The Beginning of the End. WYNPRESS TERM 1 2017
letter from the editor Jewel Ormond
The Beginning of the End. Everything we do has one of each and most often we don't recognise either. Each year is the start of many endings for each person. In this term's edition of Wynpress, we explored this idea in the light of the matrics beginning the final ending and the beginning of the end transformation talks at our school. This would make anyone think about the inevitability of the end and, ultimately, what it is we leave behind. As Hamilton says in a musical which centres around beginnings and endings, "(a legacy is) planting seeds in a garden you will never get to see," and, to me, that is what it is all about. Leaving behind a better place than you first found.
The Beginning IlhÄ m Choonara There was passion and there was anger too. There was love, belief and courage. There was also a lot of pain. Her face had grown to love the caress of many tears, the tears that told her story. It caused fear of the future but it also gave her a lot of hope and a reason to push forwardthat there would be a day when she laughed with the person who knew every one of these memories. Those that had once haunted her, are now from a past life. She was building herself up already, not sure if she was preparing for battle or if she was already frontline. What she did know, Her story had begun and she was ready for the next hour.
I’m the beginning of the end. And the end of time and space. I’m essential to creation and surround everyplace. What am I?
The answer is ‘e’. Remember: sometimes simplicity is the answer.
Juliette Austin cartoon
Royal End Nicole Engelbrecht He coughed once, twice. And then again two minutes later. At the time, his coughing seemed insignificant and no one, not even me who was the closest to him, thought anything of it. Maybe it was an irritation or an itch or maybe even his morning juice went down the wrong pipe and he was choking. Although that wouldn’t have been considered to be insignificant coughing. Two days later, we were out in the stables looking over some new horses, he coughed again but this time his whole body shook, and my left eyebrow raised in question. He caught me looking at him and muttered, “Just a sore throat, Lizzie.” I shrugged and went back to running my hands up down the beautiful mare before me. She trotted lightly in place and quietly neighed when my hands went near her ears. My father coughed once more before we left the stables, this one too shaking his body. Roughly a month a half later I caught my father in his study attending to some paperwork before a violent coughing fit took over his body. I was going to move on, once again not thinking anything of it but then I saw his arms flail and realised he needed help. I bolted to him, slamming my hand on his back to try and aid him but his coughing continued. Calling to my sister, I saw just how red my father’s face had become and began to feel panic rise. Margaret ran into the room and asked, catching sight of Father, “What’s happening?”
“Get some water, he can’t breathe!” I told her, trying to keep my calm. She ran out and in ran mother, whose face said how she felt. Her doelike eyes were scrunched up and her mouth was pulled into a small pout while her neck had a small indentation, she was upset. Coming to stand beside me, she placed a hand on Father’s shoulder and said, “George, something is wrong with you. This has to stop. You have to go see a physician. You might end up getting sick!” Margaret was standing in the door, hands wrapped around a tall glass of water, watching our Father’s cough come to an end. She sniffed and I realised, I too had a tear running down my cheek. Father didn’t go see a physician when Mother told him too. He thought nothing of the coughing fit, said it was a once off thing, even though Mother told us, it had been happening for a few nights. He did lead her to believe that he was going to go because if he hadn’t, she would have had his head. It was only one morning while we were having breakfast as a family, Margaret and Mother talking about the newest fashion, myself thinking about how handsome my dear husband had looked the night before at the gala and father reading the newspaper that was probably about how extravagant my wedding had been while the country was suffering with the endless pain left behind by World War One, and he suddenly jerked forward to grab his napkin and cough into it, that I realized how sick he could be getting. And the red splotches on the napkin didn’t help me to think otherwise. Now, five years later, I look at my father. Bedridden and deathly pale with hollow cheeks and sheet white skin, he coughed into the bowl the maid beside him held. The young woman's face scrunched up as her eyes caught sight of the red substance in the bowl. She jerked as her gag reflexes kicked in. She wasn't one to be a nurse then. Moving swiftly, I took took the bowl from her as she protested, "But, Your Highness, I can do this."
With a quick look at her, I said to leave and fetch some more pillows to prop him up. It might open up his chest a bit so he can breathe better. Not that I know anything about medical care, but neither does she so she did as she was told. With a hesitant step and a flushed face, she marched from the room. The doctor said Father should get better soon, although sometimes I think he just says good things to keep Mother and Margaret happy. I, on the other hand, was starting to grow annoyed with the doctor. I didn't want to be a Debbie-Downer but I was pretty sure my Father wasn't doing as well as we were being led to believe. My father’s quiet chuckle broke me from my thoughts. Smiling down at him, I patted his warm and sweating face with a cool cloth. I said to him, “This reminds me of when I used to get sick and you put a warm cloth to my head.” “Yes,” he chortled, “but you were very rarely sick and never as sick as I am now. My little Lizzie, I’m going to miss you when I leave.” My body went rigid, my eyes round with surprise. We always talked around the idea of him dying and now he was talking about in the open and so bluntly. But then again, he may have also been trying to keep mother and Margaret from being heartbroken. It was only us in the grand bedroom, most suitable for a King. My King, King George VI, my father. There were many things that would happen if Father were to die. The most significant being that my reign over Great Britain would begin. Truth be told, I didn’t want to be queen and not having my father to guide me through my ascension, scared me even more.
