Archives

Once Upon A Lie…

I sat down with an angel whose life experience spans from savage as a demon, devious as a devil to a well of wisdom. From a distance, she sways her being in sexiness and walks like she lawfully owns the land her feet step on. Mesmerising like a true goddess. Her presence is both amazing and overwhelming.

Have you ever been lied to…. As I open my mouth to respond, she continues as though this is a rhetorical question… So often that even the truth starts sounding unfamiliar? That lies bring you more than just comfort? They start becoming you, you in them intertwined; the truth becomes scary. You feel the need to lie even when there is not enough to hide? No? Good for you, some of us have been around; up, down, in, out, hurt, depressed wished upon death longed to live, smiled, laughed somewhat loved but not fully witnessed honesty.

Once upon a lie lived the truth. Once upon a life lived a human. Before you fool anyone else, you fool you. Now this is the realisation, before it was just a far-fetched thought that resembled everything I no longer cared to remember.

I was almost certain she once touched base with earth. This beauty of vividly placing wisdom so magically in ones tongue has to have been schooled by the great ones who witnessed life before we.

When my mom, in the middle of a highly opinionated conversation about men who can’t accept women with children, intentionally squeezed in the fact that the man I had known for then the 25 years of what I accepted as my life was not my father; life stopped and earth spun a little faster. I quickly forgot my thoughts and only the heart fulfilled its duty. My eyes were seeing things I can not in this case remember. Wow! So its true every family has a secret. Now it makes sense, people always asked why I don’t look like my siblings.

I had a lot of unanswered questions. My head was playing endless unresolvable quiz games. I did not know what to want, which question to ask first. It was like a fly was annoyingly going around my head and my hands were too short to distract its motion. At the same time I was in a strange way relieved; I did not have the genes of a man my mother mistakenly chose as a husband. That was great news because according to me, his genealogy needed to end. The world needed not of his kind in its future.

Joking about him probably not being my father – because most of the time he completely ticks even the boxes the future men trashers are still yet to invent, was suddenly a reality and bloody hell I did not expect it to be this shocking but equally numbing. I was unsure about my mother; I couldn’t believe her secret. I AM THE SECRET. Worse part I am instructed to continue keeping this a secret and never bother diving into conversation about my real father. I just have to draw my own conclusions and take joy in that for that’s all I am getting.

From where I was sitting my mother seemed FINALLY relieved. Her eyes had the obviously-this-is-not-a-big-deal look and her shoulders looked less burdened. As I sat on a chair that suddenly felt like it was hardening my butt, thinking empty thoughts, I couldn’t believe the facts of my life. I suddenly felt the need to be silent for as long as the silence can take the silent.

But…

This is life and how I came to is in my case not a big deal. However I have lots of unanswered questions. The people have had the most loveless marriage in the history of marriages. They hardly talk, be it over the phone or anywhere else. They are like cooking oil and the scalp; yes that’s a bad simile but you get my point. They can tolerate each other but the consequences are dire. Now I get it though, my mother puts up with a loveless marriage knowing very well that she deserves better so she continues living her seemingly perfect life and concealing one thing that is obviously-not-a-big-deal so she stands on pedestals she has no business standing in.

She has chosen to live a life of regret, constant anger, hiding behind the church yet knowing exactly what she is worth. Being fully aware of who she is and what she can do.

When she was done speaking I looked at my own life, questioned my existence, looked through the eyes of my head – my own lies. I realised that a smile could be a sham. We walk in pride to only spend minutes upon minutes in toilet seats wondering, crying, wishing things were better and promising ourselves we are going to work harder better, smarter to continue concealing, so that it is never revealed. At the same time, do we really know who we are or do we only take what we’re being told and run with it? What is our truth and how do we weigh its worth? If our truth had to suddenly be rendered untrue, will we have enough will power to reconstruct a new life from there? I too had unanswered questions. I wondered about the many things we’re told we are: lost generation for one. Are we lost because we did not get enough truth? And who was/is meant to bring this truth to us. Anyway what is truth? After so many lies that we’ve been told, how much of unlearning and relearning will be enough? I do not know, life seems to be a LOT. There seem to be less truths and more lies and our facial expressions never run out of memes when truths come out and the heart unfortunately seems to always be caught off guard. 

We really carry so much burden, bestowing on ourselves the weight that comes with lies is unnecessary and rather stupid. Once upon a lie lived a truth and we must ALWAYS choose the virtue of honesty.

