Journey Out of the Uncomfortable: This Space is Taken

 

So the other day, after a conversation with my mother, I decided that it was time to clear out my closet. It was a wreck. It started off well, I removed my school uniform from years ago, my old blazers, old clothes I’d forgotten about. As I sat on the floor to empty the bottom shelf of the cupboard, I discovered a pile of jeans I’d stored away for “When I Lose Weight”.

I’d kept those jeans for years. There were other clothes with the jeans. Clothes I wanted to wear “When I Am the Right Size”. The pile had grown with the years.

I looked at a couple of the jeans and realized, I’d probably fit them if I tried. But I didn’t try them on. I collected them and shoved them in a big, black bag.

I sat on the floor for a while and pondered on the times I’d done this in my life. Put things and people aside for “When I Am Right for Them”.

From books, to friends, to relationships, etc. I’d done that. If something came to an untimely end or so, I immediately thought that it was my fault and I set out to change myself until I could fit into their world.

The obvious result of my actions: Identity confusion. A worn out mind and body. A broken heart.

What’s the connection here? Between keeping old, small clothes and failed situations? Wrong intentions. A damaging mindset.

I’ve spent a considerable amount of my life carrying the label “Guilty” on my forehead. I took flak for wrongs I wasn’t a part of. I apologized for everything. I agreed to avoid conflict. I took the fall, so no one else would. For no reason, but to be accepted. To not be alone.

And I carried all this dead weight for years. This dead weight would come to life and become active in many of my human interactions over the years. Until I decided that it was time to drop the baggage and live in the freedom that I was given.

Part of that meant speaking up. Part of that meant taking a stand. Part of that meant saying no.

It surprised many and affected many of my relationships with people. And as the changes occurred, I reflected on how absent the person I was born to be had been.

Acceptance from people is nothing, if you’ve had to sacrifice your entire being for it. What’s there to accept? Nothing. Which is why people end up treating you like dirt, when you spend your life chasing after their approval.

Look at the world right now. Look at some of our leaders. Some people who got to where they are, by doing insane things for those in higher powers, just to be ousted by these same people.

It’s all over social media. The struggle for relevance. For acceptance. For shares, RT’s, and a heart here and there. A couple of emojis for control.

But there are enough pieces on social media behaviour and all; I was just adding my two cents.

What am I trying to say here?

Well, believe it or not: Throw out that old, and embrace the new.

That space in your heart you’ve kept for “the one who got away”. Clear it out, dear. Remove those damaging mementos, and allow yourself to let someone in who will take good care of that space.

The failures of the past? It’s time for them to vacate, friend. That space was meant for something better. Better does come. It really does.

Those jeans that will fit when you lose one more kg, stone or pound? Let it go. But don’t drop your hard work. What’s better than fitting  into old jeans? Walking into the store, finding a size smaller than what you used to be, and rocking the heck out of them.

 

ImageCred: http://freedomtentwo.weebly.com/

Journey Out of The Uncomfortable: Trying Again

I mentioned in a previous post that I’ve had a longtime battle with my image. I spent a good number of years hating my body. I tried all kinds of things to lose weight. Some were very destructive.

My attempts always ended the same way — Gaining more weight.

I’ve watched myself fold away a favorite pair of jeans because they don’t fit…one too many times.

My chest would tighten whenever I heard the words “Let’s go shopping”

I’ve been homies with the struggle of seeing an awesome dress and realizing that it most definitely is not my size.

I hated taking full-length photos of myself because…well, I hated the way I looked.

It didn’t matter how many times I heard someone telling me how “beautiful”
I am…I never believed it.

 

Then July 2015 came and I had a *moment*. I was about to watch one of my favorite shows, and I had my junk food lined up. Halfway through my meal, I stopped and asked myself, “What am I doing?”. That was the umpteenth time I was having junk food that week, and well, it wasn’t doing my skin, my body or my general health a favour.

I guess that’s where I can say my journey started. I did a lot of thinking. I researched different recipes. Upped my water intake. And so started my “Lifestyle” journey. It wasn’t a diet, well that’s what I kept saying. It was me, making alterations to my lifestyle, for the benefit of my body.

I pushed away my mental calendars and expectations, and took it one day at a time. I gradually lowered my sugar intake, gradually upped my water intake, and changed the contents of my meals, bit by bit.

