not in need of your charity? How about your domestic worker, your colleague at work, your neighbour… Is everyone around you so happy and fulfilled and stable that you can afford to waste your time on just trying to be worldwide web famous.

So, back to being real. I cannot even near the end of this piece without mentioning the fact that throwing countless gallons of water over people’s heads who clearly are not thirsty is an insult to the impoverished. Do you take water for granted that much that you can throw it around like that? I am not perfect, I too have wasted water in my time but never to this degree and never in aid of such a pointless exercise. The point of the ice bucket challenge is to create awareness around a rather serious disease, instead it goes to show how wasteful and uncaring the world’s people truly are.

Let’s take a second to remind ourselves that there are many diseases in the world and no one disease is worse than the next. We will all be affected differently by different disease based on personal experience. I for example, have had people close to me die because of depression – A very serious illness close to my heart. Others may have more of a connection to cancer because they lost their loved one in that way… If you feel so strongly about a cause, do something about it. Your miniscule donation is not going to do much but assist in paying a tiny bit of interest on the mounds of debt some of these organisations have. Why not donate your time to the lonely? Why not donate food to the hungry? How is it possible that people on the run in Gaza have time to post a ‘rubble challenge’ video to raise awareness of their war situation and that goes wholly unnoticed?

It saddens me that so many of you have been sucked into this… jumping on a media bandwagon fuelled by the many celebrities and big names that have taken part. I would hope that you think about what you have done and why you have done it. I would hope that you recognise the true problem here is not ALS, a disease no one knows about. The problem? The ability to take something so serious as a life threatening, fatal illness and turn it into a freak show of selfishness. The ability to turn everything around to always make it about ME… because that is just what humans do.

Oh, by the way. You donated in the ice bucket challenge, did you give the car guard a tip?