Love

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First of all can I just say my workload went from zero to one hundred in the space of three days, I went from having nothing to do last week, to two lab reports and an assignment all due this week. I am pre-tired about the tiredness I am soon to experience. I suppose I am handling myself pretty well since I created the time to write this. Who am I kidding! I am worn out and I am trying to keep myself awake so I can get busy soon. Okay enough about this never ending exhaustion.

Earlier on today I was watching music videos on the internet, and I came to the realisation that I want to be loved, I want to love someone deeply and I want to be in love with someone. This might seem like a repetition, but to me these are three completely different things.

I will start with wanting to be loved, do not take this the wrong way, I am not saying nobody loves me. I know my friends love me, I mean how could they not? I am awesome. I am sure my parents and my sisters love me, maybe not entirely; but I know they cannot live without me. That counts right? I am not talking about that kind of love.

I am talking about the romantic, passionate, physical and unconditional type of love. The kind that everyone is so afraid to feel, the kind that people claim they are incapable of feeling simply because they were hurt by one human out of the entire population of humans on earth (that is none of my business though). That is what I want in my life right now. I hope to meet someone who likes me because of all the outstanding and exciting things about me, but loves me despite all my imperfections. Who knows, maybe I have already met him. Studies say that by the time you are twenty-one years old you would have met your future husband. Just a side note for my future husband, if you are reading this, please come and love me already!! I am just kidding.

When I say I want to love someone deeply, I mean just that. I want to love someone intensely. To bring out the best in him, to help him grow; spiritually and mentally. I want to feel like home, I want us to talk about nothing and everything, I want us to do really corny things together, I want to be able to walk around with our fingers intertwined and our palms touching, I just want someone to spoil, with all the things that make them happy, but more importantly I want to take him to the peak of everything that he is. That is my traditional and sort of modern idea of loving someone.

I think being in love with someone is special, we do not choose to be in love with someone, it just happens. For me, being in love with someone means putting them first. Although, I hate that I tend to ignore what is best for me. I can justify myself though; when I am in love with someone, I want to love them wholeheartedly or I don’t want to love them at all. So I think it is safe to say that love is complicated and slightly messed up, but it’s magical… and that’s all I want, something magical.

 

 

 

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March

So its March now, well we are fourteen days into the month. March has always been the hardest month of the year for me, a part of me wants to say for my family too, but I would rather speak for myself.

My grandma passed away in March 2016; I was eighteen years old. It was a tough time for me, especially because I have a very hard time expressing my emotions. She passed away at a time when I was old enough to understand how the loss of someone you love truly hurts and how it changes you in ways you cannot explain; more so she passed away at a time I wished I had been good to her when she had moved in with us. I am ashamed to say this, but I was nasty; I don’t particularly know why, but I hate myself for that and I wish I could tell her that I am sorry. This one time I was in the car with mum and I remember saying ‘ You know your mum doesn’t like me right.’ I had absolutely nothing to base that assumption on, but for some reason I felt like I had to share that with her.

Eventually, she became very ill and it became depressing to be in the house. To be honest going to school was depressing too. Mum was never happy anymore, I had never seen her like that before, she didn’t even pretend to be happy. I tried to be there for her, but I always felt like she resented me for not being kind to her mum, for a long time after she passed away I still felt the same way, I still do even now because we never talked about it.

In February she spent her last time in hospital, I went to see her everyday after school. I didn’t enjoy those visits, she didn’t talk as much anymore, she didn’t talk at all; the pain was just so unbearable. At that point I tried to mentally prepare myself, so I would be able to heal from the pain of losing her; I used to cry myself to sleep, sometimes I would leave the classroom just to be alone; she hadn’t passed away but I was already mourning her loss. I was scared of how much it would hurt mum. She was discharged from the hospital and the doctor suggested that she be taken to a hospice, so they could make her last days as comfortable as possible.

On the 5th of March I went to sleep without saying goodnight to her, I should have said it, I wish I had, I wish I had hugged her one last time. I could have gone to check on her, I mean she was in the room next to mine, but I didn’t, instead I spent the whole night awake texting, when I did sleep, mum came into my room and woke me up, and said ‘Come and see Gogo’ at that point I knew that the day I had been dreading for so long had arrived. I saw her lying on the bed lifeless, she looked so peaceful though. Mum tried to be strong, she really did. I knew her heart was broken and I knew there was nothing we could do to make her feel better; all I wanted to do was to be strong for her, so in turn I chose to ignore my emotions, just so I could be what she needed at the time. She never needed me, well that is what I think. She was depressed, she didn’t smile for a very long time and that broke my heart. Mum’s birthday was five days later, we tried to make it special, but it was difficult to celebrate. I honestly thought that she would never smile again.

