change

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“If everything you think you know
Makes your life unbearable
Would you change?
Would you change?
If you’d broken every rule and vow
And hard times come to bring you down
Would you change?
Would you change?”

Change, Tracy Chapman

some days more than others, you need to ask yourself hard questions. you need to realise that you might not like the answers but still have the grace to sit through the conversation with yourself. it’s how we progress. sometimes we are at war only with ourselves. we want things that don’t us. we are with people we don’t want to be with. we are doing things we don’t want to do. we are amplifying things we are not sure we believe in.

and sometimes, it’s simply because we don’t like the uncertainty of change. we are not brave enough to do the things we know deep down are what’s right for us. we don’t want to be any different from the person we were yesterday. it’s too uncomfortable. it upsets. but baby, it’s got to be done. it’s got to be done.

“Are you so upright you can’t be bent?
If it comes to blows,
are you so sure you won’t be crawling?
If not for the good, why risk falling?
Why risk falling?”

-Change, Tracy Chapman

do you like the person you have become? it’s okay, you are getting there. you are getting there. but what’s got to be done has to be done. if it will make you sleep at night with no regrets, it might be be brutal but, it has to be done.

do you like the person you have become?

 

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Over a Cup of Kawa

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If we were having coffee(which would be very necessary now that it’s quite cold), I’d ask how your week has been. Boy! I have had one long week but it’s over and we are stronger, right? I even breathed some “holy air” like Ruth put it(translation: might have been a really gorgeous human being or something like that.) I also ran into some ghosts and I didn’t even turn the other way. It’s like “Oh, this too?” in a very bored voice as though telling life, “You’ve fired your best shots and these are just rubber bullets.”

That reminds me, the other day (the other day, contextually speaking, could mean anything from last month to yesteryear but it sounds like something sophisticated people use. “The other day I was in Venice…” “The other day I received a call from the Presidents’ office…” “The other day I was reading Esther’s blog…” See? So I’m going to use it too.) What were we saying? Oh yes, the other day I found out that Scott unraveled after his novel, The Great Gatsby, made it big. Apparently, he was trying so hard to write something just as good or even better and it was not coming along as expected so he drowned In alcohol and wrote screenplays for a living. It was funny and sad at the same time. Funny because he, apparently, bought the remaining copies of the book. Wait, what was my point? Oh yes, best shots being fired and being left with rubber bullets. Is there a point in the point? Don’t ask (but I strongly recommend you ruminate on that if you like to write).

The other day, a very strange child was left in my care. It’s a universally known fact I’m not THAT good with kids but lately, I try. I’m even almost through with learning to teach Sunday school (and by almost I don’t mean two or three months. That said, we shall not discuss how long ‘almost’ stands for). Apart from the fact that I missed my first visitation day as a big sister(Poor child was heartbroken. Okay, maybe not but I made up for it anyway.) I have been on my best behavior with kids so when I say the child was strange, I do not exaggerate. He’s about five and he neither talks nor laughs. I lie, but only just a bit. He knows common courtesy, “Thank you”, “Good morning”…but that’s just about it. He has full conversations only with himself and watches SpongeBob with a straight face. You just cannot trust people who don’t find SpongeBob funny. That’s my point, hope you’re enjoying your coffee.

Anha! of strange people, I watched this TED talk where I was more intrigued by the architecture of the lady’s outfit than what she was saying. It looked like it belonged on the Star Wars set but who I’m I to judge?  The talk was about being yourself but I don’t remember much, if anything for that matter. I got the point though, from her outfit that is.

I probably like you. I’m chatty around people I like. Or maybe I’m on a sugar high who knows? It appears that at this point, I’d bite my tongue and ask you about your strange encounters lately. I’d then wish you a beautiful week and remind you to be yourself in a world that has a template of who you should be. And like Dorbell says;

As you go through life, Falk, there will be no shortage of people who will tell you how to live. They’ll have all the answers for you, what you should do, what you shouldn’t do. Don’t argue with them. You know, say “Yes, that’s a brilliant, brilliant idea,” and then do what you want.

