Today, as I turn 31, I look back at how far I have come and would like to share this diary entry as part of my reflections. It is one of my favourite entries from six years ago and it appears in my memoir, Boy On The Run. It reminds me to be kinder to myself amidst the difficulties life throws at us.
(Boy On The Run is available in bookstore nationwide, and at jacana.co.za)
3 July 2016,
Dear diary,
This is usually a very good time for reflections as I find myself hitting what feels like the big 25. That number on Adele’s third album which left the world in a somber mood for weeks and broke the internet. Yep that one. That is my age now. I am 25. It’s a great age, I think. I like the sound of it. I like how it looks on text. I could type it out all day. Two. Five. 25. People always want to congratulate me for sharing my birthday with America, uhm… no America shares it’s birthday with me.
On a more serious note though I am excited and nervous for this coming of age. I am actually very scared about growing up. And I try very hard not to be because I am raising myself. I have to be strong for myself, I’m all I have because everyone else might just die tomorrow. I have great expectations of myself you know? And while I am making strides and progress life just has a way of seeming like a mountain that is getting higher and higher. If Mama was around, perhaps I life would be walking in lusciously green fields where the air reached my lungs and made me lighter, like the fabulous walks I go on for the magazine, you know? My heart is so heavy, it feels like there’s hardly room for air with all the trouble that’s in there. But you know what? I am here, and I am 25. Mama is dead, but I am not. And you know what else? I am a writer officially. Wouldn’t she love that my words get to appear in the magazines I used to page through? Fuck death, honestly.
When I was a baby before I started school, Mama said I was cute and deserved to be in magazines. She used to take me to town auditioning me to different agents. For a few weeks, on Saturday mornings, Mama and I would go about town, and she would take me to all these people who would ask me to walk around. She said I deserved to be in a TV ad. It never happened, we just stopped going. But look now? I fill national pages with words written by me and pictures of me taken by real photographers. Wouldn’t she be proud? Instead , now I am scared and I am not sure if I am in the right state of mind to say that I am loving who I am becoming. My birthday celebration last year was disaster. This year, my friends are not around. It’s just me. And I think it is perhaps time for me to take stock and revel myself in solitude, something I am actually very fearful of. When I miss her and the tears start coming, there is no stopping or controlling them. So I am just better off not crying at all even it makes my heart so heavy. Maybe I need to give myself the gift of actually enjoying solitude, that might just be the thing that makes my story a triumphant one.
But you know what? I am not alone in all these chest pains. And isn’t it sad? That I have to find comfort in knowing that other people are also suffering? No matter how put together they look? Maybe there is something to be gained from yielding ourselves to the changes that life throws at us? Maybe instead of defeatist perspective, I adopt a celebratory one that embraces all these changes I get to experience while I still have air in my lungs? Even if that air feels thin.
I am learning to appreciate the fact that every phase of my life might be just as significant as the previous, and that all these phases like a concoction of melodies and tunes produce a symphony? For whose amusement or entertainment though? I really hope that Mama can see how hard I am trying to live a good life. I am her fruit, and when I finally meet her on the other side, I want her to be proud, of me, and especially of herself for making me. I caught a glimpse of myself this morning, it made me happy and think she did that. This life scares me sometimes, because of how evil people can be you know, but I am stronger than pain and I am certainly stronger than fear if I made it this far out alone, you know. I am trying to find my heart’s song, you know?
Instead of panicking in the dark, sit out and you will begin to see more clearly. We have to adjust ourselves to the events life throws at us because we can’t control that, you know? So from now on, I am going to focus on what I can control. I have carried the weight of the world on my shoulders and taken responsibility for the things that had nothing to do with me. I am done with that, even though I know it’s not that easy. I don’t want to not take risks because of having internalised the events life threw my way as failure, you know? I have proven to be my worst enemy by taking everything on, and maybe today is the day I say no satan and focus, lightly on what I can control, when I can control it, you know?
You know what? I have a halfday at work tomorrow on my actual birthday, and I am going to take my own self out to one of those restaurants overlooking the beach, order a steak and cocktail and let the air inside my chest until I feel lighter. Be kinder to yourself, Welcome! You are beautiful, in and out, and happy 25 Queen.
Or 31.