Advertisements

Observations. Life. Critical and Sensible Experiences

YOU HAVE TO EXPERIENCE LIFE, MAKE OBSERVATIONS, AND ASK QUESTIONS. Dante Smith.

OBSERVATIONS
The toilet is a room for thought when you don’t have your own personal space.

Its all fun and dreams when you’re sweet sixteen living under your parent’s wing. But reality invades your life, hard-work introduces itself and life begins without your consent.

People are likely to choose money over time and they spend most of their lifetime chasing money. That’s why we have a nation of people who do not have time for other equally or more important responsibilities.

Winning is such a great feeling. If winning is not in your reality, keep it in your brain. Just keep winning.

Courage is everything.

Constant encounter of disappointment is discouraging and very damaging to one’s esteem. Too many disappointments make one lower their standards and expectations.

Laziness is concealed discouragement.

Loud mouths are slackers.

Parents find it difficult to accept when their children have different views to that of their own. Especially where religion is concerned.

Creativity never expires it matures and grows exponentially when nurtured.

New media is prestige and comes with dire consequences when misused.

IF YOU HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY TO PLAY THIS GAME OF LIFE YOU NEED TO APPRECIATE EVERY MOMENT. Kanye West.

LIFE
Every generation sees the flaws of another.

Everyday has its own plans no matter how strategic you plan.

Money is strength, it makes situations lighter.

Life changing growth results after intense suffering.

When one gets initiated into adulthood, challenges get really tough.

People tend to have more opinions over other people’s situations.

You will suffer greatly for your desires. But when you don’t have basic needs you suffer the worst form of affliction.

You get paid for what you’re good at but greatly rewarded for what you’re passionate about.

When you’re young nobody tells you that anguish is when you’ve given your all to achieving something but still remain JUST not good enough.

Child headed households are due to misfortunes and faults of the parents.

People will always want what they don’t have.

I BROKE INTO SHAKESPEARE’S TOMB AND STOLE HIS REMAINS, GRINDED THE BONES, SMOKED IT, THEN GOT IN THE GAME. Nasir Jones.

CRITICAL and SENSIBLE EXPERIENCES
Annoyed is when you’re living under your parents wing and experiencing a restricted level of yourself.

Sleepy is the condition you get after you’ve spend your bedtime credit social media networking.

Happiness is the totality of your effort coming into fruition.

Constipation is when you want to move out of your parent’s house but money disagreeing with you.

Confusion is when you don’t get what you want and have to work with what you don’t have in order to create what you like.

Freedom is when you do what you’ve never thought you’d do and amazingly exceptional at it.

Peace is when you allow only one hopeful thought to occupy your mind without any physical distraction.

Dear Diary (17/10/13)

I read a story of another hard hitten soul today and I want to share it with you:

‘I went to a majestically, all white inclusive location today. It was beautiful, with the occasional stares from the glides of the sea which always seem to be displeased about some matter. There was also the lovely, best possible view of the world’s wonder; tafelberg.

I was misplaced. The stares which I got from the human species of a different but same kind questioned my whole existence. Especially then at that place. It could have been anything, including the hand down clothes which covered that which is left of me. And then I knew; I should have stayed at home. Where my walks by the seaside are unquestioned and the content in my bag is not a scary thought to come by.

As I sleep on this floor, rats walk all over me. I have gone really low – its not saddening anymore. That which still lives within me, is on its own a mighty burden. A memory flashes and tears run down.

I was in a place occupied with overpriced buildings where everybody uses a car or those exclusive city traveling buses to get from one point to another. The heaviness of my inadequate blackness sat in all its density on my shoulders and settled on my face.

Sometimes I wish I was not me – that I do not carry the wholeness of my black nation in my head. Sometimes I wish my heart was not inscribed with their faces so that I could walk by, freely without wondering about their future and their lives. I really do wish that I was not a mirror whose portrait is that of every single black being who has struggled, gone to war and fought battles head-on but never won.

The exhausting game of rat and mouse that this blackness comes with was questioned in silence. As I wondered if its conquerors will ever reach such high value and exclusiveness. Its conquerors – those who through barefeetedness, whose childhood promised no prosperous economical value, have gone to get PhD’s and executive titles.

I’m probably bitter, for I’m one of those whom life has given a hard kick on each and every body part and getting up is a premium expense.

