Twenty Thirteen

When I was 9, I worked out that when I turned 18 it would be 2013. When I was 13, I looked forward to it because it would mark the end of school and essentially my teenage years. Perhaps I will define my youth by this year. It would be the year I met myself properly and I liked who I saw. There was (and is) a lot of hype surrounding the Matric exams and now results are pending for those of us who did NSC exams. But if there's something I learned this year, it was that my problems are tiny in the grand scheme of things. Whatever it is will pass and it won't define you. The worries at the beginning of last year seem trivial (if I can remember them).

2013 was the year I changed it up, I worked hard for myself and it made all the difference. The results that come out, will be for me. Its not about what "The People" will say - They didn't put the work in, they didn't feel the strained eyes and sore wrists that we had while studying. My parents were especially understanding during Finals though. They get that you have to work for yourself and not for other people. I went to a new church and I've learned so muchfrom the lessons of how  ordinary things can have hints of something divine. I've seen how ordinary people can do extraordinary acts of goodwill and kindness just to help their fellow man. 

I think that's what showed me that I've changed. I put my everything into this year and it was ok because it was for me. You had to be selfish and take time for yourself too.I encountered some amazing people this year. The more people you meet, the more lessons you learn. From real life to the (mostly) wonderful people of Twitter, I  learned Life Lessons:

1) You can be the most awarded and brilliant person but that people will love you and respect you for your humility. Its that attitude that can be your crowning glory because it just highlights your successes without you having to boast them.

2) Its ok to break down in a crowded room and say "I'm sorry" to the people who matter. Because they will cry with you and echo your raw, tearful feelings. You show your strength of character when you can be vulnerable and admit to being wrong.

3) You will fall. And that's ok sometimes. You will fall so hard that everything seems impossible. The trick is to forget your fears and start climbing again.

4) Everything is Life Experience. Good, bad or just plain weird. You learn from everything and pray that you grow from it.

5) Life is short so you don't have to make your dresses shorter to fit in. Be yourself regardless of what's fashionable because we can all see your tweets from 2012. And you were totally a Belieber, babes.

6) At the end of the day, you have to wash your own undies. No one else should be forced to sort out your private stuff.

So in preparation for the New Year's barrage of messages of goodwill and the slight fear that looms with the unknown future, be thankful for this year. I am.

For the friends I've made while learning Afrikaans poems, for the Tweeters who made #SuesMatricDance a thing, for all the times my ribs hurt because I laughed too hard during History. For the nerves before a speech during Best Speakers and the joy of saying hello to everyone in the Morning Registration. For the English lessons on poetry and life.  I'm so grateful for all that I have and all that I've learned. Thank you for making 2013 beautiful.

And thank you to my readers who have been so kind to take time out for my little blog.

Happy New Year !(albeit a bit late)

Tomorrow the results of the Matric exams are released. Nothing has prepared me for the nerves that have sprung up (since I stayed relatively calm all year, this stress is a foreign feeling). There will be no sleep for me tonight or my mother who is a ball of nerves. I'm hoping I can write a guide to surviving Matric Exams and Results but there's no telling what could happen if I don't survive myself. Good luck Class of 2013. And thank you to the people who made my matric year (and school experience) Amazing! 

The Weeping Widows: An essay

( The following is adapted from an essay I wrote during Trial exams for English Paper 3. Since I have no word limit or time restrictions now, I had some fun rewriting this piece and thinking about the story I tried to get into three pages of writing. I hope you enjoy it)

The gunshot thundered from across the lake at daybreak. A sleepy sun rose and began to awaken all those that sang among the crystal dew- she did not sing with the birds but she was awake all the same. It was the girl this time, Old Sarah knew it would be the last of the rebels to be killed like this. They wanted to make a point first. They would hang the rest in the capital for the nation to see.The old woman sighed as her bones creaked into movement like dry branches in the wind, she had lived too long. Instead she yearned for a final rest while the youth were slain. She yearned for the clouds to gather and wash the dried blood off the girl's body. She cursed the sun for shining on a day as wretched as this.

The widows lived simply in the house by the lake. It belonged to Old Sarah who took them in if they had nowhere to go, if they had no kind relation to bear their sorrows with them. She had been a widow for more years than some had been alive. It kept them safe when the war began, the outsiders were superstitious - no harm fell on them for fear of divine retribution. 