If I wanted take out, I opted for something that wasn’t a burger or fried chicken — that was not easy. But it was working. I was just taking joy in the little victories that were coming my way. And the changes came quickly. My skin ceased from being a disaster. My sleeping habits were improving. And my confidence increased.

After two weeks of working on my eating, which was the core issue of my weight gain, I joined a gym and went three times a week. My exercizes weren’t hardcore. I wasn’t in a rush. I was serious about getting my body into the groove. I know myself. If I approach things with too much energy and way too many changes, I quit after a while.

I was losing weight quicker than I’d anticipated. The bloating was gone. I felt good. I actually looked forward to shopping.

I put some of my ‘health’ smoothies and alternative meals up. I received a lot of encouragement. And a lot of judging too. It hurt me at first but I didn’t care. This was about me.

 

But somewhere along the lines, I lost focus. I became obsessed with the weight loss. Everything became about losing weight. If I ate too much, I’d starve myself the next day. Soon, that same old complacent feeling returned and well, the lifestyle stopped. Kind of.

Those six weeks of extreme caution, helped me regain power over my eating habits. All my money used to go to food. But now, I think before I spend. I’m not as fond of junk food as before…If I try pig out, I feel really sick the next day.

I soon learned that, caring for my body didn’t necessarily mean giving up all the foods I loved. No, it just meant moderating what I eat. Not everday fried chicken or a burger. Sometimes, just chicken and salad.

It took me a while to write about this because I felt like a real failure. Putting my health life out there on Instagram, only for it to fade. Some people had a field day with it.

At one social gathering, this girl, in front of all these people, shouted “Chipo, I thought you were on a diet.”

I wasn’t even eating anything hectic. It was party rice and chicken. I just smiled and let her go on.

It got to me for a while. But things changed.

Sometime last week, I was going through clothes I’d stored away as ‘too small’. And I tried them on. They fit! High-waisted jeans that I couldn’t wear in August? I wore them yesterday. I found a pair of leggings that were too small in July. They fit now. A couple of dresses I was about to give away? They fit. And awesomely.

I’d been so caught up in feeling like a failure, I missed out on the long-lasting effect of that…er..shall we call it a detox? Lifestyle change?

I’d put on weight in December, but within six weeks, it was gone. I didn’t do anything extreme. I just watched what I ate, and took long walks — and stressed a bit.

But there’s progress.And that’s what it’s all about. Progress.

This journey is a long one. And I’ve realized that I may fall a couple of times, but what matters really, is when I get up.

There will be hecklers. There will be skeptics. There will be times I’ll look at myself in the mirror and wonder where I went wrong.

But for every low moment, there is a high one.

I am beautiful.

I am precious.

I am a wonder.

I am beautiful.

And I love myself, and I will only make changes to my body, because I believe that it will benefit. Not to fit some other person’s perception of appropriate.

And with every single bit of progress that comes, I smile. It reminds me that I am capable of doing anything when I put my mind to it.

And to anyone out there who may be going through a similar struggle, know this.

If I, with all my procrastination and laziness at times, can do it.

You can. I believe you can.

But even if you can’t right now, don’t let it get to you. Just get up, and keep trying until you win.

Have an awesome weekend everyone.

Photocred: R3VD Photography

Journey Out of the Uncomfortable: Beauty

 

This new year started with a couple of changes. First one being, I cut my hair for the first time in 17 years. When I was six, I begged my mother to cut my hair – I was tired of the traumatic experience that was getting my hair washed. I hated the pain that came with getting my hair braided. So one Sunday, a friend of hers cut my hair. I remember looking in the mirror and smiling.

I went through something similar on the 2nd of January. I looked in the mirror, looked at my new very mini-fro and smiled. “Let the natural hair journey begin.”

My first week was near-disastrous. I was almost late for church on Sunday. I almost missed a meeting the next day. I’d underestimated the care that would be required. Sure I’d read the articles and all but “I never esperrerit”.

Continue reading “Journey Out of the Uncomfortable: Beauty”

Short Story: Oranges

Lara hated oranges. She hated the taste, she hated how sticky her fingers became after handling one, and she hated them because Lance loved them.

