This post was meant to go out on the 18th, but friends and followers of mine know that technology is no friend of mine.I hit “publish”, but WordPress, it seems, had other ideas.
I graduated recently and, now that I have a Master’s degree, I feel no different. A let-down, I know, but that’s it. I’m totally proud of myself and it felt awesome getting that piece of paper, but like my previous degree, I was so tired and busy, that I was all about ‘The show must go on’. The show being life.
What felt cool was the gratification that finishing this degree was the end of a leg of a journey I’ve been on, that includes this blog.
I started this little online thing in 2012 when I was forced to for a course called Digital Cultures. I had been scared and complacent in equal measures. I got over my fear (read about that here) But I got on with it and three years later, I’m still here.
My university played a big part in this journey and my development as academic and person. I discovered a lot about myself, which I hope to reveal even more over time. One of the biggest parts was my love for creative writing. I even got a distinction in poetry, and learned that I’m not too shabby as an editor.
Below is one of the first assignments we were given in 2012, the title being “My journey to UWC”. I adapted it for my own poem.
The university is important to me as it was here when I first realised what it means to be black. This idea was one that evolved over time to me, to today when it is something that is not only political, but essential. (My view on race and South Africa here )
University of the Western Cape was known as a hotbed for struggle academics during apartheid. This is the legacy that I uphold as I carry what Ive learned with me on my journey.
My journey too, UWC
The long black tongue extends before me,
it pulls me in,
as I go
dash dash, white stripes
light light, I can’t hide
The black tongue of sucking on
nikka balls (not the way it’s spelled,
but you can’t say it like that,
we were warned)
Freedom: the freedom of the black tongue
taking me to that place of
where black tongues spoke with
white dash tongues
with pink tongues,
with words that freed.
I hear words now,
but chatter, drivel, mindless post smut,
marring our journey
I drive. We all do.
Mesmerised, but hypnotised,
we are rats on a track.
I hear about death, and then i see it.
It screams at me from amidst the drivel,
shouts from lamp posts,
lies on the black tongue.
Innocent, four legs in the air,
some stiff, some fresh,
in red pools, we should be ashamed.
But we drive.
I arrive, at my place
and the black tongue will keep going.
I will not.
I am here to learn:
freedom and liberation.
But we all yearn for the struggle,
for the words that emancipated
from black tongues,
mouths that sucked on sweets,
now whisper words of
“We are here”
<p>Author <a href=”https://plus.google.com/102128103971030481396” target=”blank” rel=”author”>Jerome Cornelius</a></p>