Everyday Is Mother’s Day

I think about my birth, my gift of life gave you pain,

I think about the people in my life… some leave me but you always remain,

Even when I am your source of grief my joy is at the top of your list.

Even if you are cold to the bone, keeping me warm you cannot resist.

You’re the epitome of sacrifice, a close definition of love.

When I see you being selfless I see that there really is God above.

I see Him perform His acts through you,

As you care for me and my sister too.

Through being human, through being emotionally blind,

I had failed to see the truth, I had shutters on my mind,

But through some miracle, through some inexplicable event,

I finally see what I was supposed to see-something even my ignorance couldn’t prevent.

You are a rare gem, you are a bright beacon in a storm of darkness,

You are my favourite poem-all of you, including your bluntness.

All of my success I owe to you and your perseverance,

I owe it to your love, your attention, your constant vigilance.

Your prayers were not in vain;

I will be worth all that pain!

Through what won’t come , through what may,

By your side, Mom, I’ll forever remain.

PS This is a re-post from before I had a blog but it still applies perfectly

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Step On The Scale

If your love were given weight class how would it measure up?

Would it be skinny love? Fragile to the touch? In need of constant nourishment or else death do you part?

Would it be fit love? Blossoming really quickly and active for the long run? Designed to thrive during strenuous activity?

Would it be fat love? Incapable of standing on its own? Even if it did – would it require a break every so often? The kind of love incapable of any problematic exercise?

Inspired by the song: ‘Skinny Love’ – Birdy

I Am

You are what you eat.

You are what you constantly listen to.

You are what you say you are.

Seems like the mouth is responsible for what we are and what we will become. For it is with the mouth that we eat, it is the mouth that speaks and it is the mouth (albeit someone else’s) that dictates what we hear.

I wonder what happens if you spend years saying: “I am not good enough. I don’t deserve this. I’m an idiot. This it too hard for me. I’m going to fail…”

Perhaps that’s what it takes to bring down a promising individual. Get them to say such things over and over, in their mind, in their heart and with the lips.

What about those that hear these negative things said to them? Haven’t there been success stories among those with bad/unsupportive parents? I think that means the opposite can be true. A non-success story in the presence of ultra-supportive parents and to be frank – that is terrifying. 

Haven’t there been success stories among those with bad/unsupportive parents? Well luckily there have. You know what that means? There is a solution! A suitable workaround. If you can say to yourself over and over positive things, only the things that you want – it’ll supersede that which you hear. Imagine if you were to proclaim in your mind, in your heart and with your lips: “I am capable.” What do you think would happen then? Picture it, the person you would be now if daily you said: “I am a genius. There is nothing too hard for me! I will succeed! I am creative! I provide solutions to problems! I am disciplined! I am organised! I am successful! I am rich!”

As easy as that sounds to do on paper maybe you haven’t heard it enough to say it and believe it. This is where Youtube comes into place. If no one in your life is willing to affirm positivity, find them online, they will be there. Listen to them on repeat until you mould your plasticine brain to adapt. Then say it to yourself and share the change.

I challenge you to start the day with saying: “I am – “. Fill in the blank with what you want.

That’s what I will be doing.

Wise Beyond Your Years

We were eating porridge at your parents’ place in Bulawayo what feels like yesterday but was actually about 17 years ago. The porridge wasn’t made the way I was used, there was not much flavour, sweetness or love. It was bland as cardboard but I ate it all without complaint. Why? I wouldn’t be upstaged by the little girl sitting across the table from me silently wolfing down her meal. After all I was older than her by a year and a bit, I still am.

Sunlight lazily trickled in through a slit between the curtains. Inside the lights were still on as it was actually quite early in the morning; the rooster next door had only just cleared his throat. Our fathers chatted and joked about something in a distant room, annoyingly energetic. Soon – alongside the clinking of metal spoons against ceramic bowls and slurping of kids with minimal table manners – came the excited chirps of a bird outside, presumably waking from its slumber. Not long after there was a sudden squeak and then silence…

“Ah!” I figured, “The neighbourhood cat has got it. After all it’s black. It must belong to a witch.”

That had to be it. I went back to eating that porridge, slow half spoonful after painfully slow half spoonful, reluctant but also determined because every so often the little girl would look up from her bowl to check my progress as if curious if I was eating live worms or something equally disgusting. I guess that’s what my face portrayed. That’s when I noticed the room was quiet. Too quiet. Wasn’t there muted conversation a minute ago? Didn’t I hear laughter from Dad earl- DAD!

That’s when I heard it. The car engine running just outside. It certainly wasn’t running as fast as my feet as I opened the door even before my spoon finally clunked against the floor. My father was leaving with the little girl’s father in their truck. I could see him smiling as they reversed into the street. As soon as the the wheel left the driveway and hit the tarmac so too did warm, salty tears hit my cheek. Personally I would like to forget this little outburst ever happened.

“Dad don’t leave me! I want to come too! Don’t leave meeeeeeehhhhhhh!”

But I can’t forget. I doubt I ever will. Why? Because the little girl casually sauntered up to me puzzled beyond belief and laughed:

“You’re older than me and still cry when your dad goes to work? And you’re a boy? Aa! He’ll be back in the evening.”

She was right. I went back to finish my porridge, salty tears drying on my cheeks. I couldn’t be bested twice in succession. The porridge had to go. As for my dad, he did come back just as the little girl had predicted. She may be graceful now but back then there was none of that. As soon as he walked into the house she whispered into my ear:

“I told you.”

P.S. Happy 21st baby cousin. I wish you many more fun-filled days in the future and may you always remain wise beyond your years.