She shuddered as she thought of how her would buy a large bag of oranges from the Farmer’s market every Saturday. He’d come into the house whistling an
off-key rendition of Frank Sinatra’s Fly Me To the Moon, bag of oranges over his shoulder, and swing the bag at her head. If she dodged the bag, he’d beat her up.
The first time it happened, she cried for hours. Now, five years into their marriage, she’d come to expect the beatings. Sometimes Lance would sing
whilst he beat her. He used to find reasons to ‘discipline’ her but nowadays, he beat her for anything. Some days he’d just slap her around but there were a couple of occasions
where his violence landed her in hospital.
Like this time.
Lara was in the Intensive Care Unit, bandaged and propped up, staring at the fruit salad the nurse had brought her. It was littered with small, glistening orange slices.
The smell was revolting. It was almost as bad as the smell of alcohol that clung fiercely to her husband. Alcohol was his mistress. His lover.
It worked hand-in-hand with Lance’s other lover, football. She was in hospital because of a football game gone wrong. Lance often acted like she was the source of all his problems.
He’d been sloppy this time around. He’d thrown her through the glass door that led to their terrace. The neighbours’ dinner party was in full swing.
They saw everything. Her husband was in the county jail at that very moment. No one was willing to bail him out.
Lara thought of the years of madness that were her life. After he’d finish beating her up, he’d go to the kitchen and eat a couple of oranges. When he was done, he’d throw the peels at her.
Lara often wondered how she’d managed to marry such a brute. Had he always been like that? Probably.
She hated a lot of things because of her husband. Oranges. Frank Sinatra. Her life.
She sighed, as she thought of what would happen when she left the hospital. Her family was pushing her to file for divorce. Support from her neighbours was pouring in.
The police seemed to be on her side.
The thought of everything was giving her a migraine. She pressed the call button and waited. The nurse was there in a second.
“Are you alright, darling?” she asked. Lara shook her head slowly.
“Could you please remove this fruit salad? The oranges are killing me.”
That’s how she’d handle her life, Lara resolved. One problem at a time.

Today

We still haven’t met.

That’s okay.

Though I hoped it would be today,

I’m not mad or sad.

 

We didn’t meet today,

That’s okay.

I know that one day that day will be ‘today’,

The day, That day, Our first day…

 

The day that I’ll remember with a glint in my eye.

The day we’ll try to recollect together and accuse each other

Of bad memories and white lies.

Our day.

 

The day your universe collided with mine and

The invisible timer reset from 22 years and a month and a bit

To Year 0 Day 1: Our Time.

 

Maybe, on that day, we’ll know that this is for good.

 

Or maybe you’ll know and I’ll take a while

But my eyes will open and I’ll realize that

“Hey… you’re a good kind of forever, so I choose you too.”

That day…That ‘today’ that’ll lead to

Aisles and guests and pretty clothes and I dos.

That day that will lead to many mini versions of us combined.

I look forward to that day, I really do.

The day I meet you.

 

Or maybe we’ve already met but our eyes are yet to be opened?

As we wade through life, towards each other, and towards more life…

As we are constantly prepared for assorted journeys

And our own, of course.

As we walk, as we stumble – sometimes, as we run, dance and sing…

Towards that day…

That day…

Today.

That today.

I look forward to that day.

The day it makes sense.

The day it’s official?

That our universes intertwine after collision,

And we slowly begin to make joint decisions,

From that today to more todays until…

Well, I’m not thinking about that day.

That can wait.

Wait.

I can’t wait.

But I don’t mind waiting.

Because on that day this will all make sense.

Even if it doesn’t, we’ll make sense of it on our own.

Us.

You.

Me.

We.

That day.

That very day.

Today.

 

Photocred: Edri Ana

I Woke Up Hating You

For anyone who’s going through the journey of letting go, forgiving, and allowing themselves to heal.

**Disclaimer as always: I am fine. This is not about me. No need to be concerned :)**

I woke up hating you.
Rage in my mind,
Boiling in my blood.
That mental image of your face had me waking up hating you.

Remembering the things you’d do,
To make me believe you cared too.
Hammering away at the walls in.my heart,
Just to wreak havoc and tear me apart,
I woke up hating you.

As I recalled your gall,
Your boldness to call me out on
Not trusting you. Not giving you a chance.
Just a ploy for you to take over this dance.
As I ball my hands…into fists..
Awake…And hating you.

My breath out of rhythm,
Madness in my system,
I’ve realized this can’t be life.
I keep on like this I’ll reduce my time
Spent alive..
Spent hating you..
This won’t do.

So for forgiveness I prayed,
And the ability to love is begged for.
Day in, day out,
I battle the urge to even the score.
To justifiably end my hate for you.

