Dreaming Dreams & Keeping It Real

I dreamed many dreams. I dreamed I cleansed myself from the taint of you. I dreamed I forgave myself for you. I dreamed I asked forgiveness from those whose warnings I ignored. I dreamed I readied myself for someone who would hold my heart and not take a hammer to it. I did not dream of you.

I woke up and I remembered the dreams I dreamed with you and I heard that still, small voice whisper: you did not listen. You were shown and you were told and you’re here now because you did not listen.

Isiphongo yebo sigcwele inkani futhi ngibambela khatshana but I know now what I must do: Hamba juba, tshelela matshelela bazakucutha phambili.


Untitled 13/7

I ask myself what if I let go and let the tears come instead of swallowing always swallowing this burning pain –

What if I can’t stop the downward spiral? What if I undam these tears and unswallow this hurt –

What if I can’t ever stop crying? And is there anything sadder than crying alone? I can’t imagine it but if I were forced to answer on pain of death I think –

– I think I would say that not crying is a worse thing than self-soothing? I would add that questioning lilt because I don’t know if swallowing the pain is worse than crying alone.

And then I realise that all I am is mess held together with uncried tears and foolish rules and I don’t know –

Anything. Anymore.

Unbreaking My Heart. Not. 10 to 37.

I know the truthery behind #menaretrash but I’m romantic to the core and I’m still hopeful. I still believe in love. Even with most of my heart taken over by scar tissue. Even with nothing but lies and half-truths from those to whom I made myself vulnerable, I still believe in love.

I don’t know how or why I haven’t become a bitter old crone but as far as romance is concerned I’m as optimistic and as excited as any fifteen year-old in the grip of first love. That hopefulness that you will click with somebody and click for real, that they will choose you like you choose them – despite all the disappointment and the heartache I still have that. I think more than anything else it’s believing in the possibility of love that’s kept me from being broken by heartbreak and today, 10 to 37, I believe in love so badly because the alternative? The alternative is me saying fuck it all and I don’t want to be that person.
I don’t want to be the reason for someone’s hurt and disillusionment.

I’m sad and I’m fucking tired of unnecessary lies and I’m angry and I’m hurting so badly but I still believe in love. The day I lose hope… You better hope that day never comes because if I go down, the way my petty is set up I’m taking all y’all and your lie-based relationships with me. Nx.

On Ease. And Hair. 13 to 37.

Shrinkage on my 4C

Today I had my hair detoxed, cleansed, conditioned and twisted in less than two hours and at no point did I feel rushed. I walked out of there feeling like a million bucks and let me tell you, after years of doing my own hair it felt effing good to let someone else deal with the tangles and single-strand knots for a change. If you’re natural, I recommend Hairtural Studio in Petervale, Sandton. I would have fallen asleep while Matshidiso twisted (she was that gentle) if I wasn’t stuck in Akwaeke Emezi’s Freshwater.

Akwaeke is Yagazi Emezi’s sister and in my head I’m their sister too – I love them both. But I digress…

In my own hair care practise I’ve given up products altogether because who has the time and money, really?! – and also because my plan is to eventually live off-grid and I’ll be too busy self-actualizing to think about what to use on my hair and read ingredient lists. Umankunzane and good ol’ H2O and Mummy will be good to go. See, I’m outchea getting ready to live my best life. SheaMoisture and Carol’s Daughter for what?

Hair styled by moi #fatface

I enjoyed those two hours because I love ease. What says ease more eloquently than paying someone to do my hair when I’m quite capable of doing it myself?! Paying someone to do it and having that someone do it the way I would do it – no heat, no combs, no pain – is money well-spent, and what is my birthday month for if I can’t spoil myself? Also, #teamleo, remember? We take ease seriously.

13 days to my 37th and I’m thankful that I can choose ease when I need a break from my usual routines. Things could be so much worse and I’m thankful that I am rather blessed. Oh yes I am.

P. S. I don’t see myself making salon visits a regular part of my budget because I have other things I’d rather spend that money on, but that’s not to say you can’t spend your money on my hair. Feel free, please and thank you. 😘

P. P. S. umankunzane is a creeper plant found in parts of southern Africa, also known as Devil’s Claw. It has several medicinal applications. The leaves are great for cleansing hair, producing a rich lather when crushed with water, rinsing out easily, and leaving hair squeaky-clean and soft but not stripped #holygrailthings. YMMV but umankunzane worked well when I tried it. If I could get it in the city I would definitely make it a staple product. It lasts well in the produce section of the fridge too so get you a bunch if you can.

On Grace, Still. 15 to 37.

No. 4. *hangs head in shame

Have you ever seen a photo of yourself and had to look twice because that’s not quite what you thought you looked like?

Or caught a glimpse of yourself in a mirror or maybe your reflection in a shop window and been shocked?

I have. Many times.

Especially over the past 15 days. I’m halfway through a personal challenge – 30 days to 37; a post a day for 30 days leading up to my 37th birthday – and it’s been shocking meeting myself. Not my physical self, duh, but who I am inside. Metaphors, you know.

I’ve always known I’m a procrastinator of note – I work best under pressure – but I’ve taken it to heretofore unseen levels; insane levels. Now I could rattle off any number of excuses/explanations/reasons as to why but apart from the fact that that would require oversharing – something I’m trying to stop doing (ha!) – the whys and wherefores won’t actually change anything, and I’m desperate for positive change.

I could present some pretty solid arguments as to why I have dishonoured myself by not honouring my promises to myself, but honestly, I’m at the point now where I’m ready to stop talking and start being.

I could write post after post on why this and why not that, but really I just want to move on with my life and work to become the woman I’ve put off becoming for far too long without even realising, for the most part, that that’s what I was doing. I want to begin that work, not wax lyrical on why I haven’t begun it yet.

I don’t even know what that means really, in practical terms, but I do know that something changed when I decided to face myself as I am, not as I wish to be. Suddenly, knowing that I am 100% responsible for everything in my life means something different than it ever has before. I thought I got it but I realise now how far from truth that was and how much energy and time I’ve put into excuses and explanations that I should have put instead into becoming. Honestly, I would be ashamed of myself if it wasn’t for being so thankful that I’ve been granted the grace to try again; to pick up where I left off the last time I tried and to start over if I must. #risetofightagain

15 days to 37 and all I can say is here’s to time, to second chances.

This post is dedicated to one of my favs, Uncle Arthur. Thank you for that drive.


You’ll never know how close I came to making you my world –
At the very least, the centre of it.
You’ll never know how ready I was to channel Adele
And make you feel my love.
You’ll never know how hard it was with memories of you –
Of big hands and those words –
Haunting my every move.
How I missed you. How I miss you.
You’ll never how sincerely I loved you
Or how I ached for you
Or how sad I am for you…
You’ll never know I can’t help but be happy for you darling,
Because I love you enough.
To want your happy.

Those first mornings I used to wonder how I would carry on;
Wondered what my life would be –
What I would be.
Without you.
But I like Chantay Savage I will survive.
Always. Always. Always.
Angizobulawa luthando –
My name is not Ophelia.
I live and breathe and continue to be
And with or without you I will still be.
I will find my words again.
I will exhale.