It has been three years now and I am not going to say the pain goes away, because it really doesn’t. Going to the graveyard is always so difficult. I would have loved for her to see me go to university, I wish she could see the woman I have become, I wish she had taught me how to knit, and how to make soap, I wish she had taught me how to speak Nyanja fluently and how to be so kind. I just wish she was here.


New beginnings?

So today was the first day of the new semester. Last night I stayed up late thinking about all the things I want to do better this semester, like; asking questions more often, reading wider, not being so quick to anger, making new friends and being more adventurous. There’s probably a lot more I want to do better, but I haven’t thought about it yet.

I feel like I shouldn’t have made “resolutions” for the semester because I haven’t even sat down to think of what I want to have achieved by the end of the year. Last year I was proactive about change and I did get results and that was good, but I still haven’t figured out why I don’t have that same energy this year. What’s changed?

Oh and I’ve decided that I’m going to cut more people out of my life, which is funny because not so long ago I was complaining about not having enough friends to invite a party; which is even funnier because I hate parties, but I want to have one. I suppose with friends it’s more about quality not quantity. Does that count for humans? It should.

So if I knew you in 2017 and we haven’t spoken since then, simply because we didn’t make the effort, or I did and you didn’t reciprocate the effort. Then in 2019 I don’t know you. Best believe that if I see you on the street I will say nice to meet you. This semester I’m not about people wasting my time. I’m too old for this. Why do people waste each other’s time anyway? Like is there some kind of thrill behind that? Does it lead to reward centers coming alive?

Anyway this wasn’t supposed to be that kind of post, where I call people out for all the shitty things they do, it’s supposed to be about me starting afresh and being able to change what I did wrong previously. So I guess now I need to make resolutions for the year.

Oh and can I just say I did a good job today. I mean I remembered all my classmates’ names. I’ve known them for four semesters now, but I still found myself calling people names that aren’t theirs. This has to be an achievement of some sort.

Finally… I’ve lost my tattoo virginity

First of all can I just say the internet is a lie! I didn’t cry, at all. I expected to cry a river.

10am:

I have wanted to get a tattoo for the longest time now, probably before I thought about getting my nose pierced and I was 15 years old when that happened.

Strangely getting my nose pierced wasn’t as painful as I had imagined. I thought I’d cry (I really need to stop relying on the internet) I didn’t cry, probably because I was 20 years old.

There’s a lot of social stigma surrounding nose piercings, let alone tattoos; I suppose it’s an abomination! (I just did my ugly laugh).

This man once asked me if having my nose pierced was supposed to have a sexual purpose. It’s sad to say in this world everything we do has to be “sexual”. I just wanted to look cuter, to live a little, to get out of my comfort zone. There’s absolutely nothing sexual about that.

Yesterday when I woke up I decided that tomorrow (today) would be the day. The day I get the tattoo I hadn’t stopped talking about. If you say you know me, and you didn’t know that I wanted a tattoo; shame on you. Don’t ever say you know me again!

So I contacted Shané Miller ( the tattoo artist) who I’ve been low-key stalking to be honest. I just had to be sure, she’d be the one! (She’s totally a big deal!!!) Anyway, I made my appointment, and excited wouldn’t be the best word to describe how I’m feeling at this very moment., I suppose ecstatic would do justice to the feeling I have.

Although I must admit I’m slightly anxious because I’m going alone. That’s not a bad thing right. I mean who better to share this magical moment with than myself? And anyway I always refer to myself as “The Independent Woman”. So I’m simply being independent.

I’ve done all kinds of research about what the experience will be like, I even watched videos. Smh. Honestly, the pros outweigh the cons.

I know some people (no fingers pointed) have this belief that when a woman has a tattoo or tattoos it means she’s giving herself away to men,so they can harass her. I completely disagree with this. How on earth do these concepts even correlate? I’ve come to the conclusion that these assumptions are made by the men who actually target women, or by the men who feel intimidated by a woman who expresses herself freely, maybe it’s the women too, the ones who are too scared to deviate from the norms, and probably secretly wish they had the courage to do it themselves. Don’t get me started on the women and men who say it’s evil. I understand that my body is the Lord’s temple. But why do I call it “my” body? That’s a terrible justification I know, but why does another human get to decide what’s “evil”? Clearly you think you’re a god of some sort.

I don’t particularly care what people will think and say about me after I get this tattoo done. Life is all about making choices. I’ve made this choice. To hell with society!