But this won’t work,
I can’t let this be.
Because the only one hurting,
Harmed and affected..
Is me.

So I’ll bite my tongue,
And endure the pain,
As I learn to live again,
Love again,
Return to sane.

As I reconcile with peace,
And make friends with harmony.
Moving past the done wrongs,
Erasing the angry songs.
I move on…

To moments of laughter.
To genuine joy.
To good memories,true.
As I learn to go to bed..
And wake up clear…
As I wake up..calm.
As I wake up…happy.

As time moves,
And the seasons too,
I sigh, relieved,
That I no longer…
Wake up hating
You.

Social Disguise

Social media can be a real pain at times. I’ve been catching serious chest pains from the things I’ve been seeing on SnapChat, Instagram and Twitter lately.

It seems like everyone else’s lives were together and mine? Laughable.

#RelationshipGoals #CareerGoals #LifeGoals

You name it, I saw it. Everyone’s lives seemed to be ‘lit’ and there I was trying to figure out how to pin things on a vision board. I even looked down on my vision board for a while because,

“Other people’s goals are manifesting and I’m still struggling…I’m stagnant.”

But a month ago, something started to happen. The truth, behind all the posts and Snaps about different people, started to come out. Not in a malicious way, either. Some of these truths even came from the very people themselves. From relationships to jobs to life as it is.

What actually triggered this blog post was a conversation I was having with friends yesterday. We were discussing the transition into ‘adulting’ and started speaking about life after the island. The island being Cyprus. I mentioned how I found it awesome that some people were flourishing on this island, legally. Zero worries. Happiness. You know? Only to find out that things weren’t what they appeared to be. At all. I was taken aback.

I guess I’d reached my tipping point. I couldn’t take it anymore.

Is there anything we put up that is actually what is going on in our lives?

We say that social media is a place for us to express ourselves. I’m really starting to question that. What does it mean to ‘express ourselves’? One would think it means to show the world who we really are. I’m starting to believe we use social media to express who we wish we could be.

I thought people would exaggerate when they’d make tweets or statuses or even Instagram posts about ‘fake flexing’. Until the number of cases started growing and growing and now I’m here checking my own accounts, trying to see if I’ve fallen into the trap too.

Relationships I thought were the epitome of ‘Goals’ were facades and there were the partners telling me themselves. Folks celebrating years of being together, but they’re both entertaining young’uns and old ones in the private messages. Single folks overcompensating for not having a partner because…pressure.

Never mind the need to constantly post pictures and posts about the ‘moves’ we’re making. I fell into that trap hard. Set up my laptop, type a couple of paragraphs, pull out my phone and take a picture for all the people on SnapChat to see. I’d see everyone posting about their meetings and promotions and ‘no sleep’ movements and I’d feel so inadequate. So I’d push myself to work harder so I could join in on showing strangers and friends how well my life was going.

Many times I’ve wanted to break my ‘keep-my-life-to-myself’ rule and post very personal things. Thank God for reason. Thank God for reason, I’m telling you.

I recently finished reading Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s book, Americanah and that had me side-eyeing a lot of people too. It had me thinking. How many students are living overseas, facing flames there but posting pictures of the rare amazing times they experience so people can see that they’re ‘living the life’. Once again, I am guilty of this. North Cyprus is not the most amazing place on the planet, but I used to try and act like it was just as good a place as the UK or the US. I’d glamorize my experiences and conveniently ‘forget’ the challenges and constantly adjusting to the extremely different manner of living here.

Now? I don’t mind if you see the random patches of underdeveloped areas next to the streets I wander. I’m not shy to complain about how students are mistreated at times. I don’t keep quiet about why I chose to transfer from the first university I ended up at here. When parents of high school kids ask me about this place I tell them the live: Cyprus is a nice place, but it requires a lot of adjusting and a hell of a lot of strength. The culture shock can throw you off completely if you are not prepared.

Spending so much time observing people’s lives can really mess you over. Messed me over. Corruption exists here, like it exists everywhere in the world. Some fellows here attained their wealth through this corruption. They flaunt it. It’s everywhere. People don’t really say much because they fear these guys. No one wants to be threatened…and some of these chaps are creative with their threats. Anyway. I have some of them on my social media. Curiosity got the better of me. And it dealt with me. Seeing guys living ‘the life’, happily, carefree. Thanking God for their spoils. Turning it up. Changing houses the same way they’d change clothes. Buying cars like their prices mean nothing. Spend enough time observing their lives and you get so filled with pain…with envy, actually…you forget about how they got their money in the first place. It takes a lot to come back down to earth sometimes, especially on the low days.

