I am sick, just a bit of flu. I put it down to a lack of sleep, starting my period and then work stress. So when I cry, it seems like sinuses. Which is what I need now, no one to know that I am crying or want to cry or have been crying. I screamed in the car yesterday, my daughter found it hilarious – she joined in. I screamed from frustration, anger and because I needed to. I am shaking, uncontrollably, controllably. I am drowning. Noticing that it’s the small things that make me want to lose my fuckin mind because why the fuck not! I am struggling to breathe, not from the flu but because if I don’t I am scared that I will lose it in a fit of rage. I want to hit something. I keep on snapping. I want to shout. At you. I want to throw something. Break something. Because maybe then I will feel better. But I know I won’t. That is not going to help. I have been putting off going to my GP for the longest time. I do think. Mentality. I need help. Emotionally. I need comfort. Physically. I need to be fucked. Would that not be the easier way to just let every – fuckin – thing go. Just like that. One quick pomp and I will be better. Hopefully it’s that easy. I am sick. I am not ok. I am taking a small almost non existent break from social media. I don’t think you are the problem though. But I am about to break.
I am proud of you
You need to know that
Not that you don’t know that already but as Facebook keeps on regurtitating memories upon my sad soul
I can’t help but become emotional and sentimental about how small you once were
I often joke that you would stay small and get back in my belly; then atleast I’d have a real reason for having this big rolling mag
You deserve more than this life
More than feeling less than
You deserve love and happyness
Endless bounds of it
I wish I could give it to you all
The knowledge to not follow that boy to the ends of the Earth but also the knowledge that you have to make mistakes and get hurt to learn
You deserve more than mediocre, because you, my love are worth 1 hundred million thousand
You deserve only the sunshine, even peaking through the dark stormy clouds
You deserve to be loved immensely and then hurt deeply
The good and alot of the bad
Knowing that at any minute you can turn around and I’ll be right there
Being your mother makes me proud
You being my child makes me proud
If “Mother” is the only title I ever have in this earthly life, I am ok with that
No matter what other’s say
You dear Zineah have brought so much joy into the life of others’
You are loved beyond compare
By people you don’t even know
You deserve more than the little love I have to give
Because of you, I am who I am
I love you Zineah
May you never forget that
Recently my family and I have started this ritual, in the spirit of being healthy; we try to walk a few times a wekk. A 30 minute walk / jog. It’s fun. I sweat. I pain. It’s for a good cause though (you’d understand if you ever saw in the light). But this post is not about the eternal train of wanting – to – lose – weight, this is about the ever popularised and overused term; “Coloured”
To say I identify as a Coloured would only be because that is what I have been told and from the area I have been raised; “Coloured” is the first and most natural bracket I have been put into.
I have been called
- too white for Mitchells Plain
- too sturvy because I am unfamilar with the wordings of my people
People have even gone as far as to say, “Are you sure?” when I tell them I have lived my entire life in the thriving drug and gang stricken community of “The Plain”
Do I get offended when I hear the term “Coloured”? NO
I do however, hate it and all the negative conotations associated with that ACI status
I am not white
I am not black
I am Coloured
- Low level
This not only what people say but how people look at me, I see the judgement in your eyes and that version of Coloured infuriates me
As soon as I loudly identify as Coloured; without a second thought I get asked to perfom stranger CCA’s (Coloured Circus Acts)
- speak like one of them
- say something Coloured
And then, what words do you use?
The favourite and one they always look forward to is PK
*please note that at the time of these CCA’s, I worked for a predominantly white owned company (I am not racist, just stating the facts) where it was of unheard of to still be calling your parents “Mommy” and “Daddy”, to still be living at home at 25 and to be living somewhere other than Claremont / Rondebosch
The term “Coloured” irks me even though we have Youngsta, Paxtion Fielies, Wayde van Niekerk and Craig Lucas (he is Coloured, right?) ; the sort of low level Coloureds or non TV Coloureds are still seen as kak
I am a proud Coloured girl from the Plain
I am not proud of the filthy language we use, the way we are so easily mocked and how we willingly make clowns of ourselves
I am a proud Coloured girl with a mom hailing from Lavender Hill and a dad from Manenberg
I am not proud of the way we are exploited and how the term “Coloured” is so loosely thrown around like the tik injected into our children’s veins
I am a proud Coloured girl always being told “you’re too white for Mitchells Plain but too coloured for Constantia” , as if that was some sort of compliment
I am not proud because I a writing this
Admitting that I am offended by the term “Coloured”, the term i so closely relate to; is not a good thing
Leaves me as if I am not apart of anything
As f I don’t belong
It is not a proud moment but as I bowed my head in shame when, what I assume was a drug laden gent, shouted across the field “Fiekie jou naai”; I realised that that version of Colouredness, although colourful #punright is not the version of Coloured I have ever wanted to be associated with
Perhaps it is because I am my harshest critic and worst judge
<when the one rotten apple lies in the basket too long: do we also turn brown on the inside?>
Good Morrow Fellow Humanoids and welcome to weight up Wednesday! I just made that up. It is not weight up Wednesday because, seriously, who wants to be reminded of how much weight they still need to lose mid week & nogals on the infamous Steers Wacky Wednesday. Now, I’ve noticed that I have started to steer more to the “finished English” and steered away from the most likely reason people have followed & liked my blog. So, for today, I will try to steer away from my attempt at whatever the hell “Finished English” is and be a bit more, what society would deem, normal.
Awe ma se kind! LOL, OKAY! Not that unfinished!!!!
But seriously mense, waar is die liefde?
I sat in bed last night, under 3 blankets, with 2 jackets on and I was STILL getting cold. Now imagine, the fellas on the streets? I know. I know. Money is tight, blah blah blah but what if you were to save up all your pennies and dinges and give that to me as a donation or on your next shopping trip just pop a sakky pads in your trolley. No harm. No foul.
I am not asking for a lung or a kidney (I know if I was, I’d be dead right now). I am asking for a little. A fingernail. A small bietjie. Let’s teach the laatjies that there people who don’t have a toasty fireplace, who only have 1 blanket. Let’s pull them from their screens & let them help make that care package & butter that bread. Our society is too mal too think we can shield them from the downward spiral it is heading in.
*for all my overseas mense, I apologise for the terminology but just quickly go onto Google & type in “Afrikaans to English Translator” and all the words you don’t know (the non english terms), just pop it in & learn away!
For aesthetics, here’s a picture of me,and then a collage of my snapchat adventures with my daughter last night
I hope you’ve made it this far down the post & now I shall be expecting my phone to BLOW up – 079 861 9603
I think I don’t allow myself to be happy because any happiness I may experience, might take what happiness she deserves away