You’re probably wondering what tattoo I’m getting. A dove silhouette with 4 birds flying. The number of birds doesn’t really mean anything to me. On a side note, I forgot the black T-shirt I wanted to change into, so now I’m that girl who’s going to get a tattoo whilst wearing a white blouse. Smh.

I chose doves because they represent the purity I once had, and they are flying to represent all the things I’ve lost and had to let go of along the way ; innocence is one of them. So in essence, this tattoo is a representation of Purity and lost innocence.

1pm:

This is me post tattoo. It’s beautiful. I absolutely love it!

For starters I arrived one hour earlier. ( I do things like this when I’m anxious. Sometimes I say yes or no to everything)

Can I just say I had no idea I’d have to fill in a consent form. In the movies people walk into tattoo parlour’s and they walk right out. Why don’t they show the consent forms?…

Anyway, I filled in the form whilst my heart was interchangeably travelling to my throat and to my anus. It didn’t help that Shané wasn’t talking much, nervousness makes me want to talk, a lot! So instead I had a conversation in my head about the fish tank and the canvases on the wall; whilst I was in my head, she was drawing the birds on a stencil ( I can’t remember what it’s called). I’ll skip the nitty gritties.

I lay down on the chair with my right arm over my head and I kept hoping the sweat glands in my armpit wouldn’t let me down or even worse my anus. It actually wasn’t that deep, mainly the anus part.

Just before the needle touched my skin, I asked what it would feel like and I was told ” like you’re being scratched” a very reasonable response, so I settled for that. It didn’t feel like that for me though.

At first it was uncomfortable, and my inability to control my breathing made it worse. Luckily that didn’t last long, the vibrations of the needle against my skin were kinda soothing; a few minutes later she was done with the first bird.

The second one brought about a feeling I knew all too well. I couldn’t feel my legs. If you’ve ever been baked then you know this feeling. My legs were floating, but I was lying down. So technically I was flying. I like flying! At one point I thought I was going to faint, I could feel myself drifting, but Shané started talking. Thank God for that! Otherwise I would have an incomplete tattoo, plus that would mean I’m a wuss. I’m not a wuss.

The third bird was painful. I kept my cool, but it hurt like a bitch; okay maybe not like an entire bitch, but like a half bitch. The bottom line is, it hurt!

The fourth one, well I can’t say much about it because I didn’t feel anything at all. After the fourth bird (the one closest to my chest). I didn’t feel any physical changes to be honest, but mentally there we’re fireworks! I had officially lost my tattoo virginity! It felt great!

Now can I just say tattoo artists aren’t given the credit they deserve. It’s real talent. I mean it’s one thing to be able to draw on paper with a pencil and an eraser close by, but tattoos are permanent, they can easily go wrong. So yeah that was my first tattoo experience, definitely not the last one!

Lastly a big thank you to Shané Miller, a girl is talented!! Do check out her Instagram account @nay_miller_92 . Amazing work!

Disappointment

I took this picture last weekend. I wanted the sky to have hints of crimson. Instead there were stratocumulus clouds. I was disappointed.

If there is one thing on earth that upsets me beyond words, it is failure. I know it’s inevitable, but I mean why does it have to happen? More importantly why is it so difficult to deal with?

I failed two modules. I’m frustrated about it; I put in a lot of effort last year, it clearly wasn’t enough. People do say “you reap what you sow.” So this is likely to be a consequence of my “lack” of adequate effort. But how far true is it that the fruits of your labour are as a result of the time and work you put in? There have been times when I haven’t worked hard enough to produce good results, but I still got really good grades. Then when I do put in the effort required and more, I fail two modules. Nobody needs to be told how unfair that is.

I wonder if now is a suitable time for me to say God is unfair. Or should I be asking the question “why me?” And then pray about the response that might never come. Or maybe I shouldn’t be asking any questions at all, I think I’m supposed to thank God, because I mean it could have been worse right? Don’t get me wrong, I’m a devout Christian, maybe not devout, but I’m a Christian (still working on being devout).

You know what’s worse than failing in University? It’s having to tell your parents you failed, and trying to explain what could’ve gone wrong. How do you explain something you yourself don’t understand? Like there should be a rule about that? My parents seem to handle my L’s much better than I do. Which is wild because I should be their master. (Okay that was kinda funny). I mean it’s great that they understand that it’s okay to fail, as long as you don’t give up; but is that what I really want? It kinda makes me feel like it’s acceptable to fail, maybe it is, but I don’t want it to be like that for me. At least not right now. Why?…

Because I would like to think that I’m a smart girl, and by smart I mean intelligent. But when I fail to get good grades, I doubt my intelligence all together. Ordinarily I wouldn’t want my results to define me, but I don’t know how to not let them define me.