Questions do come up. “Why am I struggling and they’re flourishing?” “What’s the point in trying to do things the right way?” “Where’s my big break?”

I could be a liar and say those thoughts never cross my mind. They do. A lot. Sometimes I ask God why I wasn’t born with a trust fund just waiting for me to access it. Why my business ideas were taking so long to bring in funds. Why Cyprus. Why me.

But in the cloudiness and craziness of it all, sense returns. Slowly. Steadily. I guess that’s why the truth about a lot of painted lives have come to surface. To remind me that not everything is what it appears to be. I don’t take delight in it, though. I don’t find it pleasing to know that some people are miserable. I can’t gloat or rejoice because I know that person or those people must have a lot going on inside of them for them to find it necessary to pretend. Maybe pretending is their way of escaping the madness in their own lives. Maybe the mask isn’t a theatrical one. Maybe, to them, it’s their oxygen mask – giving them what they need to survive.

It’s easy to throw shade. I tend to take the rocky path of trying to understand. Even the “shallow”, have pain they deal with.

Who am I to judge…

Who are we to judge…

We can try play righteous and act like we’ve never had a petty moment of showing off ‘what’s good’ as a form of escape. Then again…maybe it’s not that deep for all of you. Maybe you’re genuinely secure about your life. That is awesome. I applaud you. I’m trying to get there too. Trying to learn to enjoy my life without using the misery others go through as means of encouragement.

I just hope that one day…we’re able to really express ourselves. It is happening. Day by day people are being more open about how they’re feeling. People aren’t as afraid anymore to say that they are not okay. People are speaking about their struggles and they are connecting. Bonds are forming. Slowly. But it’s happening.

I hope it keeps growing.

Lord knows we need it.

Tearing Down the Perfect Image

Sometime last week, I realized that I needed to post this…but the thought of how much energy this would require, made me procrastinate.

But as the days have gone by and the struggle has intensified…I realized that it’s time.

Standard Disclaimer:

I am fine. I am okay. There is no need to buzz me or my mother and ask about my emotional wellbeing. I am okay 🙂

————————————————————————————————–We live in a contradictory world. Fact. Obvious. Yes, yes…

We’re told to be ourselves…but moved to conform to a certain ‘norm’.

We’re told ‘nobody’s perfect’ but there are all these standards we’re meant to live up to?

Who is to blame? Society? The Media? The common scapegoats?

I think it’s also time we take a look in the mirror and realize that we have played a part too.

The media wouldn’t keep promoting something if it wasn’t receiving support.

Society…

Who do you think ‘society’ is? This random building filled with horrible people?

Maybe in some places but that is besides the point.

“the aggregate of people living together in a more or less ordered community”

That is the Google definition of society.

We are society. We are the people with expectations of all sorts.

We set standards for other people and then shame them for breaking their backs, trying to live up to that standard.

I’ve been guilty of that. So guilty. I was *that* Christian girl. Uppity and high and mighty. Quick to forget what God’s Mercy did for me, eager to throw people’s mistakes in their face.

The long, ‘tough love’ statuses were all over my Facebook. You know the typical ones we women love to write about? Throwing all kinds of shade at struggling sisters all in the name of ‘Showing them the light’.

I’d give girls those side-eyes. You know the ‘I’m way better at this Christian game than you are’ kind of looks. I thought I’d made it. I was it.

Perfect.

There I was thinking I was embracing God’s grace…but I was so stingy with it. So stingy.

And when that all came tumbling down and life really humbled me and I realized that I was just as ‘weak’ as anyone else… my heart did change.

I dropped the ‘thous’ and ‘thys’ and adopted proper conversation.

I dropped the insensitive “Just pray about it!” and actually learned to listen.

I put aside the bragging and flexing my ‘spiritualness’ and just learned to be…Me.

I’d love to say that my life became a lot easier to handle…but that would be a lie.

That turning point was the start of me discovering who I really was.

Great, right? Mhm.

Thing is…the more I discovered myself…the more pretense I detected in the life I was living. The more things weren’t adding up.

Small example: Heels in church.

