Angie was slow my mother used to say. She told me she was ‘out of it’, and needed Adderall to help her focus. I was the younger daughter, by five years, so this gave me an internal feeling of superiority. I used to get called bright in comparison. I was naturally focused, but Angie didn’t seem to envy me, so she resisted the prescriptions my mother pushed for. Continue reading The Life Chronicles: ‘Blinkers’
When you are seventeen, love is mutually assured destruction. These novelty pangs of brilliance and devotion which bubble and surface like lava; irresistible, deadly and hot to the touch. Who will detonate your shiny new feelings first? The ebbing confusion of backhanded compliments and rebellion. It is only a matter of time before one of you brings a match to this fuse. Continue reading The Life Chronicles: “Old Love”
The chic thrum of music melted into the night air as I arrived outside The Custom House next to the dark and shining quay for the Riptide launch party. I slipped through the peeling blue doors and up the staircase, to find myself in a throng of writers and people working for the journal. There was a congenial atmosphere as people milled about with glasses of wine, mingling against the constant murmur of voices sounding next to the loud, yet relaxing tunes which came from the musicians in the room before me. Continue reading Riptide Launch
As I stand at the edge of this rooftop, looking down on the place I once considered home, I begin to feel the irreversibility of what I am about to do. There are no second chances where I’m going. It is nearly time now; I am on my last cigarette. Inhale, exhale – like it is my oxygen supply. My lungs burn with each drag and the dizziness in my head is overwhelming, but I can’t bring myself to care. The things we worry about while we are alive just don’t seem as important when you know you are about to die. Smoking Kills. But so does everything: isn’t that the point? Continue reading “A Better Place”
Grief is a circle. Ben thinks to himself, his face is dripping wet with the rain which plummets from the cradle of the leaves above. A showering, relentless pounding upon his nose and forehead, reaching beyond the shelter of his wax green hood. Continue reading The Life Chronicles: “A Cyclical Dawn”
Dear white people,
I’d like to go home now. I have seen the way that you look at me. I have heard the things say, I have lived amongst you afraid. You have worn me down, you have torn down my boarders, weakened my resolve, finished my tears. You have said your peace, spoken your truths, forced me from my house. You say I have germs, say you cannot touch me for fear you will be infected, you say I am unruly. You shout I am primitive. You, who came into my home uninvited, who stole my things, dragged my family from their chairs and made them kneel. You, who dug up my diamonds and loaded them onto your ships, who spat on me and took my food. Continue reading Dear White People by Lumba Phiri
Youth, they say, is wasted on the young.
So how about a generation that will prove them wrong?
A generation not fooled into thinking that alcohol, sex, and the internet are the pinnacles of their existence;
Not even, dare I say, deceived into believing that their worth and future is found in securing a graduate job.
Where is the generation that will realise that this youthful vigour is not forever, and will instead channel it into bettering the world and themselves?
The generation who will value eternity more than temporary pleasures?
The generation who will value time as a precious commodity, waste it not on discontent, and say “YOLO” not as an excuse for foolishness, but a somber reminder of the importance of stewarding time well.
Is this generation confined within the parameters of wishful thinking, or is it already here?
Continue reading Waste Not, Want Not by Tumi Rachel Adebimpe