In my life, there are more painful smiles than joy. I smile because I’m human and I’m also without joy because I’m human.’

Mother earth, nurture that black child who will rise above her own blackness. Let her remember the pit hole of the blackness in which she came from. Guide her into providing that pit hole with more than enough blossom and ever shining light.

The blackness we carry is sometimes a reminder of things we ought to forget. And the blackness we embody is also a path of brightness.

DevynStella

IsiZulu Asifikanga Sigalelekile Enyuvesi YaKwaZulu Natali

Kamuva nje inyuvesi yakwa-Zulu Natali imemezele ukuthi izokwenza isiZulu sibe isifundo esiyimpoqo kubafundi bakhona kusukela ngonyaka ka_2014. Lokhu kusho ukuthi labo abayokwenza unyaka wabo wokuqala kule nyuvesi ngonyaka ozayo bazothatha isiZulu njengesinye sezifundo ezibaluleke kakhulu ezifundweni zabo. Hhayike! Kube bayibase emini bebade imbawula, abhebhetheka amalangabi ku-Twitter ashiya ziphele nya izikhotha.

Kumbula phela ukuthi isiZulu lungolunye lwezilimi zomdabu eziyinqayizivele lapha kwelakithi eNingizimu Afrika. Kepha ke ukushaya indiva izinto ezingezethu sekwaba insaka vukela umchilo wesidwaba, ikakhulukazi uma kuza ngasezintweni ezisibuyisela emsukeni wethu. Intsha ke yona ayiphathwa ngoba ithanda kakhulu ukuzimbandakanya nezinto zabondlebe zikhany’ ilanga, angithi phela ukuncika kwezomdabu sekuthathwa njengesidala, into yamaqaba angobaba mkhulu bona asebemathambo mhlophe.

Inyuvesi yakwaZulu Natali ihlabe yahlikisa yonke lento yokushaya indiva ezomdabu yanyathela ezithendeni kwazwela. Impela iyinyathele emsileni intsha ezibona iya kocela isikhala sokufunda kuyo le nyuvesi ngonyaka ozayo ibe kanti ayiyinhle kahle ngasesizulwini. Kukheth’ ukhethu ke sezisina zidedelana ngemibono ku-Twitter.

Abantu ke abayi nganxanye bengemanzi, abanye bazithokozele kakhulu lezi zindaba ngoba kusho ukuthi kuzohlokoma ulimi lwabo lwebele futhi luzothola nodumela elulufanele. Abanye ke abafuni nokuyizwa le yesiZulu ngoba babona ingeke ibasize ngalutho ekunyuseni iqophelo lezifundo kanye nemiphumela yabo.

Mina ke angiyiboni nencane inkinga uma kuqhakambiswa izilimi zakithi zomdabu, noma ngingasho ukuthi ngiyazwelana nalaba abathatha izingane zabo zisencane bazithumele ezikoleni lapho ulimi lwebele lungalokothwa khona. Futhi ngingathanda baqaphele njengalokhu namanye amanyuvesi angahle ahambe ngonyawo olufanayo ne nyuvesi yakwaZulu Natali. Kazi ke iyobe isizala nkomoni kulaba abazigqaja ngokungakwazi ukukhuluma angisayiphathi ke eyokubhala ulimi lwabo lwebele.

Labo ke abavela ngaphandle, o hhe! Hhayikabi zingane zakwethu kodwa sengathi kuzomele lelo nalelo nkankane liyodla umsundu wangakubo. Kodwa ningalibali ukuthi inja iyawaqeda ngolimi, isiZulu siyashesha ukuzwakala futhi akudingi sikhathi singakanani ukusifunda, asifani neze nesayenzi yona ocubungula ucubungulile izinto ongazi ukuthi zazisuselwephi futhi zisuselwani.

Njengoba isiZulu sesifikile, akusasizi ukukhala. Abantu mababhukule baphikelele ezikoleni banqobe.

Love, Hate and Justin Bieber

the Bieber is interviewed - bieberism movement.

the Bieber is interviewed – bieberism movement.

Justin, preparing to drive the beliebers wild - as he is prone to

Justin, preparing to drive the beliebers wild – as he is prone to

‘It’s either you LOVE me or you HATE me’ it is an undeniable truth that the 19 year old Justin Bieber has experienced both sides of this phrase. There is an ‘I hate Justin Bieber club’ on Facebook for the dedicated haters of Justin, those if given the change, would shred Mr Bieber into thin pieces of nothing, whilst there is a Tumblr blog: ‘I am a Belieber’ for the die-hard Bieber fever infected Justin Bieber fans.