There was no time for tears in this life, Old Sarah believed this through sunshine and through rain. But she shed them every time the gunshots boomed. As the day began the house filled with the sound of dishes clinking and bristles sweeping  away the dust that settled at night. It was like this every morning, all the widows cleaning and humming as they worked. On this morning there were no songs on their lips and no words that expressed their wounded hearts. 

The youngest one, wept while she peeled potatoes, her swollen belly pulled the cotton taut and caught the teardrops that fell. Her husband was among the first to be executed after the rebels were captured. So she came to the whitewashed house with the creaking doors, mourning as her fatherless child that grew month after month. Blameless child who was due to enter an unforgiving world soon. She had known the dead girl well. Everyone knew the girl. She had planned on studying teaching in the city nearby. Destined to be the pride of their valley one day. But that dream was no more.

The girl had been too young to die. 

The blush of womanhood was drained from her cheeks when she joined the rebels. The soft lines of her frame hidden in fatigues. A wedding veil for a helmet. Necklaces for the noose. The girl swapped all of those for the colours of freedom. Now she would return to the soil with hardened limbs and a face that would never see the wrinkles of age settle upon it. Old Sarah knew that this would be the turning point. The last drop that caused the floodgates to break open and unleash a flood. She knew it would happen when the rains came again. Or at least, she hoped that it would. 

It was midday when the mourners walked past, dragging their feet on the parched ground while singing sober hymns of a better life beyond the grave. Dust rose filled the air with a reddish haze that settled on their clothes and exhausted faces.They were tired of the war and of the outsiders who ruled the countryside. The girl's death would stir the hearts of men, perhaps. Perhaps they would cast out the foreigners who did this, who claimed to rule this valley.Many holy buildings that became defiled by these men were symbols of how far the oppression had come. The weekly prayers took place by the lake now, under the willow trees where God could see them worship beneath His shelters. But this did not alter their circumstance, they would need more than miracles.

It had been ten years of this existence: war and men of war who took, from the young women, what had been saved for the marriage bed. A decade of widows and widow makers. This is what war was in this place.Fields of green became dry battlefields watered with blood.The rebels were young and full of courage alas their rebellion did not last for more than a year before they were captured and sentenced to death. Old Sarah waited for the rain. She waited for war to end. It needed to end before she returned to the soil.

Night began to creep into the valley when the waters broke. Old Sarah chuckled as she looked up to the heavens, she had prayed for a new chapter of their lives that washed away the sadness of their past. But she did not expect this kind of flood to come so soon. Old Sarah hobbled to the room where the sounds of labour could be heard and the cries of an already fatherless child pierced the cool night air.

On Mandela and why I'm grateful to him

I know that I will always remember that I was buffing my nails and watching a TV show about gypsy weddings that night. Bored and a bit tired because we had a late flight back to Durban from Johannesburg, it was pretty quiet when my sister said to put the news on immediately. 

After months of not knowing what would happen and worrying about his health as a nation, Nelson Mandela had died. And suddenly, it was like a chunk of what defined our cultural identity passed from everyday news into the history books. I don't normally cry when people die but suddenly I felt tears stream down my face. 

I was born in 1995, a year and a chunk into democracy. I grew up free. I can't recall when I first heard about Apartheid because it was always just something you knew about as a kid (at least in our household). I enjoyed History most of all at school because I gained a deep appreciation for South Africa's journey from the first settlers until now. The syllabus for Matric was centered around black leaders like Martin Luther King Jnr, Steve Biko ,Nelson Mandela and the role he played in the road to democracy.(Cuba featured too but I didn't choose it because the appeal wasn't there for me). Many of my friends commented that our entire Road to Democracy essay came out in the TV shows. It was history learned and now we watched the screens as history was made.

I'm not going to write about Tata Madiba's life because its full of remarkable actions and besides, you can watch and read things that explore his role in the Struggle. They're wonderful and I ended up crying during most of them. But I can write about how grateful I am to him. 

I owe a lot to those who fought and died so that people of all colours could have opportunities and not be oppressed based on the level of melanin in their skin. I'm grateful that an Indian girl could have a good education and be friends with people of all walks of life. I'm grateful that my best friends could be Asian, Indian, Black, Coloured and White( I can't imagine life without the rainbow troupe I can call my friends). I'm thankful that I live in a country where I can go to a church, temple, mosque or synagogue and not be persecuted over my religion of choice. Grateful that I have friends who are gay, bisexual and straight and still know that they'll be able to marry who they choose to in this beautiful land. In many countries, people are not afforded that. 

