Tag Archive | Journey

Indeed, I Do NOT Walk Alone

I have been away for far too long, so long I forgot my password in the process. I was going through things I did not know I was going through when I was going through them and as such, it was confusing, dragging, draining and I just needed the phase to end. Fortunately for me it’s a beginning of completely newer phase. The life I had longed for in the darker hour is collectively becoming my actual life. It’s beautiful and unbelievable in equal measures.

It feels like I was away from everything, even this very world I live in and technically its true. Things seem to have changed in some cases; the streets that used to be hailed as dusty now have stinking shallow water puddles sitting on them that come from nowhere but are never go anywhere either. At the same time, things have stayed the same; a white lady walking into a bus selectively scans everyone inside the bus and almost without fail chooses a seat next to her white counterpart even if the seat next to that lovely lady of colour would have been a much better option.

Nevertheless, we continue breathing and pay little attention to pettiness because our generations deserve better options and the reasons we are here is to create those options in question without giving too much focus to unnecessary distractions.

During my time of absence, I could not do even the things I know I enjoy, writing for instance. Although I was alive, life had escaped me; I was suffocating but breathing. Some days were worse than others; I wondered, cried, slept less, did not eat enough, wondered, and cried some more. The more I tried to make it seem like I was okay, the more I knew I was not okay. Worse the feeling became.

I am back, with stories obviously because though I did not know it then, the eyes were still vigilant, mind open and the pen ready to do its magic with the paper. I am healed and happy. Thankful for the process whatever it’s called. One thing I am grateful for is knowing I do not walk alone; I have my whole clan (including you) looking out for me; the angels, both living and those who have lived providing and protecting me. That alone is a feeling I fail to properly express since it does to me things I cannot explain. It gives me overwhelming strength to continue representing them and those who will take over from me and continue the lineage.

This life thing is beautiful. We do not always see its beauty however its beauty is not taken away by our inability to see it. It soldiers on. I guess that is what we can learn from life; continue being the light even if our brightness is not always appreciated. So, let the stories continue…


RIP Robin Williams

I have thought about death more than once. It could be lingering in my subconscious as you read but you’re allowed to overlook that because such thoughts are sinister encounters experienced by those who fail miserable to face life head on.

Depression is a serious issue and its a pity that our society sees it as ‘state of mind’ for the weakly.

I may have not known what Robin really battled with but I’m saddened that he couldn’t overcome it.

I can’t imagine the dark pit hole he found himself drowning in after a ‘magnificent’ day of making nations laugh.

The worst part about depression is that the sufferer tries so many times to internally and personally deal with it before the rest of the world takes notice. Sometimes people remain quiet because the stigma associated with the condition is so enormous you’ll only feel it once you personally suffer from depression.

I respect that through all your silent and spoken battles, you were still able to make others laugh.

Rest in everlasting peace Robin Williams and I pray that your loved ones have enough strength not to question your decision but love you always.

Observations. Life. Critical and Sensible Experiences


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.


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.


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.


This is Not an Open Letter

This is nowhere near the recent South African epidemic of highly contagious, internet contracted bacterium outbreak of open letters.

As most individuals claim to, my immune system also has an acute incurable viral allergy against the common disease of conforming to normalcy, although blogging analysts might be compelled into proving that my immune has already succumbed to the previously prestige act of blogging.

Open letters, for the past couple of weeks have been interweb or newspaper delivered to almost all our famous celebrities, including our very preeminent leading party, the ANC and its subject of controversy president, Gedleyihlekisa Jacob Zuma.

The basis of these letters included both debasement and criticism on the addressee. These aspects were critical in evoking views and fueling an endless, otiose debate that gave substance in the insomniac’s vigil at night and occupied many of my fellow unemployed compatriots by day.

The matters discussed on these open letters intended to lay bare a vendetta more compelling than a woman to woman squabble over a man. This South African now controversial tragic yet comical thriller would soon be a trending subject for days (literally) on social platforms, with Twitter taking home the most visited site/app award.