“You know, Little Lizzie,” he murmured, interrupting my thoughts, “that morning, when we were at the stables and I bought that dear mare, Berry, for you. That was the beginning of the end. It was when I realized that I was sick, was becoming sick.” “No, Father, the day that I knew it was the beginning of the end was when you coughed once, twice and then again two minutes later,” I whispered in reply.
The Destruction of Perspective tamiya safodienÂ
It starts with a push, a blame, a TV show, a movie or even a family member to teach someone how to react differently to the way others look, sound or even the things they believe in. A person's perspective completely changes as soon as they realise under which category to classify someone and that is okay, until you start hurting others because you don't agree with the way they live their lives. Where's the individuality in the world when all we want to do is change the way people are to suit us, our personal labels of what is right or of what is wrong in the world? It's not our job to tell others what to do. Everyone is blessed with a life and it's our job to treasure the people we are given in our lives, not program them to become who we want them to be. It's easy to think that everyone feels pain but it's even harder to think that each of us create pain for another without us noticing, so how can we pray to not have pain in our lives when we, ourselves, pass it on to others, like a disease? It's time for people to stop hurting others for who they are, perhaps it's time to begin changing our attitudes and end this destruction of humanity.
The Letter 'E' Zara Wichman The letter ‘E’ is the beginning of the “end,” yet it is also the start of “everything.” We use the humble ‘E’ for many things. It is the sound that escapes our lips as we rush along with the speed of a roller coaster, and the squeal when there’s an unexpected, eight-legged creepy crawly in the corner of the bedroom. ‘E’ is for “ecstatic,” the feeling when you know you’re in love, the smile on your face when you get home after a long trip, the warmth in your belly when you get that A for Maths. It is also for “eager,” the anticipation before the concert you’ve been waiting for years to see, or the tremble in your hand as you get behind the steering wheel for the first time. The letter ‘E’ is used in the word “exam,” a word that can strike fear into the hearts of the bravest people, and in the word “ease,” which does the exact opposite, and conjures up images of cosy fires and overstuffed armchairs, or maybe a serene beach with turquoise waves, or even the embrace of your mother. ‘E’ is for “empty”: empty cupboards when you’re low on cash, empty wallets after a shopping spree with your friends, the emptiness of a broken heart. It’s for “emotion,” the thing that keeps us human and sane and whole. It’s for “enough” – enough heartache, enough fury. You are enough.
‘E’ is your ethnicity: your roots, the part of yourself you can’t escape, and it’s your envy. It’s every time you’ve coveted that person’s hair, or this one’s phone, or their privilege. It’s the exaggeration when you tell a story to your friends, one that has them laughing until their eyes leak. It’s the eyelash resting on your cheekbone, a solitary wish waiting to happen. It’s your elbow, and the ache from bumping it against that one wall in your house that sticks out just a bit too far. It’s the perfectly groomed eyebrow, complete with that sought-after gradient, or the deliciously unplucked one. ‘E’ is the end. It’s that final word, the end to all ends. The one that lets you know that enough is enough. It’s resolution, both sweet and bitter. It’s the inevitable, the thing you can never escape. It’s death, literal and figurative. It’s inescapable and terrifying and strangely calming all at once. But it’s also the start of everything. One letter is the start of so much. It is full of expectation and excitement. It’s excellent, exceeding expectations. It is everyone, everything, everywhere. And it’s gloriously endless – no one knows where we will take it next. Perhaps, a new word, perhaps, a new sound, perhaps, nothing. It’s the emphasis you stress under pressure, the enjoyment of an icecream, the energy in the beat of a drum. It’s enormous, an end with no ending.
Muminah Salie The Beginning of the End: Us, Earth, and the Universe
When humans are trying to find new planets on which they can inhabit, you know that the state of our earth is dire. Many have been trying to find a way to live on Mars, discovering that the red planet next door has water seemed to be a breakthrough. Now, new planets --called exoplanets -- have been found. An exoplanet is basically a planet that does not orbit our sun, and are, therefore, outside of our solar system. The sun around which these planets circle is one of the stars in the Aquarius constellation. All of the planets are roughly the size of Earth and Venus, but they have extremely short orbits (ranging from one and a half days to twenty). Out of the seven exoplanets found, three lie within the Goldilocks zone. This means that these are a suitable distance from their star to be able to support life. The bad news (there always has to be) is that the solar system is "relatively close." The exoplanets are 39 light years away. 369 trillion kilometers. That will be hundreds of thousands of earth years of travelling before we reach the planets. Not only that, but it is not certain that the planets are able to sustain life. There could be harmful gases in the atmosphere.