You only begin to learn about the world when you meet the different kinds of people who live in it. After 27 years in prison, he came out and forgave those who oppressed him. He wasn't a saint but he was pretty close. He was a leader who respected every person he came into contact with. Not many leaders can profess to that level of humility. 

The world mourns. We weep as a nation but we sing too. To celebrate the man who changed the course of history. Our history. To celebrate a long life that had 27 years where he was behind bars and labelled a terrorist. He became a great leader a mere 4 years after his release.

Pray tell, people who who spout this fact vehemently( Namely the blonde girl in my Maths Lit class who, a few months ago, said he was a terrorist so why did the entire country have to celebrate his life on Mandela Day. Yeah you who sat in the back row and barely paid attention to the lesson and had no respect for the teacher. Open your mind)-  where have you seen a terrorist become a global icon for peace before? Terrorists are not empathetic, charitable people. Maybe read into why the Umkhonto We Sizwe was formed? Read about the Sharpeville Massacre. Then we can talk. 

 Nelson Mandela gave South Africans a reason to be filled with pride, to feel a sense of deep love for this land swell up inside of us when we sing the National Anthem. You can go anywhere in the world and people understand his significance. He dedicated his life to ensuring his dream of a better South Africa was seen through. 

So I thank you Madiba, for all the sacrifices you made so people like me could get an education and strive to fulfill our dreams. I'm grateful that in the upcoming elections, I'll be able to vote. I certainly will because you fought for that. 

Rest in peace Tata

(1918-2013)

On the cusp of adulthood and guns blazing about voting and groceries

In 29 days, I will be an adult. 18 with a terrible ID photo and a valid passport in case I decide to enter The Amazing Race. I won't because university registration is pretty early next year and apparently Wits and UP like having a response promptly after results come out. I'm also trying to book my learners so I can have valid reason for wanting a car.

I'm unemployed and registered to vote in the upcoming elections next year. I turn 18 at the end of the month and this prospect has been a topic that I've surrounded with excitement. I'll be able to drink, go to clubs and drive and all kinds of wonderful things. 

Haha I joke, I have strict parents. It'll be water and the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse for me (I'll go on my scooter. But not the Vespa kind). On a serious note though, this voting thing. The class of 2013 is a huge class, so a lot of 18 year olds will be able to vote next year for whatever party they see fit. 

Sadly, many will not be instagramming their #InkedThumb next year and a lot will post Facebook statuses about how "cool" they feel because they don't contribute to the system by voting. Of these non-voters, a large portion will be the first to complain about the state of the country. This is where I get annoyed with the Department of Education for not putting the importance of voting into the Life Orientation syllabus. Thanks to the DoE I can advise my friend on how to deal with stress and creativity but my friend does not know that she should be at a voting station next year.

 I'm not getting into the politics of it all but I do believe that apathy is a choice. Those who blatantly say "Meh I don't care, I won't vote. It doesn't matter" are the people I have a real problem with. The leaders have their own issues but they have the media and Twitter activists to keep them in check. It's the people my age that bother me, the Freedom babies and Tender Toddlers(here it isn't referring to their softness)who proclaim loudly that this country is going to the dogs and they don't give a damn. 

To me the greatest evil is NOT the man on the street stabbing another, oh no. The evil ones are those who watch and do nothing. If you have a problem with how the way things are run, don't get on your soapbox and moan and moan. Vote for somebody, anybody, who can make a change to whatever you're unhappy with. If you see something that isn't kosher, go out of your way to make it right. Have some humanity dammit! 

Of course you don't care about etolls and that wretched Secrecy Bill now but in 5 years you will care. In 5 years you'll start to wonder where your tax money is REALLY going to and why MP's are getting mega houses when their salaries can't possibly finance it. In 10 years, you may have kids and wonder why the level of education is so mediocre and why some settlement in the rural areas still has a school without chairs, desks or teachers. 

Or not. In 10 years some, actually MANY, of you will probably still be apathetic and you'll still be telling your kids and friends and anyone who will listen that there is a "Them" and an "Us". You'll be people who leave backward comments on News24 (if you even read news) and spouting nonsense about how everything is about race and that it defines you. It doesn't. Lets move past the racial typecasting now because you just look idiotic when you use them to strengthen whatever argument you're making. Judge people by their actions not the level of melanin in their skin. 