Wake Up | NF

For Days Like These

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For days like these, when your memory fails to cover the wounds that haven’t healed, because the doctor said some don’t need Band Aid. They need to be left alone, untouched, uncovered…they need to ‘breathe‘ he said. And so you had to ditch your favorite jeans because sometimes, the things you love the most dredge up painful memories. If only you had not been walking too fast, if only the thoughts had quieted just for a moment, maybe you should have stopped to let them settle…but hell, you didn’t.

And on days like these, when you accidentally ram into something while having the same thoughts that caused you to trip, it’s hard to ignore the wounds that haven’t healed isn’t it? You sit aside and give yourself a moment to breathe. You should always remember to breathe when the pain makes you hold your breath a little longer than you should. Breathe baby, breathe. It’s easier to let it out while you breathe. It’s harder today because you were healing, you know you were but you’re back five steps. Maybe it bleeds afresh, but most times it just stares back at you while it pains so bad. The worst part with this is that you can’t explain it, only you can feel the throbbing underneath your fragile skin…the blood rushing trying to repair your brokenness. Your skin feels clammy and warm, gathering parts of you that are alive to ease your pain.

And on days like these, when the only one that gets you is you; there is not much of an escape. You can’t hold the pen because you cradle your knees to your chest. It’s too painful to do anything else other than allow yourself to celebrate your pain. Your wounds haven’t healed, but you are alive. The pain has not killed you yet. Maybe it will one day, who knows what they’ll die of? But you are alive.

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On days like these, when your memory fails to cover up wounds that haven’t healed, remind yourself; you are alive. Breathe baby, breathe. You are an odd mix of roughneck and delicate soul and today, your delicate soul proportions strip you of all rough and leave you heaving, cursing survival. Allow yourself to breathe on days like these….

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Waves | Mr. Probz

To the Mentor that chose M.E

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I never asked but he always told me his story, in bits and pieces.

I never searched but he sought me out, and made to sure to keep me.

I never really saw it, but he said there was something about me. He was so sure I’d make it, it scared me.

He cheered me on, even when I didn’t see reason for it. He believed long before I was sure of what I was trying to achieve.

I always asked myself what it was he saw…I never got the answer, he never really said it.

I was grateful every single day I woke up to the knowledge that he even considered me worth his time. Well I savored it, and waited for the day he’d realize who he thought me to be and who I actually was were quite a distance apart. It never came.

I never got to tell him though, that when he dismissed my worship of his ingenuity I realized I could be just like him.

I never got to tell him that when he spoke to me like an equal, even though I was miles behind, I found my guiding light. I lost my confusion. I found my purpose.

I never got to tell him that the times he sent me the inspirational quotes (once a week without fail) they always found me on the edge of giving up, on looking down on everything I could be. I always found my courage. I always found my voice.

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They are all filed away somewhere 🙂

I never got to tell him that the day he sought me out, and told me I’d be the master of my art is the day I started to take my life a little more seriously. It’s the day I decided I wouldn’t disappoint myself. I had to. I just had to…

I never got to tell him that his free spirit made me find mine too. I didn’t want to impress anymore. I just wanted to create.

I never got to tell him that saving me a signed copy of his book (long before it was published) inspired me enough to have a more ‘sensible’ bucket list…

I never got to tell him that his opinion always intrigued me. Always so peculiar. So frank. Yet so truthful. He never really tried to sound like a know-it-all, even though I knew that he did.

I never got to tell him that sometimes when he described me, my eyes opened in those fleeting moments to who I am. Call it self discovery. That I got to know about Tracy Chapman…and sometimes she’s all the inspiration I needed.

I never got to say thank you enough…but whatever it is that made you believe, I see it now. I just thought I’d revisit that moment in my life, when I was 18 and you found me. I’d probably be anywhere but writing this. I chose the name of Writer Chic, he stamped it. I owned it.

And if I see you now, I’ll deny writing this… 🙂

>>Thank you for enduring my rants during #UgBlogWeek. Taking a break till 28th. Be back for the Monthly book Review. In the meantime, treat yourself like a royal. You are one. XOXO. The Writer Chic<<