The universe has since shown me otherwise.
I. When we last spoke
I've watched too many cult-classic Tumblr films because the only way I knew how to prepare for my completely ridiculous death was to avoid it and "live in the now". But "living in the now" looked a lot like blocking my ears when my friends spoke about leaving me, hiding under the covers when I was supposed to be sending in university applications and living life as a secondary character, away from blogging and art and writing. At some point I figured avoiding real life and avoiding myself, or the very things that made me most myself, would mean that the Khensani who was meant to die would not exist and therefore could not die. And, wow, what a waste. In the time since I last inhabited this here Internet space, I witnessed a revolution, I had my heart broken (again) and I tasted the very same magic that made Marina Abramovic risk her life for her art. I'm upset that I refused to let Khensani embody all those things in the ways she knew best.
II. Tears dry on their own
Today, I listened to this song by Tshepo and I was reminded that I have never (and will never) have an original feeling in my life. The parts of me that all but erupted when my heart was broken in a hazy November try to tell me that I have felt all the pain in the world and no one can understand. These parts, held together with gum and bobby pins, they screech and howl all night looking for guidance, for answers. They tell me I should never love again. They tell me I need to find love again. They tell me I have never found love, again and again. Before, I ran away from these cries. Death was too imminent for me to carry on about a boy I'm not sure ever knew me, let alone loved me. And now, as I watch my friend begin to feel his feelings fully so that they can dissolve, I am beginning to realise that I am OK with this, that I am OK.
III. Letting go
I cried about him once in the summer. But I cried about me all year.
IV. There is gold dust on my fingtertips
Not long ago, I told Motheo that I was a void. Somewhere between five glasses of whisky, an inability to say "no" and becoming a daughter of the night, I had become this black hole. Every day felt like the heightened youth and drama and hedonism of Lana's This Is What Makes Us Girls, felt like the scene in The Vampire Diaries where Elena flipped her switch and Damon loved her all the more it. It was this midnight world that I had always fantasised about, this midnight world where adventures and memories were made. A place full of 3am conversations and fleeting forrays at love and I was just a giant vaccum of it all. Nothing mattered. Nothing held any significane. The entire summer was one long night and I couldn't sleep at all.
V. The begiining of the end
I guess all of this sounds sombre or that I've given in to losing my way, or, I don't know, one long completely teenage cry in fear of the future. But it's not. I laughed this summer, I cried this summer, i love this summer. And all of this is me trying reconcile the fact that just like a life after high school, I can't visualise who I am growing up to be. I can only experience it. This morning I realised that I've managed to go almost 15 days of this year not wanting to die. And I think that means something good.
VI. I'm eighteen this year.
I'm looking forward to discovering more feelings I'm certain no one in the history of the world has ever had, I'm looking forward to making friends and making art, I'm looking forward to not anticipating my death.
If anyone asks, my New Year's Resolutions are to get money and fuck bitches.