If you were born here, in this glorious land of boerewors, bunnychow, babotie, braais and bhontshisi then you are the product of a few centuries of brave industrious people who came here and settled on the shores of the Mother City. You are a testament that peace can triumph over many decades of hate and separation. You are part of the "We". Every action you make has a ripple effect. It doesn't need to be a huge splash or a wave that bring attention for a short time.  Little drops, little actions all add up. It's the little drops of rain that make up the flood. It's the tiny grains of sand that make the mountain. 

Please vote, people died so you could have that right. I beseech you. Make an informed choice. Your vote is a secret so it's just between you and the ballot. Vote for yourself, for your future. You don't have to shove the political party of your choice down people's throats but try to discuss things more. There are people in the world who can't vote. Even today. Think about that for a second. It doesn't matter who you choose to vote for, but vote. You're a generation with access to the Internet. Google the suffrage, South Africa has the longest entry on the Wikipedia page. Do some reading on the corruption in parliament or the whistleblowers who are being silenced. You have nothing to lose by trying to open your mind. You don't have to have a degree or be a brainiac to have an informed opinion about why it's your DUTY to vote. 

Also, there was an MP called Sylvia Lucas who spent 50k on her groceries using the tax money saying," How would we have eaten if we didn't use tax payers money?". Here's the link to the Mail&Guardian article : http://mg.co.za/article/2013-09-16-00-n-cape-premier-defends-r50k-fast-food-bill. This annoys me, I'd like to have her voted out at some point. I'm sorry but if I have to pay for my Cherry smoothie, hidden centre cupcakes and speckled eggs at Woolies, then everyone should be paying for their own stuff. Go to Checkers if Woolies is too high end but don't use tax dollars( Tax rand doesn't have the same effect). 

If all else fails, I'm going to start trending #IVotedToday when the elections come. Peer pressure is a thing, it works. I mean have you SEEN how many people are not wearing pants on the Internet? I'm using the information LO gave me for something useful. Vote or peer pressure will give you FOMO(fear of missing out) next year. 

My rant regarding bullshit books

The following may or may not be a rant. Either way it's about time I got something off my chest in a way that couldn't be done in 140 characters or less. And yeah, its TOTALLY aimed at some of you. (Not all, some)

I love books, for most of my life I've devoted my time to reading them. I adore how writers can wrap you in a blanket of prose that sweeps you away and let you fall into the story as you turn the pages. Some of my best speeches and essays are about books or an appreciation of an author. Currently I have a box with about 14kgs worth of books next to my bed that I need to read. My father used to discuss Dickens, Shakespeare and the Bröntes with me while walking me to school every week(that is another story altogether). I'm pretty confident in my ability to identify a good book and a bullshit one. (If that offended you, then stop reading. Especially you mum. Stop here!)

The latter is pretty easy to recognise because they all are about the same things, there's usually a contrived twist that somehow reveals a deep dark backstory that is a Macguffin to (eventually, after various conflicts not unlike the family fights seen on Keeping Up with the Kardashians) lead you to believe that your money wasn't wasted buying some garbage in hardcover. They're all basically glorified Mills and Boobs bestsellers... Sorry Boons.

This said, I do not appreciate half the bloody population of females between 13 and 60 telling me to "have a go " at Twilight, 50 Shades of Grey or The Vampire Diaries. I wikipedia'd them all (I can't debate something I don't know jack about. Twilight I read through for an hour before the pain medication wore off and the girl who told me to read it was satisfied that my appetite was whetted. I'm a good actress too, you see ). Oy vey at that load of garbage. 

Heaven forbid I actually paid MONEY to buy the pitiful excuses for literature I was told I "HAD TO READ!!". I actually feel insulted by the amount of times I've been told to read them by fans. Is this what popular literature has come to?

I get it- you're into that idea of a mysterious, brooding and slightly dangerous male protagonist (that means main good guy) and you cannot help but see yourself as the damsel (this means girl with no self worth) who is so delicate and subservient. A flower who is toying with the very poison that could kill her.. Oh *tosses hand up in anguish* (See, I could write this bullshit too. But I wouldn't because I wouldn't disrespect the English language like that). And of course there has to be some kind of problem that is too good to be true but true love always wins, right?

