Hello?

Fuck convention...

Say goodbye.

Down memory lane

When I still could string a few sentences together. As her birthday comes up. Hoping to have this made into a poster or something.

You weren’t there; when the storm drove the demons forth into the light and the air was rent with pain and celebration. 

When else could such a tempest be followed by such joyous pleasure? Perhaps only on the day angels knew you were forged has my inner heart known such happiness; but until then, not my conscience. 

You were born of my mistake, an error in my conduct. May I be assured that all my mistakes are such wondrous gifts. My daughter; allow me to honour you. 

Out of disgrace you emerged triumphant. For several minutes the world disappeared and only you and I existed. You knew me and I knew you. In my arms you nestled, not a whimper because you weren’t nesting with a stranger. As the world re-gathered around us it was a new world. For you it would a first journey of discovery; for me, like the life-force you feasted on for nine months in my belly, the scales had been removed from my eyes and a new journey lay ahead of me. 

I was terrified I would stumble and fall on the potholes of this new path, but with my thumb clutched in your tiny fist you guided me through. You taught me purpose, your brought me up! While my body gave you sustenance you watched me keenly; in your eyes I read reams of poetry and beautiful stories. 

I wonder which of us blinked first because all too soon that time passed for us. Suddenly you were stomping about in your sturdy little feet, your plump arms flailing and demanding a hug, a sloppy kiss, love, my very self. 

You took it for granted it would come because that is the mother you taught me to be. Today you are almost as tall as I. No longer does your enthusiastic hug threaten to topple me as you ring yours arms around my legs. Instead, you fell me by placing your head on my breast and I smell your essence. You smell of play, energy and love; a deep breath changes my world anew every time. 

When I am old and wizened; I will remember this moment, when you came to my mind and I sat down to write you this letter. I want you to know, right now, right here, you are my life. I love you, I always will. 

I hate my name

My Xhosa name sux.

Mainly because I share it with snot-nosed toddlers.

And idiot teens.

And boys.

Ugh!0

Closet metaphors...

A gift that keeps giving.

I spend a fair amount of time organising my closet. I like it neat and orderly.

Then I wake up late, have to rush around and the act of pulling a T-shirt can undo then entire organization of said closet.

I often leave everything heaped on the floor, only to come home in the evenings and be confronted with the mess.

My closet, my obsession with keeping it orderly, is a metaphor for my own life.

No matter my concerted efforts to keep it level, it always descends into chaos.

Seeking...

A blogger named Entropy. He or she blogged around 2007.

Please let me know if you're him or her

Thanks, Bee