Apologies…

I think I’m using up my yearly quota of apologies in regards to this blog, but once again, I’m sorry! 2015 has been hectic, with dissertation stress at the beginning of the year, and then job stress and, more recently, family stress. Like every year, this year has been one of ups and downs: I met lifelong friends whilst I worked at an international NGO, but sadly had to resign because management were so toxic and they treated their students horribly. There’s a bigger story behind everything, but it’s hard to both think and talk about – let’s just say that, to my dismay, money and greed really do make the world go round, and I’m very sad that my first experience working for an NGO was like this. On the other hand, as I’ve mentioned, I’m so grateful to the group of friends I made there. We really got each other through this whole ordeal – in all honesty, I think the shitty situation made us bond a lot faster and to a greater extent.

Onto writing…which I haven’t been doing much of. I’m not going to say that this blog is on hiatus, because I don’t want it to be. But once again, I’m swamped with applications and I really need to figure out what I’ll be doing over the next few years. I’ve also been writing a lot more short fiction under my real name, so that’s been exciting, seeing as that was my first passion before poetry. I’m even thinking of sending something in to an online magazine? We’ll see…

Anyway, once again, thank you to everyone who’s still following me and reading this neglected blog. Hopefully, I’ll update it soon, once I get my head on straight about these MA applications.

I hope you all have a merry Christmas and a happy new year!

Ally xxx

Changing Winds

She buried the money before she left. Her fingernails were still stained with soil as she wiped her hands on the front of her trousers, before shrugging her bag onto her back. She drew the door shut, waiting until she heard the soft rasp of it locking behind her. The wooden steps groaned as she edged down them, and she winced as the sun crept underneath the brim of her hat and into her eyes. The desert stretched out before her, with its swollen dunes and greedy rays.

According to her contact, the town council would come for her in a few hours, wielding their rigid laws and wicked guns. She wondered which of the rumours had finally angered them enough: was it Mrs. Kim’s whispers rustling through the library, about her swindling hard-working families out of their savings? Was it Kwame the barber’s sharp mutters, about how she’d left a man’s body in a dark alleyway with his chest slashed to ribbons? Or was it the Edwards sisters’ giggles, about how she’d been shot in the leg whilst escaping out of the sheriff’s bedroom window – after he’d caught her in bed with his wife? She shook her head and began walking forwards, shoulders hunched as her shirt glued itself to her back, yellowed with patches of stubborn sweat-stains. With each step, the knife strapped to her thigh pressed into her skin.

A crow hopped around between cracks on the ground, and she imagined tiny footprints that she would never see, belonging to a baby brother she would never know. Wisps of laughter floated through her mind, with her father’s off-key humming and her mother’s breathless grumbles.

She stopped and sighed, pivoting around on her heels for one last look at the house, its faded orange walls still blazing against a cloudless sky. The tinkle of wind chimes clung to the warm breeze, and the porch swing squeaked as it rocked back and forth. The skeleton of the old acacia tree hung nearby, the inky shadows of its branches seeping across the land. For a moment, she could smell the earthy haze of burning bark. Keeps the gods happy, her father would always say as he swept up the ashes, keeps the ghosts away.

She shuffled over to the small headstone beneath the tree, her fingers twitching underneath their fraying bandages. Bending down, she traced the smooth edges, the steady ‘K’ carved into the centre. She glanced up at the front door. They would survive, she thought, stroking one hand over the freshly turned ground. They would carry on without her.

She stood and began dragging her feet backwards, before finally turning away. Lizards skittered across the sand in bursts of dust and dirt. In the distance, she heard the howls of wolves on the wind. Her head snapped up and she scanned the horizon, smiling. The scar on her leg itched.

She walked on.

On Looking Back

It feels strange saying that I don’t usually write personal posts when all of my articles and thoughts and poems are the epitome of personal, but I suppose what I’m actually saying is that I don’t really post using this style or tone. Let’s just blame it on the fact that it’s 2015 and I’m both bursting with excitement over the fact that it’s a new year, and going through massive 2014 withdrawal symptoms.

Over the course of 2014, I’ve been made painfully aware of just how cruel people can be, but I’ve also met and made some of the best friends I know I will ever have. I’m just so grateful and, honestly, relieved to have found people who aren’t from back home who accept me as I am and roll with all of my quirks and how tactile I am. They’ve just helped me so much with finally settling into my university, even if it’s my third year and I’ll be gone come July. Oh well, better late than never, I guess.

2014 was also the year that I started blogging and restarted writing things for publication and whilst the first has been surprisingly cathatic, the second has made me realise that the media world is still a very cliquey place – I guess high school really  does never end. I’m not one to stereotype, and I’ve met some brilliant people whilst getting involved with papers and magazines, but I’ve also met my quota of extremely arrogant assholes: people who will do anything for a story, even if it means that others get hurt; people who revel in their ignorance and think their misinformed, bigoted opinions are holy.

Let’s just say thank god for the blogging. Who knew that I would fall in love with poetry when I’ve spent so long hating it? I think what really put me off poetry in the first place was this idea that everything about it was so “deep” and “intellectual,” and that anything that didn’t have a profound meaning was seen as being inferior. But I think that what I didn’t realise was that poetry can be about anything and everything. It doesn’t have to allude to a bigger picture; it doesn’t have to be a work of genius. It just is.
(And who knew that, regarding this, I’d fall firmly on the side of “Art for art’s sake?” Of course, by no means is it wrong if poetry does or doesn’t move you. I guess what I’m trying to say is that everything can be interpreted in so many different ways, that no view, no opinion regarding poetry is ever the wrong one.)

With that said, I’d also like to thank everyone who has ever read, commented, liked and followed anything on this blog. I am so grateful and so humbled by the support, the kind words, and the general encouragement and warm fuzzy feeling I get every time I see a new notification. I seriously appreciate everything this blog has brought me and, hopefully, I’ll get my arse into gear and write even more over the next year.

So, happy new year, everyone, and thanks for reading!
I hope 2015 is fucking amazing for all of you.
Be happy, be cherished, be loved – you know you deserve it.

Ally