You're all better than that. Even the girls putting #50shades or #TeamEdward in their twitter bios and the myriad of girls who suddenly are called Salvatore or Cullen on Facebook. And the lady from up the road who informed me that 50 Shades was some fun female reading. If you could fork out whatever amount of cash it was to buy that, then you could buy books that actually were good. Your claim could be that you actually read a novel that wasn't filled with the literary equivalent of horseshit.

Read something that is a labour of love, where you see the author's tears act like punctuation when someone has to die. Where the ending isn't always happy but you come to terms with it because you know there was no other way but you can see that the writer wanted you to walk away with something more. Learn about human nature in the subtle actions that are portrayed by people who have lived a life very differently to yours. Read something that actually matters.

Escapism is fun, by all means try to escape into another world. But it shouldn't be isolated to some bedroom or in a town filled with vampires where you identify with the "weak" human girl. Where her only option to be strong and protect herself is to change who she is and "turn"(is that what you guys call becoming a vampire right?) into something she's not. Its tripe. I won't even explain why because my fingers will not bring themselves to type the reason why that whole concept of weak, delicate flower toying with strong poisonous guy who may be her doom and all the associated melodrama is a load of hogwash.

 You're better than that.

If you really want 50 shades of something then I'm sure Dulux has a wide variety of paint that you can sample to suit that urge. If you want pale bloodsuckers then Kotex has a range for that too. If you want violent, blood-filled action in a bedroom then come visit me in summer and watch as I kill mosquitoes that venture into my territory.

If I ever wrote a book, I would want it to challenge my readers. I would not assume they were all mindless goons but instead a crowd of intelligent people who deserved better than some fan-fiction or a shiny mystery man who was a vegetarian vampire(yeah nice one there. Totally makes him more accessible as a character). Instead I would want to write the kind of novel that made them think, made me think and work at trying to build a story from the first lines to the denouement. If someone paid, they should get a good show.
That is all.

PS: When you're all done with tweeting about how angry you are with the casting of the 50 Shades of nay film, help me pressure Vikram Seth into finishing his sequel to A Suitable Boy (note: it took him 7 years to write that one novel. THAT is quality. Not a whole trilogy in 12 months) because I've been waiting 6 years already and they postponed the release date to 2016 (What the hell Vick. I've spent most of my high school career waiting for matric because your book would have been released, only to find that I'll have to wait until 3rd year at university. I won't have time then. Not like I have now)
Anyway, help me get my new favourite novel published quickly.  My problems trump yours. Read a good book soon, okay? 

Thanks.

Hello old friend, won't you sit down?

Greetings dear readers

So I've had this blog since I was in Grade 10 and a lot of you have been wonderful in constantly reading this, giving me feedback and just letting me know that I haven't been spouting out nonsense into the vast unknown and some of you are listening. I would love to have a conversation with all of you but alas that is not possible. 

But lets pretend for a second it is, you are sitting with me and drinking a warm beverage (tea perhaps? I would be drinking water or juice because I can't abide by tea or most hot drinks) and we could talk. I'm sure it would be as if we were old friends and you'd see the anxiety in my eyes as I prepare for my final exams. I would ask about your passions in life and maybe ask what food you liked to eat. There would be no need to say much because by being here, you already know so much about me and my inner workings. But you don't quite know the random, ordinary stuff about me? Yeah I thought so. 

To be very honest, I'm just some seventeen year old girl who is secretly shy but also a public speaker and at one point debator. Slightly schizophrenic? Yes but shh my friends don't know that inside I'm terrified of stuff too. I'm opinionated but I try very hard to keep an open mind ( I generally can't stand people who won't listen to various ideas unless it conforms with their own beliefs. Your mind is an umbrella - it won't be of use unless you open it). I value family and how even people who aren't directly related to you, can be just as close as a sister or brother. I'm a quitter of note in terms of things I've tried - Bharatha Natyam (spelling is probably off, it's Indian classical dance), piano, belly dancing( though I really loved and wanted to continue that), debating (ditto. Adored it) and yoga ( I'm pretty sure the instructer died though). To be very honest I really wanted to do violin, ballet and synchro swimming- would have stuck with those. Everything else about me is on Twitter. 

