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Life is not that short. Live it as you wish to be remembered. We have all been granted the gifts of time, love and life; how we use them is our business and ours alone. It is not the choices we make which define us. At the end of the day, it is how we make them which determines the kinds of people we grow to be. My father made his, and I have made mine. I chose to forgive. My father - the man I hated for as far back as I can remember - has died. I hated him because he hated me. It sounds petty, but it's true. What man goes through life without once calling to check on his offspring? What man is a man who does not raise his children to be better than what he was? In a sense, he fulfilled the latter question: I now know the kind of father I do not wish to be. I made that promise to myself a long time ago - my children will know who I am and I will know them. Whether I can stomach to be around their mother or not; through the good times and the bad

Contextualization Israeli Apartheid Week is a global protest which aims to boycott Israel’s actions against Palestinians. Israel has occupied Palestine for over four decades, and subjected Palestinians to atrocities not dissimilar to those inflicted on black South Africans during apartheid. This editorial package focusses on the week-long series of events; rallies, lectures and cultural performances which were held at varies venues around Rhodes University campus in Grahamstown from Monday, 11 March 2013 – Friday, 18 March 2013. The event was hosted by the Rhodes University Palestinian Solidarity Forum (RUPSF) ‘supporting the Palestinians and raising awareness for their plight in the Occupied Territories and neighbouring refugee camps’. Editorial Having missed the entirety of Rhodes University’s Israeli Apartheid Week initiative, it is with absolute remorse that the photographs had to be sourced from the internet. The decision to go with the pictures provided came

This past week has certainly been a trying one, I thought to myself an hour or so ago when I dotted my final full-stop and saved my English essay on Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness . It was due this passed Friday morning, but I talked my way to an extension. I needed more time; more time to sleep, to heal my nerves. Time is what I sorely needed, and yet I wasted it on long nights spent inebriatedly wandering the streets of Grahamstown among students celebrating an Irish saint whose patronage very few even know. St Paddy's day ... A waste of time. Time which could have been spent following the news. Time which is so precious, and yet is taken for granted. Time Mandy Rossouw ran out of; but used well. I never got to meet her, but I revered her from my pre-journalist days. Hers was a name I heard many a time on the radio while stuck in the traffic after school before I grew to care for politics; her tweets kept me updated on matters for which I had to care and her craft inspire

 Foreword My writing assignment for this week was to scribble together a half-decent justification of why I write - based in part on George Orwell's piece similarly titled. I admittedly had not read the entirety of Orwell's reasoning as to why he writes - and that is partially what has prompted this introduction to my very cliche reason for why I write. It's with an apologetic heart that I reflect on Orwell's words: apologetic, simply, because had I engulfed his wisdom prior to slurring my way to a minimum word count, I would not have been so vague to the extent that I wound up sounding tragically devoid of human emotion. I would have not felt so fearful of baring all to the world as I was had I known that George Orwell was as much a wallflower as I am, that he too felt lonely. He too had visitations from a realm completely different from our own; one where oddballs such as him and I are welcomed, where we escape to when our minds are left to wander. Had I tre

I am Mishap. To some, I am simply a pen. To my master, I am a sword in the unending battle against ignorance and sheer stupidity. Master and I have saved the world twice-over. That is a lie? No, I cannot lie... I am a pen and what I blot on a page will outlive you all, and must therefore be truer than your lives; it certainly lasts longer. I miss master. We got separated by fate. I do not know this place, but it looks ... clean ... I can live here. I have seen many hands - but no master in a bit over a week. Master and I will find our way to each other - I know he searches day and night. I know he searches. The light bulb flickers. Arthur sits on his bed, which is positioned directly behind his desk - the combination of furniture forming a T-shaped island in the pool of clutter he calls home. He missed Mishap, having lost him a week after rescuing him from the shelves. He admittedly hadn't gone to great lengths to find him - after all, he could easily get another pen and call i