I do not know the hold Mr Bieber has on people for its either they LOVE him insanely or they would rather have him buried alive. I’m not a fan of his music (something that could unite us) and I therefore don’t care much if he’s coming or going. I must say though, I’ve been looking at his pictures (like everyone else, and he sure is blessed with looks) simply because he seems to be a subject of interest for journalists and their headlines, one thing Mr Bieber does is remind me of that gentleman whose ‘stuck in the mirror’ with a suit and a tie – Justin Timberlake [the 20/20 experience is something to be experienced].

Justin Bieber looking for approval from the Biebs

Justin Bieber looking for approval from the Biebs

‘Jealousy makes you nasty’, that is partially true for jealousy does not only make you nasty, it also deems you a murderer of people that don’t even know you; since jealousy’s capability can stem all measures of evil.

Maybe he’s a jerk and maybe even a brat too but when I actually got to see for myself the amount of hate mail Bieber must be receiving every day, I started to wonder how reliable and secure his security and body guard system is. I mean no child of the universe should be receiving such ‘criticism’ from individuals who obviously did not study the philosophy of criticism (if such a course is offered) for they engage in nothing but degradation.

You hate somebody for what they’ve taken away from you, I wouldn’t know why Bieber is hated by those he has never met. Then again, I guess not everybody will like you even if you’ve done absolutely nothing to them. And in this case not everybody is infected with the Bieber fever.

Justin looking as innocent as a new born

Justin looking as innocent as a new born

It is a defamatory artwork that our hatred journeys to altitudes that our thoughts can only dream of. I always have little to say when matters of distaste towards people are on the table, unless of course I am really not excited about your existence and your previous appalling deeds and or you have stepped in my territory with your mighty ruthless gait that then propels me to throw in a sentence or two.

Bieber with his fashion statement on his birthday - shirtless!

Bieber with his fashion statement on his birthday – shirtless!

Maybe Mr Bieber has also stirred up repugnance from the people who have nothing but abomination to express towards him, and to a certain extent you wouldn’t blame them. How do you tolerate a teenager who has banked more than the money you’ve seen with your naked eye? How do you live in peace with a teenager who can literally buy you and your every bit?

Emotionally attached Bieber

Emotionally attached Bieber

You’re not one of the wealthiest teenagers in the universe nor the most watched by paparazzi youngster, so maybe you can just be a little envious. The idea of you in possession of Justin’s wealth will lighten not only your worries, but it will add a few necessary required zero’s on your bank balance, and we both know how a smile and generosity is automatically yielded by those extra naughts. Otherwise Bieber wouldn’t be worthy of being a subject of disinterest in your sometimes unspoken conversations which occur when you come across his name, which at the peak of the man’s career, it’s likely to be every split second.

It is an undeniable sad truth; we walk with abhorrence on our shoulders, we house disgust in our hearts and our thoughts constantly yield death for one other. All this hate on Justin Bieber is a revelation to me that if you have what people desire, they will ultimately hate you and wish death upon you, thinking that if you die, what was yours will automatically land in their hands.

It has finally been revealed unto me; sometimes people want you to dwell in the midst of daunting, sane confiscating void so as to share and experience the same wrath as them. They are like vessels, except instead of emptiness, there is anguish and revulsion however they still make the loudest of noise.

Justin taking the beliebers to a trance

Justin taking the beliebers to a trance

The beliebers, the biebs those infected with the Bieber fever and drowning in bieberism (anything having to do with Justin Bieber), now these people will stand with Justin Bieber through hate tweets, backlashes about the sometimes not appropriate teenage behavior of the Bieber himself. Before you tweet anything about Justin Bieber make sure it is only good for you shall encounter a swarm of biebs in the defense of the Bieber if you choose otherwise.

Justin on a cover of a magazine I wouldn’t mind being on myself

 

 

I can bet you 10cents, you were not on the list of the 53th Grammy nominees, nor did FORBES magazine name you the third most POWERFUL celebrity in the WORLD. One thing that sets you apart from the ‘all around the world’ heat singer is little things, like you not having self-acclaimed critiques dissecting your every move, even if it just an innocent sneeze in public, so face it, even though it’s a hard pill of honesty to swallow, Justin Bieber is a BIG deal. Whether you love him or wish he was your son, truth be told, he is not going nowhere. If you have found association with his music, good for you. If however, you don’t find him worthy of being a subject of interest to anyone then I suggest you keep that to yourself and focus on the things you could do right in your life, for bieberism hasn’t gotten the better of you.