I love high heels. I do. They’re beautiful. Terribly, painful though. I’d wear them to church like a lot of my sisters do and there’s nothing wrong with that. But after a while, when my feet were killing me, I’d sit down or just endure the pain.

But I started to question that. While I was focusing on the pain my feet were experiencing…I wasn’t focusing on anything at all. No talking to God. My singing was hollow. All of it.

How on earth was that a good thing?

But I was too scared to wear flats to church in fear of being given the side-eye.

But one day, I almost sprained my ankle and I decided enough is enough. I can’t do it. I’m meant to be praising and connecting with God but there I was worrying about my appearance and what other people would say.

When I did try talking about my issue…I often hit a brick wall. People didn’t get it. And that’s okay. We’re humans, it’s expected.

Anyway, now I’m that girl who can rock up to Sunday Service in kicks and be unashamed. It means I can be genuine in my worship. I’m not saying don’t wear heels or fancy outfits. No.

But you need to make sure that you’re not trading your time with God for a time of shine. As long as nothing is getting in the way of that, that’s good.

Anyway, I’m not here to dictate what you should and shouldn’t do.

Not too long ago I had a meltdown. Pressure and stress got the better of me and I cracked. Badly.

My emotions were everywhere. My motivation was absent. Old habits creeping back into my life.

And I was mad because I was like, “Lord I can’tbe like this. People are watching me.”

Saying that out loud…I found the source of my trouble.

People-pleasing.

I was so focused on keeping my life together so people would be happy and could be inspired…I lost sight of the fact that…

My life actually isn’t altogether.

I’m a 22 year old lady whose life is changing everyday. Some changes are good. Some take a lot of adjusting.

But I’d rooted in my mind that “No, everything must be smooth. I can’t mess up. Chipo Biti cannot mess up.”

If I ever looked down or tried to tell people I wasn’t okay, I was often met with

“But you’ve got so many things going on! The blog! The magazine! You’re doing well!”

Achievements don’t warrant happiness or a put-together life.

I’m ever dependent on God’s grace and His Mercy. I fall down so many times..and He always picks me up and keeps me going.

That’s what we need to be doing for each other. Not tearing each other down everytime someone makes a mistake.

Christians, especially. We’re so quick to judge each other and beat each other down in the name of ‘tough love’.

We uphold this unrealistic perfect image that none of us are able to fulfill, and when we fall, we wonder why we get so much flack?

Is this life?

We can never fulfill this crazy perfection we’ve conjured up in our heads. A perfection that requires our work and effort.

Not at all.

It isn’t our duty to be ‘perfect’ or whatever.

It’s our duty to love. To help one other when we fall. To cheer one  another when we’re going through challenges.

Not throwing out insensitivity and saying ‘Thank God that isn’t me.’

I’m not perfect. I’m not some superwoman with her life together.

I cry. I make mistakes. I forget things.

But God keeps me going and He is my source. He is my strength.

It’s all Him.

I hope this helps someone.

Have a great week 🙂

Legacy

So yesterday they announced that Durban won (let’s not go into logistics) the bid to host the Commonwealth Games in 2022.

Whilst everyone commented on the relevance of the Commonwealth Games and the controversy surrounding them, I was sitting in front of my laptop with my jaw on the floor.

I realized that in 2022, I’ll be 29. Twenty-Freaking-Nine. This hit me because I’d drifted into a dreamy world of ‘Forever Young’. Sometimes I still think I’m 20. And I realized that between now and 2022, my life is going to experience so many changes. Time seems to speed up drastically after 21 – or so I’ve heard.

I had so many questions. I have so many questions.

On the day of these Commonwealth Games in 2022, where will I be? What will I be doing? I’m not asking in some existential-crisis kind of way. No.

I genuinely want to know.

29…Will I be married by then? Will I have kids? Will I have complimentary tickets to the games or will I be reflecting on the dreams I had at this age that never came to pass?

I’m a firm believer that I will fulfill my goals and I’m working towards them, but sometimes I do have those moments where I wonder.

In a world full of disillusioned dreamers, sometimes I do ask myself why I think I’ll be the special one who made it? My answer used to be, “Well God is on my side.” Then I met disillusioned dreaming Christians who also have/had God on their side.

Seven years from now the world will definitely not be what it is today. Will it be good? Will it be worse? What is worse? Where is rock bottom?