In my twenty-one years of life, I don’t recall a time when I knew how to handle disappointment. When I was younger I used to cry every time things didn’t go as planned, at the time that “solved” the problem; as I got older I realised that crying doesn’t solve anything, so I stopped crying all together. Now I just get angry; angry at myself, angry at the world and angry at anything that doesn’t work the way I want it to at the time.

Today I’m not feeling angry. This is a different kind of disappointment. I would have said I’m content, but it can’t be contentment because I’m not happy, but I am slightly satisfied. I haven’t figured out how to describe it yet.

Man Crush Everyday (MCE)

Hmm I don’t know where to start for this one… A part of me wants to start from 2019 (today) another part of me wants to start from 2017 ( when I realized that love at first sight is actually a thing).

In February 2017 I started University. Before I go any further, can I just say University is nothing like in the movies, it’s not all fun and games; I mean it’s fun when you know people, but above all it’s challenging and very easy to get lost in the chaos. Anyway I had just started my Food Science and Technology programme which involved a lot of chemistry. I had no friends in my class, for a few reasons;

1. I was a “snob”

2. I did not talk much. People seem to like people who talk a lot.

3. I wasn’t big on being around people, when I could easily have conversations in my head when I was alone.

I had a bunch of modules that I did with people doing different degree programmes. So when I had lectures for organic chemistry, the lecture theatre would be packed with people doing Biochemistry and a bunch of other programmes. To be honest I only remembered Biochemistry because that’s what he (MCE) was studying.

When it all began…So this one day, I was early for the chemistry lecture and decided to sit close to the front, so I sat in the fourth row from the front; and guess who came in late, looking handsome as always and sat right in from of me!! He did. I cannot remember a single thing Dr Nhamo talked about in that lecture, but I do remember how the hair on the back of his head was coiled. I couldn’t take notes that day, and every other day he sat close by. I remember the first time I heard him speak, he sounded like an angel (not because I know what angels sound like, it was just beautiful), don’t get me started on the way his eyes smile when he smiles. I wanted to know more about him, but I had no idea how I was going to make that happen. I told my friends about him, and they suggested that I greet him and make things move forward, but I had a boyfriend and I didn’t really want things to move “forward”. I just liked the idea of him.

Weeks and maybe months went by without seeing him, and I hoped that giddy feeling would fade. That was a lie. I liked it. I had started attending Rotaract meetings regularly, and this one Friday I got the shock of my life when I saw him in the corner of the room. I think I had a mini heart attack. I couldn’t not look at him, but at the same time I didn’t want him to catch me looking. So I kept my cool and waited for everyone to introduce themselves. That was the day, finally this boy I had fallen in “love” with had a name. My heart was happy. Now I could do a love test on your behalf…I’m just kidding. I was overjoyed though. The semester ended and I hadn’t gained the courage to talk to you.

Then came the second semester of the year, I was the club services director for Rotaract. This was the one way I could talk to him without making my interest in him obvious, nothing exciting happened during this semester, except how my heart used to beat for him; in the most literal sense oh! and how he once passed an imaginary blunt to my friend and I. That was hilarious.

In 2018 I came back with a bang, I was so ready to pour out my heart to him ( mind you I knew nothing about him, except that he was tall, handsome, chocolate..like milk chocolate, funny, and handsome gosh! And that I thought his skin was soft)

In February 2018 he officially said hi to me, and we weren’t even in a Rotaract meeting! From that day onwards he would greet me every time he saw me; most of the time I was with my friends though, so maybe he was greeting them and not me; because he greeted them even when I wasn’t with them.

In March 2018 there was the Mahadan 3.0 Blood drive. I was disappointment because the nurse couldn’t see or feel any of the veins in my arms, so I didn’t actually donate any blood, but I stayed all the same and I got a sticker!

A few of us went outside to play soccer with a tennis ball, weird yes, but totally worth it. He spoke to me! Like not to me and the people I was with, but just to me. I wanted to smile from ear to ear, but I didn’t, instead I wanted to avoid having him kick the ball to me, so I was low-key trying to run away when he asked me why I wasn’t kicking the ball hard enough. All sorts of things starting running through my mind at this point, my mind was a jungle, but I played soccer and enjoyed it.

Every Rotaract meeting after this made me nervous, plus the way he says my name makes me happy, like he doesn’t pronounce all the letters in Tafara, instead he says it as Tafara ( if you didn’t read the Tafara’s differently, you don’t belong on earth!). Every time I saw him walking past my department, my heart would beat really fast and I would smile uncontrollably, whilst Tracy and Tanaka looked on, until Tracy decided that we should call him Man Crush Everyday. Which was so fitting. It was like every time I saw him felt like the first time I saw him in the organic chemistry lecture.