Enough about that, the real reason I've asked you over for a chat is to say Thank you. I am grateful that you've made this girl who wanted to write have a reason to keep going on( and often going off on a tangent). For the past two years, I've shared my naive tales of high school and next week that journey will officially end. My dad said to me last week that after I write my last exam, things will change. It's a coming of age and you aren't that kid anymore. I'm glad I got to share those stories and my thoughts with many of you. Maybe you've seen me grow( if I grew at all) or picked up that my tale about Dubai was "Part 1" and almost a year later Part 2 about Thailand never came up( I never got around to finishing that post). Maybe you wanted to know if I still cry in the bathtub, I'm happy to report that I haven't cried there in a while. I'm eating healthy and getting over my old demons that lurk in the mirror. And Cousin A is still a douche. And I still wash my hair at odd hours if the morning. I'm sticking to my story with the Survival Guide and my heroes are still out there showing Life how its supposed to be done. 

The next time I'm gonna be able to post will be after the last paper has been written and my uniform put away for the last time. The past two years have been a learning curve and yeah.. Thanks for sharing it with me. 

Until we meet again, my friend

Su

The Spirit: What a group of girls taught me about unity

For the past five years of high school I've looked forward to events that allowed me to sing and shout and dance around showing pride for my school. It's this immense feeling of unity and sisterhood that overwhelms me. I am not a sporty girl at all, but I am a passionate supporter. 

Today was our last Inter-House Sports Day. The end of 12 years of galas and athletics and fun events that got me dressed up in house colours and cheering for my side. Something happened today that shattered every preconception I've had about the power of unity and the pride I have for my school( and actually the future, now that I really think of it) has grown exponentially. You see, there are four houses that we are divided into - Red, Blue, Green, Yellow. ( I've chosen to leave out the house names and just stick with our colour). Now in the past, there was fierce rivalry between everyone for the Spirit Cup.

Highly coveted and what is the best award because it didn't depend on who was fastest but rather who had the most passion for their team. So about 20 minutes into the singing and shouting, Red and Green decided to merge to form one HUGE house that sang and clapped for everyone. Soon it meshed in with Yellow and the atmosphere became filled with the buzz of excited girls who sang together. Now everyone wanted it to move further, have Blue join. But the request was spurned and the festivities continued. Races were ran and Pom-poms were fluttering in the warm air. 

For the first time in the schools history, houses joined together to celebrate our school. To show the strength of all our voices combined, or at least most of our voices. The voice over the mic requested everyone to sing the school song but we sadly noted that Blue refused to join in with everyone else. So they sang after RYG finished, but everyone else joined in. Because a lot of us realised it wasn't about winning anything or losing but about celebrating and having healthy competition yet still cheering each other on. 

The reason this bizarre event gives me hope is because in that crowd of 700 or so girls, may be a future leader. Your future decision-makers or voters or just a huge amount of potential. For the most part, everyone didn't care about who won, we screamed in joy and pride that this was the potential. In a previous post I expressed fear that this generation of young people needed to learn that it's ok to be proud of each others victory. And today, those fears were squashed. I saw 13 year old girls who were initially too shy to even sing along that eventually ended up jumping around with their peers.

Inter-House Day became INTEGRATED. It wasn't Segregated House day, but something magical( to me at least) that took a bunch of girls who usually cannot even unite to sing during assembly and changed that same bunch into a cheering force. I truly feel honored that I was privileged to be a part if that today. For the moments that it lasted , it etched itself into my memory. It wasn't the day this house lost or won but rather the day we all (well most of us) came together. To the few members of Blue who snuck over to join us and were later reprimanded- You made me smile because you chose what you knew to be better.

However the best of things cannot last and even though it was proposed to award the Spirit Cup to the ENTIRE school for showing tremendous spirit, it was vetoed by Blue. At the end of the day, it seemed that they insisted on a winner because sharing the victory that the entire day was, was not good enough. The houses were told to divide back and each one gave their all, although heartsore that  we had to part ways. Blue won (as they are accustomed to) and no one begrudged them for their victory. They won and it was what they do as Blue. But Red, Green and Yellow celebrated louder afterwards - For them the victory was in finding pride for each other. From the quietest to the loudest, the fast and slow- we sang one last time to remember something that never happened before and was unlikely to happen again.

You cannot conquer while divided because in being together you find so much more strength and joy. 

I'm proud of you LeVauStone. You made my last Inter-House Athletics day into a memory I will cherish because it taught me that the greatest pride can come from something other than victory - Togetherness.