The hope of a New Year

Many years pass by and we let them go… Many years pass us by and we watch them go but for some of us, for some of us few who attach meaning to the New Year, we hold on and grab onto it mightily deciding what we want to happen this new year. It is not a fool’s dream to believe that 365 days hold a fresh start for you. It is not stupid to want to be different in the new year- to want to do thing’s differently. This is because some of us, if we don’t bring hope to the new year then we remain stuck; we remain lazy, unprogressive- even regressive, uncreative, mean, unimaginative… We stay the same. One of the greatest things about humans is our need to renew ourselves, to get better, to grow and that cannot happen if we let a new year pass by without making a few adjustments.

So this new year I’m making adjustments. For me, when the clock struck 12:01am and I watched the fireworks light up the sky, I knew that my moment to shine had arrived. I realized that from that day forward, I would have to make a few changes to my life. The fireworks in the sky screamed to me of bright new hope; of an opportunity I had to grab before the last specks of light simmered into the whole consuming darkness, they sounded to me a cry of hope, exuberant noises saying, ‘Listen! Listen!’ And so here I am listening…

I have made new resolutions and I will work to make them happen. I learned recently that proactive people happen to things and do not wait to be happened to. So here I am; I am ready to happen to the world, I have decided to blossom like the lily I am- plain and simple on the outside but filled with a decidedly purposeful… I have 365 days to know so join me, join me in this cause- in this new year, let us be triumphant together!


The power of doing ‘nothing much…’

I’m sitting here, just sitting here… Engulfed in a nostalgia of the sweet days that were. When life was as sweet as apples and as relaxed as a crocodile right after supper. The clock slowly ticked away those sweet days and all I have now are sweet memories of what it was like to do… Nothing much.

But then I am sitting here, doing nothing and yet my mind runs a million miles south, east, west and north on all the things I could, should be doing. Like… Studying. Like… Folding my clothes. Like… Reading further on something i learnt in class but ahhh, do I really want to let go of those precious seconds turned into minutes of my thoughts?!

I think not!

I want to be sitting in my bed… And making a mental to-do list of nothing much. I want to revel in the knowledge that I could do so much but choose to just let the options float around my head; be the master of my actions. This takes me back to February 15th 2011 when Bruno Mars released the hit single “lazy song”. All I want to say is Bruno, you spoke to me and I want to go back to those lazy days of doing nothing much.

Well yeah the idle mind is the devils’s playground… And laziness does not pay, but… But….

To be continued


I’m living my life in the past- where I was a year and a half ago isn’t where I am now. Why does it feel like they are all speaking about a total stranger? Me? Social? All I want to do is crawl back into my sheets and stay there without another thought about it. Me? Party-girl? If only they knew how many parties I’d abscond just so I could read a nice long never ending novel.
But that’s the thing about people. Everybody wants to be a psychologist. However, psychologists see beyond the eye, beneath the smile… I’m broken into irretrievable pieces; my vision blurred so much by the tears I’m trying to keep inside, that the façade has become me. Me; who was untouched by pain and deep emotions, me who once saw the world as undented crystal.
Here I am now. I have not a clue how I got here. If asked to describe myself… I have so much to say, still believing I am who I was then and if I’m not who am I then? Why is everybody so shallow? So unobservant?
Take a deep breath lily; don’t let them see you cry. Beneath hides a vulnerability that is all too familiar, scary even. If let out, a spiral of emotion would flood back and I wouldn’t even know where to begin. There would be no stopping the storm, or controlling the quakes because some thunderclaps just never end- they only disappear. I miss those who knew me well; those who would see right through this façade; those who wouldn’t judge me by what they see.
I miss being me.


What am I wirhout You?

Not what I should be

I am closer to you and further from me

Not all eyes will see what mine see when I look at you

But to me you are, and will always be,



We are close to each other

Though far from the perfect beings

But you and I together

Can make angels and give the world wings.


I did not believe in love, you make me a believer

So I burnt all my bridges to stay on your side of the river

Life before you, the bells no loner ring

The day they’ll bury me I’ll be wearing your ring.


The day you were born, earth became my heaven

A paradise made imperfect only by your immortality

You and I my love may not live until 97

But your lips on mine, we’ll try to kiss away eternity.



Oh Rosemary

I’m sick. My nostrils flare and yet the air cannot get through. My nostrils flare again but nothing. I hate this. I cannot bear using my mouth as an inhaler. I look to my right; damn it! My handkerchief is almost full. What shall I do? Today is another dry day. There is no water. Fetching seems so tedious I cannot even think of the distance to the bore hole. My mind is already tired. Oh, how can this be?
I take a deep breath with my mouth. Damn it I can almost remember the days when breathing feels so natural. The discomfort is killing me. Tick tock I hear the clock on the mantle. It is only 12? I have to do this for the rest of the day! Oh no! I have not even a rag I want to spare to blow my nose and there is no water so I cannot depend on using the sink.
It gives me no comfort knowing that others have to go through this as well. I just pity them. I pity them and myself as well. I close my mouth and try to breath in my nose. It is blocked. Such is the extent of my ordeal.
The foolishness of which I came about this cold makes all this not worthwhile. I was smelling some plants; Rosemary (the spice to be exact). Isn’t its purpose to bring me joy? Is this the price I pay for plucking it prematurely? For robbing it of the vanity it gets from being admired, from being scented?
Oh sweet smelling Rosemary, I wish I could put you in my chicken and never desire another plant again! Oh rosemary, I wish I could grow you in my garden and watch you as I wake and lay down to sleep.
Your punishment does not deter me from loving you; your wickedness does not keep me from wishing to be in your presence again.
For a second there I forgot my woes. This could work maybe! I’ll get better before I know it.rosemary