Some people are questioning the relevance of finding new planets as a "back-up plan for earth." Yes, Earth still needs to be saved, but humans were made to be curious. We were made to question things. We were made to evolve and develop. We were made to travel around the world in search of new dreams and opportunities. We were made to believe that the sky is the limit. But we can now take further than the moon.
The Beginning of the End
Robyn Brown A new year has begun. For some, it is their first year of high school, and for others, it is their final year as a Wynberg Girl. The Matrics of 2017 have made so many wonderful and exciting memories and they are really going to be missed. Here are some of the things they'll miss about us:
The people for sure, I love my friends more than anything and I'm going to miss them so much.
The close connections within all aspects of Wynberg and being able to speak your mind and express yourself knowing that others will not judge.
Just normal school life.
The feeling of security and I will sincerely miss all always knowing that someone will the lovely people I've be there for you. The intense become friends with and spirit that walks the hallways and that I see on a daily the greetings and motivation in basis. the passages. The music department. Class group chats. My passion for music The immense love we share but grows every time I step never admit. foot in our little music FemSoc. It's a place in sanctuary. I hope it the school where I can never changes. The family. be myself free of judgement from staff The girls. and students.
Tin Soldiers Juliet Stromin Like clockwork, we move our attention robotically to the ticking stationed overhead the board, the board which has not been used except to abuse the surface with chemical ink. Each scrawl and draw, we reciprocate, moving in identical patterns to the ones that are laid before us. Mindlessly, highlighting, correcting and fixing with every inflection of the teacher's voice, every emphasis of the clicking of her tongue. Silence. You would not know a war was ongoing. In the minds of the students, each activity called out is a strict militant command and every note that is passed resembles that of telegram from outside territory lines. Everything is as it should be, a regular regime until one hopeful soul raises her hand and a bomb explodes. Alert. The students watch the colonel's face as it twists and turns, analysing the legitimacy of the question. Hearts racing and eyes widening, each student has their neck strained in anticipation. We wait with baited breath until finally, she nods and subsequently, we write furiously, copying down each selected syllable and, satisfied, we return to the text. The ticking is louder than ever as the words on the page congregate into one. Each letter competing with one another, climbing atop until they are forming a tower. Rising from the page, more and more join until it begins to thicken into sullen sludge, forcing their way into the eyes of students. Blackening the them, everything goes dark. The bell rings. Light floods in. We move on until the process begins again.
The end Tamia Morgan
What if what we know as the beginning of the end is in actual fact the end of the beginning? If so, when will we establish an "end?" And what do we mean when we say "the end"? The human need of being able to explain everything – with the understanding that all things come to an end eventually – helps us find closure in what we, to this day, might still not agree on. In other words, despite humans' contrasting views, our acceptance of the prerequisite, "the end," consolidates all human knowledge and sense of absolute reason into an abstract finale which we all agree will ultimately occur. In my opinion, "the end," can be described as what we are living right now. It is represented by the low point at which we, today, find ourselves in as humanity, and the path leading up to it can only be explained in hindsight. On the one hand, the beginning of the end is seen as the day I was stolen from the East, robbed of my name, turned into a Cape slave, and made to assimilate into a foreign culture. On the other hand, the pre-existing practice of slavery appears to have catalysed this. Typing this, I realise that in fact, slavery was born out of the unfair class systems that existed within societies across the world and after the ruthless conquering of Africa, the slave trade ensured that Black people assumed the inhumane roles laid out for slaves, while White people became the beneficiaries. Was the beginning of the end when I became a slave? Or was it when autocratic monarchies began to exploit the "lower classes"?
Some say that the beginning of my end was not a matter of powerful White men sitting around a table and cutting Africa up, but rather a result of the normalised oppression of Black people that had already existed. This simply cannot be true: Powerful White men did sit around a table and share amongst themselves the pie that was Africa. The consequent results had to have been carefully considered in order for people of colour across the world, still to this day, experience sociopolitical inferiority, the brunt of racism and the subsequent microaggressive manifestations. In understanding what is meant by declaring "the end" as the current position of humanity, one must understand that the race towards freedom has left people of colour exhausted and despondent. Surely, no fight can last this long! And as such we are left to make the only conclusion that we lost this battle a long, long time ago. Surely, we have reached the end. Then again, what if it is in actual fact, the end of the beginning? This would mean that the low point, at which we today find ourselves in humanity, is coming to an end as we enter a new – and hopefully the last – chapter of our struggle. This is not an attempt at the justification of systemic racial oppression but a determination for the fight against it. The beginning of the end was when the bodies of my ancestors were traded, their energies drained and their souls almost destroyed by the powerful White men who cut up Africa. With the soul that remains in the bodies of the oppressed people of colour, we enter the end of the beginning, and reduce to ruins the system that was established to exploit us.