Another individual would soon be unable to contain their views thus quickly penning them down. An open letter would follow, resulting on this pandemic bacterium of open letters that we (South Africans) came to witness.

At the moment, open letters, which seemed to sky rocket in this country, have to our relief, died down. Although one more open letter is enough to see the rise of open letters again, we hope to have overcame a pandemic which nearly decayed writing as a profession and derogated our celebrity’s image.

The last thick pile of open letters, due to the hot family rival in the Mandela household, were loitering the interweb hoping to purposefully land into this family’s computer hub. Annoyance and anger were the main subject on these letters, horrendously accusing the Mandela family of deteriorating the Madiba legacy during a critical time of the statesman and global hero.

There was some truth to all the open letters I managed to go through, with of course some terrible writing to at least one letter that I read (I should have addressed this matter with an open letter). A great proportion of these letters were expressing emotions (which was great. I take note, every now and then of my people’s feelings) and contained little if any facts at all.

If I were to write an open letter, it would be addressed to the reader, any individual who takes from their delicate time, a moment to read the words which will mainly address this statement: Mandela akekho ofana nawe futhi akasoze abakhona (Mandela there is none like you and they will NEVER be).

I hate being compared. I hate this sentence (which seems more like a phrase now). I hate being undermined and I hate it when my people, the people whose abilities are known to me, are looked down upon.

Mandela in his own right, is a man of strength, courage and will-power. This however should never imply that we (people of this nation) cannot surpass the struggles we face to date, better or with more strength than the one Mandela (together with many other struggle heroes) had towards defeating the unjust system.

South Africa has heroes, revolutionalists, go-getters, exemplary individuals, active activists who are enormously and positively impacting on global change, taking the leading role in shaping and making this country better. They have the same (if not more) degree of compassion, humane and care for this nation and its people.

These individuals should by no means be compared to anyone especially Mandela. For they are not Mandela in many aspects, noting that they are nowhere near living or exploring the life of being extensively well known, which Mandela, without directly inciting, has lived. However, they have sacrificed and rendered themselves dedicated pure selfless servants of this country.

The other aspect our recent heroes do not share with Mandela is that of being thanks-given whilst they are still alive. And as I know my people, we will apply the same formulae we used to our previously fallen heroes, and only recognise their good deeds when they are no more. Mandela is a set apart individual for he got the flowers when he could still smell them.

Before open letters, I had been engaging to life and its marveling livelihood. Dwelling into the wisdom foretold by the craftsmen who previously traveled the mystery we have known today as life. I have taken joy in cracking open the answers of the situations we battle today, hoping to transfer the understanding of my forefathers to those who will find a fore-mother in me.

I shall again continue with my journey, seeking answers of the future through the journeys of the past. Dear blog follower this trip, in a profound manner will render me a non-blogger for quite some time. Despair not for I intend to make time and go through my reader.

Technology might propel me to take pictures, a reminiscence and future adoration by my forthcoming beloved. If you ask nicely, I might share them with you.

To all the South Africans obsessed with open letters, it is with great pleasure to announce to you that this is by no means an open letter. I’m not an open letter writer nor am I anti-Mandela. I’m just a blogger who’s not going to be blogging for a while.

Much Love

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. 


Discover Me!

He was left alone in a train station. Tears rand down his face and his eyes darted about. He did not know what to do. He was in a foreign country, knew nobody and did not speak the language of communication understood in this country. He went up and down, in and out trying to find atleast a meaning. If not a sign or maybe answers to the many questions he had. But none came, not a symbol not a sign. Confusion blurred his vision and malfunction invaded his mind. Through it all, he was somehow still hopefull that tomorrow will come with a glimse, a spark in that candle. Whether it came, I wouldn’t know. You see according to ME; discovering who and what you are is the longest and toughest journey given to man-kind. Fortunate or not, it is a gift that WE have ALL inherited. However, many die having never climbed on a train to this journey. Others die traveling on the wrong train and a few travel safely and grasp this gift. Those who have touched it, felt it and explore it say it feels like you have control over the universe and control in all your surroundings. They call it ABSOLUTE bliss. I hope you find it too. YOURSELF!