Justin Bieber I wish you all the best as you try to ignore the haters by embracing the love that the biebs are giving to you. You have embarked on a tough journey and I hope you have the strength to endure and sustain yourself.

Have you ever been at university?

acting cool

acting cool

To the greatest library dwellers of my entirety. The two girls who never had enough money to pay for anything. The two girls who were forbidden class because their parents couldn’t afford tuition fees. The ladies who’ve taken photos to surpass the pain. The ladies who’ve shared more than just cheap French fries and dry rolls for lunch. The ladies who’ve internally cried together tears of despair.  The ladies who’ve learnt to laugh and cry when telling a story of their lives. The ladies whom life hasn’t been so kind too. The ladies who fed on books for understanding. The ladies who can sit together the whole day sharing their road in strength. This is a story of survival in a great private educational institution. A story teaching you how to smile when sad, and how to laugh with people who are dining while your stomach is suppressed with hunger. It seemed impossible then, and maybe still is but the journey hasn’t stopped!

ImageThe Two Ladies I’m Refering To.

“Have you ever been at university? With two pairs of black shoes (the good pair and the other pair, in which your feet act as a sole – thank God your toes are still intact), two T-shirts, two round-neck skippers, one V-neck, one vest, tow pairs of underwear (that should be written off), four pairs of jeans and four pairs of smart trousers. Not to forget about the pair of washed-every-evening socks. You have absolutely no pocket money at all, and then there is the institution itself, which keeps reminding you that you need to pay your fees or you are out. As if you weren’t their student at all, but were working. Four months pass with their share of peer pressure and stress. Then comes the student awards and they award you for the most unfashionable student of the year or, worse still, they look at you as some kind of socially handicapped library-dweller…It gets too deep inside, into the soul, and then you start to lose a kilogram every two and a quarter days and now your well-catered-for clothing hang on you like it was never yours. Have you ever been at a tertiary institution of education and witnessed what the black students are going through?”

This is an adaptation from one of my favourite books: Room 207 by Kgebetli Moele, P35.

This is our story. Without you, there wouldn’t be strength in me. I only  got through it for you stood with me. 

Love
DevynStella

Agony of Choice – A Story of Men and Women

I put other people before me, and it hurts. I worry about people who don’t even think of me, and its tear dropping. I give without expecting to be acknowledged, and it’s not fulfilling. People are important to me, but I’m nothing to them. They walk over me the same way they do on tarred road – carefree and with pride. I consider people’s feelings, but they never do the same for me. I’m not playing victim, I’m just being honest with you. When does selfishness draw the line? Don’t people ever get enough of agonising other individuals? It’s not that I can’t say “NO!”, I just want a degree of fairness amongst the human race.

She was a victim of social networks, so it seemed. Emptiness intimidated her territory. With its enormous and immortal gait; it loitered in her space with no intentions of departing. She was lonely, even though people constantly surrounded her. She had a longing, a yearning to fulfill the void she relentlessly battled with. She was in need of things people close to her never understood, they called her strange. All she wanted was to touch, embrace and feel someone. She needed someone that will be sensual but real, someone friendly but emotional. She vitally looked-for the kind of love which surpasses money and materials. She searched, and maybe that was a wrong move too for she never found. The Love she needed was the kind we all require.

As you know things of this wondrous 21st century begin with a human being in contact with a cell-phone, so as Naledi. She had her first slim, slick, silver device during the last few days of her sweet sixteen age. It was not only her face that blossomed with a smile but her arteries were releasing joy too. It was a happy moment. Her cell-phone did the rounds to all her friends, with each of them touching and pressing just to see the greatness of its performance. They took endless photos, mind you wallpapers and screen savers were the in thing then. This was a sign of appreciation with bits of envy as a catalyst. In spite of that, they were all glad – she was now available “online”.

Naledi now had a cell-phone, the device needed to do what it was purposely made for – receive and release calls. The distribution of the cell-phone number process began. That was not as fun as the instant chatting which being “online” provided. That is where you found her most of the time, regarding the fact that she was now losing interest in school and its homework. She was online – the world of possibilities. Strangers were asking for “asrl” then her “id” and her cellphone became her best friend. Chat rooms granted her the meeting with the attention she craved for. Her cellphone was soon the victim of the vicious battery flat, battery charged, battery full, battery on charger again cycle. It was not long, her senses were rendered numb. That is another problem with these technological devices – food burns while the chef giggles endlessly into his/her device.