In the second semester of 2018 my friends and I started this thing where every Friday we would dare each other to do something we wouldn’t normally be comfortable doing. Can I just say every time it was my turn I was scared I would be dared to tell him how I have had a crush on him since 2017. Thank God that never happened! But Tracy convinced me it was time, mum even chipped in and said “when you like a guy you have to make him know how you feel” that is easier said than done, she didn’t understand that. I nearly gave in.

I was extremely happy on this particular day, and so I texted him. Yes! I texted MCE. I mean we had texted each other before, but only about Rotaract related issues. This day was different. So I told him I had a few questions I wanted to ask him, and not about Rotaract. Then I told him I would ask him when I randomly bumped into him. Unfortunately, I never bumped into him and he seemed to avoid the questions all together. Tracy came up with the theory that I had scared him away. Honestly! Does that even happen over text? He continued to greet me in the goofiest (this may not be a word) of ways. A month went by and I had forgotten about him, not completely obviously, but enough for me not to smile when his name was mentioned.

In December there was a hail storm and I kept asking my friends if I should close the door, and they weren’t answering me, then he just walked past us and said “You should probably close the door” then he did this cool thing with his fingers. I melted. And I felt the entire zoo in my stomach. MCE was back! I never did tell him how I felt/ feel.

Today he called me. I didn’t answer my phone. I watched my phone ring. I had a mini heart attack. Then I opened WhatsApp only to see messages from him asking me about the senior lab technician from my department. I mean honestly! Are we friends? Because if we are I totally have a crush on my friend! I kinda like that he texted me though. Can I still tell him I’ve had a crush on him for almost two years now? Or would that “scare” him? He’s funny over text too! Oh and I’m totally smiling. Did I tell you our babies would be so cute! Gosh I sound like a teenager. smh.

Friendship

Most of us say we have friends and unbreakable friendships, but what is a friend? More importantly what does friendship mean to you?

According to Wikipedia; “Friendship is a relationship of mutual affection between people. Friendship is a stronger form of interpersonal bond than an association.”

Finding the standard definition of what a friend is, was a futile exercise. It is probably because it can be defined in many ways than one. What you consider to be a friend can be the complete opposite of what I think a friend is.

For me, a friend is someone I can count on no matter what, someone who is willing to accept my imperfections, someone who does not complain about late replies, because they know me well enough to know that the conversation can continue whenever, someone who respects me and my choices, someone who is emotionally available, someone I can send thirty consecutive texts about completely unrelated things and get a response for each of them, someone who is ready to take the other side of an argument, even though my side should be the only side to be considered, someone who puts as much effort into helping me solve my problems as I do for them, someone who helps me grow and become better, someone who is overjoyed when I have achieved something, someone I trust, someone who is down to make poor life choices as long as we have a good time, someone who listens to me complaining about how I wish I was the only child because siblings are so annoying, someone I can talk to about anything without having to worry about being judged for it and more importantly someone who is not afraid to tell me I am being ridiculously insane when it is necessary.

What Is a Friend? Someone has said, “A friend is a person who is willing to take me the way I am.” Accepting this as one definition of the word, may I quickly suggest that we are something less than a real friend if we leave a person the same way we find him – Marvin J. Ashton

I guess it is safe to say Ravi is my realest friend (Not to invalidate my other friends). Simply because he’s almost everything I look for in a friend. The only thing missing is that he does not laugh at my not so funny jokes. But I mean he’s good to me, I am good to him too. Can I just say he introduced me to The 1975, an amazing band! I will not delve into how I’m not the same person I was when I met him four years ago. When I asked him what friendship means to him; he said ” Friendships are harder than relationships, because there’s no intimacy to keep them alive when people grow apart. Also that friendships involves being emotionally available for each other, and having the same values.” Off the record he said I am the embodiment of true friendship! Okay maybe the last part is a fib, but he is definitely what friendship means to me!

To me friendship is really deep. There is no in between. We are either friends or we are simply people who know each other. Some people just don’t deserve to be called friends and in turn they should not be given the honour.

I have very few friends, all of whom are good to me. Why are they so few? Maybe because I am a giver and the world is full of takers. Why can’t there be a balance between the two? There is the possibility that I have a handful of friends because I have not fully mastered the art of maintaining friendships.

So what does friendship mean to me? Friendship means love, loyalty, trust and commitment. And I do a really good job at “friendshipping” 💕.

Every time someone tells me they have a tonne of friends I always ask them how they maintain their friendships? I am still waiting for a satisfying answer to that question.