My country, Zimbabwe. I wonder all the time. Where will it be in Seven years? Seven years ago we had, what we thought was, the worst economic and political situation in a very long time. We thought that was rock bottom.

But in this 2015, where people are being laid off on then daily, vendors are being run off the streets, and more and more university students are becoming airtime vendors and Sadza sellers…What will the next seven years bring?

The questions keep flowing in. Several of my peers are already married/on their way there. When will the day come where I receive my first wedding invitation? Who among my group of friends will get married first?

Please don’t mistake my questions for pessimism or resignation. I am an optimist. Sometimes more than I should be. I have dreams. Some of them have already come true. Some are in the making. Some are still in my head.

I’m not one to talk about them. I believe in letting the results speak for me. Much easier way to deal with doubters.

I look forward to seeing where my life goes. It scares me, though. In nine months, my life has changed in so many ways. So when I think of seven years? *shudders*

But it was a much-needed reality check. Moment of reflection. Mirror moment? Okay.

It reminded me of why I need to keep pushing, keep going. I don’t want to leave this earth as just “somebody who tried”.

I want to be somebody who has touched lives. Not for the fame or the glory or whatever 95% of the human population (my guess) is chasing after…

There’s just something about seeing a genuine smile break out on someone’s face, especially when they’ve been down and out for so long.

There’s something about seeing someone who’d lost all hope, begin to hope and believe again…

Humans. We’re crazy. We’re destructive. We’re something else. But we’re also beautiful. We have the power to do such amazing, fulfilling things. Some are already doing that.

What are you doing?

Where are you going?

I have no idea where I’ll be in 2022, but I look forward to finding out.

How about you?

Giggling Reminiscence

It started with a friend’s post I saw the other day. She was reminiscing on a silly thing she’d done to impress a guy she liked.

I chuckled as I read her tweets because it took me back to my moments of silliness. And there have been plenty of those. Let me try think of one that won’t freak my mother out, should she discover this blog one day.

Oh yes, I remember. And forgive me, because it really is silly. You may just cringe.

When I was 11, I had an enormous crush on this one boy at my church. He had no idea who I was. I just knew that he was an awesome dancer, and way older than me. But after watching enough Teen Rom-Coms where the freshman gets the senior hottie or even *the college guy* (someone needs to explain this to me, since America has this whole underage law?), I believed that anything was possible.

Did I ever speak to the guy? Nope. Did he ever see me? I doubt it, considering he was a super tall adolescent and I was this pee-wee of a preteen.

Anyway, when my crush on him was in full effect (he was the only channel on mind, yes really), I decided that I was going to get him to notice me.  I had plans to join the dance team (could I dance? nope). But fortunately, by what I can only call a divine intervention, I moved countries. Never saw him again til years later.

And when I did, I barely recognized him. He hadn’t become ‘ugly’ or weird or anything. I just didn’t remember his face.

And I laugh as I think of that because once upon a time I used to stand on my toes to try and find him.

I’m also laughing because that wasn’t the last time I tried to do something ridiculous to impress a crush. I think I was ‘blessed’ with awkwardness in abundance lol. Because with every crush I’ve ever had, believe that there was some awkward or stupid Chipo action attached to it.

Fortunately, the damage was minimal – we hope.

But think about it. How many of us go to crazy lengths to impress the apple of our eye? The man or woman on our mind?

They say love is blind? I say crushes are lethal. Because that unstable combination of infatuation, hope and a dash of confusion, can really send you over the edge.

I’ve seen friends to crazy things in the name of a crush. I’ve seen guys spend their last to get the right outfit so they can approach the woman of their dreams.

I thought that these things die with age. They don’t. They really don’t. I feel like they worsen with age. I have no scientific explanation for this – I have no energy to fight with Google.

Think of some of the silly things you may have done in the name of having a crush on someone. It’s alright, don’t feel ashamed. Laugh. Giggle about it.

Life is a lot better when we learn to laugh at ourselves, I believe. I’m a serial tripper, I trip all the time. I’ve learned to laugh right after a near-fall. It shocks everyone around you, even silences the snide remarks that people think up.

Anyway, before I digress further:

Have a great week. Reflect on where you are now and where you were before. Regardless of where you are now, know that you have grown. You have moved. You have made some progress. It may not be to your satisfaction but it counts for something.

It does.

So smile and if you feel kind, share a memory of when you had  a crush on someone.

Bless you all

Chipo