Technology advances, so does the chatting platforms. Naledi cultivated rapidly, she was ahead – the social network world might as well have been tailored for her intelligence quotient. Photos were not the only material she exchanged. Videos were her favourite as she overly indulged on them under her blankets with earphones deep inside her ears. Naledi – the star, engaged, she mastered the game along with its “lets shorten every word” language. Her pleasures jumped to cloud two, a slightly higher step for her age. The exchange of XXX files arouses lust and “no strings attached” was her newly found statement. She desired, she craved, she wanted – to feel, touch and connect with someone who would apprehend her emptiness. She hankered for effects, emotions, depth – she longed to be moved.

Social networks are brilliant, they sweep off boredom, induce insomnia and attach smiles on people’s face. They have the power to ignite you with money and dreams. The capability of befriending you with complete strangers. This superpower possesses might over restrictions, people cross countries and boundaries – they expand, express and fulfill their needs and more often than not everything that shouldn’t happen, happens. Naledi knew and practiced this supremacy at its utmost peak, she was omnipotence. If credits and mastering a subject were anything to go by, she was a doctor of this philosophy. Men were in abundance and she had more in mind than to get away with just a boyfriend. She was discreet, the number one qualification of this engagement. She was a freak on her phone and a lady in reality. Was her desire met? Had she found what she looked for? Of course not! The desire she wanted was meant to be tangible, it was suppose to live and be mutually shared. Hers did not. Men came, ejaculated and went, leaving the emptiness with double the intensity. The emptiness grew to hate, hate into anger and soon she had gone for the World Wide Web. Still searching, desiring but men still came and went, some came back for more but never stayed.

She had her whole life ahead of her, this occupation had the power to tarnish and destroy some of her dreams. Consciousness grew out of laziness, it began to work in her favour. It was time to face the monster she had grown, fed and nourished. Realisation came – this could not be her identity no more. Her future cannot be traced back to this being of deplorable encounters. She longed to turn back time but it moved forward as always. What was the next step? What can she do? Who can she disclose to without the fear of being judged? No one! The answer bluntly stared into her oval, clear, glowing pretty face which she wished to change. The warm, friendly, loving smile of assurance had grown to shield the spirals of anger in her. It was sad, it was true, it was part of who she was – a statistic of untold stories. Her desire was to speak, to find somebody who would assure her that it was not her fault. Somebody who would cleanse the pain; remove the memories out of her mind completely. She longed more for somebody who would wash away the anger she felt for the brother who took her happiness away. How can an occurrence in her childhood possess so much might over her maturity and future?

She was not a quiet child by choice, memories of woe frolicked in her head – flooding remembrances of a happy childhood she never had. The day she lost her happiness was an overlong movie; it reran, repeated and replayed. A representation of agony, a motion picture yielding anger, pain and tears. It brought fourth past days. The brother didn’t know, he will never know that it was not her virginity he went with but he deprived her the entirety of her life. She lives this day with repugnance and fear of any brother of her nation. The ruthless, life depriving individuals. If her childhood agony could like history repeats itself, she would indeed be rendered a murderer of both that brother and herself. The agony she feels is not of choice, it was brought to her by a man who saw pleasure in her purity. The emptiness and hate fuel turmoil with relentless thoughts of wretchedness.

I’m not playing victim. I am a case of obliteration. Its just another story on side effects of rape. A story of a woman on the struggle to survive. A story of a woman in agony. This is what I did not choose. I was not meant to endure such a secret. This agony is not my choice. People choose what they want to be, I did not get a taste of that luxury for what choice can a 5year old make about a molester? This is a story of many women, a story they carry everyday, a story shielded with a smile. A story told to pillows through tears. A story that is replayed everyday, a story with great might. A story which is a burden. She is not strong, she has learned to endure the pain. The world we live in is full of pain. People walk with giants of anger. Smiling is not always joy, laughing is sometimes the way to halt tears from falling, it is a way to surpass the agony. And you tell me to always choose happiness. That is exactly what I do – smile, and you fail to see the fractured soul that carries me. I endure the agony of choice because no one cares to know my scar.