La Rochelle Yearbook 2023

Budding Authors

Blackout I could feel and hear the gravel crunching underneath my blue and white Asics. It was a hot summer’s day with no light breeze to counteract the heat, but I was cold. I was always cold. My stride was long and fast. If I had to walk, I had to do it right. Shoulders back, head high, core engaged, stride long – it burns more calories that way. You pick up a few things when your doctor tells you to stop exercising. Ruth ran towards a tree pulling me along by her leash. I had convinced the doctor I had to take Ruth for her daily walk. I did not enjoy taking her with me as her pulling on the leash decreased my amount of exercise, but it was better than nothing. I checked the statistics on my watch whilst Ruth marked the tree: 1.02 kilometres, sixty-one calories, 5300 steps. I had to walk at least nine more kilometres if I was going to make up for that morning’s iced coffee and slice of toast. My headphones suddenly made an ear-piercing sound… battery low. Great. Nine kilometres to go and no music. I pulled the headphones down to hang around my neck, but it felt wrong, so I switched them off and put them back on my ears. I needed the stimulation. I remember the day I got the headphones. It was the year before, on Christmas Day. I was so happy to see the box though excitedly ripped wrapping paper. I had been saving up for them, but my grandmother had other plans. it was the first joy I had felt in months, but it went away again when I saw Christmas dinner in reverse that evening. I could hear Alex’s dog starting to bark. She had a house here, in the middle of nowhere, with her twins and three dogs. We came to a stop at her fence. The barking German Shepherd fascinated Ruth, but I was focused on the kids. They were kicking a soccer ball around with not a care in the world. I could just imagine them called in for lunch. They would go inside, enjoy their meals without all the numbers circling in their heads. I missed that. I waved to the twins and led Ruth away from the dog. As soon as we took off again, a wave of dizziness pass over me. Not now. I wrapped the leash tight around my wrist. Only 7.5 kilometres to go. I could not pass out now. Amelie Ferreira Grade 12 Our crazy world If it were not for my sister’s free spirit, I would not be absorbing the vibrant hues of the sun setting over Lake Malawi. The still water stretches to the end of the horizon. The last few fishermen contently dock their boats after a rewarding day. We owe it to our father for planting the seed of wanderlust inside of us. Our careless attitudes led to us waking to the crispy lake air every morning. The rust crawls up any iron it finds on our camper van, which has been standing in the same place for nearly two years now. Our fisherman acquaintances await us at the break of dawn. We are eager to join them and find out what the catch of the day will be. The morning mist lies like a blanket across the vast lake, The clean air refreshes my mind as I prepare myself for another day of adventure. My sister and I work well with the friendly locals. Although they are less fortunate than nearly everyone we know back home, they are never shy to help us or share their skills with us. The lake was as resourceful as always, providing us with a variety of fish. The blazing afternoon sun did not stop our team from working hard. For a moment I think back to the life we used to have in the bustling of city. I am quickly knocked out of my trance by everyone’s voices after another fish is pulled onto our boat. I observe the satisfactory look on my sister’s face and my mind is at peace. The heart-warming smiles of the fisherman, after yet another successful day, fills my heart with joy. As we walk bare footed on the sand to the nearby village, I am reminded why my sister and I, will always stay here: the proud feeling we have after selling all of our fish to the local Malawians is inexplainable. This is the place where our heart overflows with love for life. When we return to our rusty camper van we will happily rest and prepare to repeat another day without a problem or the world’s worries on our shoulders. The norms and expectations of the world are things we will never follow. All that we want to do is make this crazy world our own. Lushané Ries Grade 11

The colours of the streets The pastel-coloured houses with their green and blue shutters, standing firmly next to the narrow, paved pathways, are accompanied by dozens of bridges crossing the canals of Venice. A gondolier with his black-and-white striped shirt is singing on his gondola when passing by the soft pink and purple blossoms of the flower shop. The children chasing down one another with their grey bicycles and ringing their silver bells to warn the nearby pedestrians, bring a sense of excitement. The blue busses of Rome are being packed like cans of sardines, allowing one to feel the sweat of everyone around you. The dark reds and browns of the ruins are concentrating the heat of the sun and spilling it out onto the streets where chairs and tables are being placed. The creamy smell of carbonara being served on the sidewalk with a slice of perfectly golden bread which is still steaming hot, leaves you with an everlasting hunger. The Colosseum appears slightly yellow compared to the open, blue sky stretching over the city. The depressing greens of the fig trees near the rocky beaches of Sorrento look longingly at the bright oranges and glowing yellows of the lemon trees which the flowing streets are forever separating. The crystal-clear Mediterranean is beautifully accompanied by white boats and pale limoncello, leaving one’s soul with deep peace. All of these moments are weaving together to form a miraculous harmony of colours. These are the colours of the streets of Italy. My escape The Stardust Theory. It claims that every atom in the human body is made inside a star. When that star dies and implodes all its contents the particles fall to the ground over time, eventually forming us. People. It is a difficult concept to grasp. Not as difficult to comprehend as to believe, however. The theory states that no element in the body can be found elsewhere but inside a ball of scorching gas some million feet in the air. From the calcium and phosphorus in our brains, to the carbon in our DNA, we are made of stardust. Religion and evolutionary theories may oppose such fairy tale like viewpoints. People either come from God, are descendants of apes, or for those daringly liberal enough … are a product of both. This world limits itself by insisting all matters are simply black and white. Ignoring an entire spectrum of colour and light for the sake of comfort and familiarity is cowardice. I choose to believe the Stardust Theory. I choose to because whether it is a viable theory or merely a myth, what it stands for plants a seed of hope in my soul and a profound perspective in my mind. The Stardust Theory makes it possible for one to live in Canada while another resides in Egypt; why culture is subjective and can mean something different for every being; why I speak English while my neighbour may speak Zulu. The theory determines that no amount of education, titles, wealth, or possessions gives you worth. Why in one place a planetary scientist and Stardust expert, Dr Ashley King, can determine we are born from the dust of a star; while in another place, another King moves a nation with a speech about his dream. The theory accepts all these differences while encouraging more. Our refuge is that we share a common heritage, binding us together in more ways than one. In our moments of doubt and failure, in the moments we feel inadequate and amount to nothing; in the moments we feel we hold no purpose or understanding of life, the Stardust Theory reminds us we are united despite the self-sabotaging humanity succumbs to. Despite all our flaws and shortcomings there is a star that is kind enough to greet Death and bid us life. Something so flawless, pure, and majestically ethereal, sees opportunity for great inside us. That must count for something. So, in my moments of needing escape, I choose the Stardust theory. Marcél Dippenaar Grade 11

36 LAR

Jessica Eckhardt

Grade 12

La Rochelle Hoër Meisieskool | Girls’ High School