Pursuit To Happiness

Classism is a thing I was born exposed to. My maternal grandmother worked as a maid for a white family in Orange Groove, Johannesburg, we lived in servant quarters but my experience regardless was suburban. The quiet and serene places, the lawns and pavements, the blue pools and fishponds, the surrounding trees, the double storeys and double garages; I grew up exposed to those settings. My father enrolled me to a private creche, we spoke English like our white counterparts at early childhood, siesta was an important session for brain development, we were forced to sleep, Africans don't force their toddlers to sleep through the day, it's important, it must be done, but that's not what I'm on about now. My father furthermore built a home in the Zimbabwean suburbs and sent me to a private primary school. So classism is a thing which has prevailed in my life and has influenced my preferences, perceptions, interests, the way I talk and carry myself, something that has set me

I didn't perform well academically, it wasn't because I was dull. I was knowledgeable, I just had issues. So, I've lived my life to prove I am actually a really smart guy, in the way I speak, write, act & carry myself. I think I've done quite a great job at that. On to greater things. I've got a life pattern amongst others on my fabric which I've grown delighted to noticing, with regards to poor academic performance. It is that of abstaining from narcotics, drugs and alcohol, even in the bare midst of their access, influence and indulgence. When I look at it, I abstained because sobriety were to be my only thread and trait to crutch on in a conflicted journey of self awareness before I even realized it. Sobriety were to keep me in the clutch, balanced. In fact, with sobriety, I was hanging on my last life-thread before I could begin to weave and sew more cords from it. Thankful for the church, the only structure which kept me holding, otherwise I

Why would I want to die when my eyes are instantaneously captured by a butterfly that flutters from out of the blue, or the Jacaranda petals that fall on the ground turning the field the tree surrounds into a purple carpet. Why would I want to die when I'm intrigued by how August winds send fallen leaves rolling like little wheels in the pathway, when my nose notices the September spring flowery fragrance without causing me allergens, or better yet, the nasal satisfaction of October's first rains on dust. Why would I want to die when I wake up to mocking birds in the morning and/or cycle into fresh untempered morning air and past a flock of bird nested trees sounding like seranading whistles.  I wouldn't know the nature of suicide, I've never attempted it let alone yielded to it's claws. But seeing that it overwhelms life's greatest satisfactions, like cold water running down a thirsty throat, or a cool breeze on a hot day, it seems an incredibly mon

Gents I promise you there's better, I've seen better. You don't want someone whom upon every and any misunderstanding gets to wearing less and going out more, throwing ass at the club, you are not serious! My boy dated a stripper once, he loved her to bits, he actually wanted a kid with her but unfortunately by the laws of love they fell off, I was single then but I suffered relationship stress regardless, their break-up was snott & tissues I remember ranting at my poor heart broken boy not to lash out at me because his girl would phone me in a hoarse and teary voice explaining stuff, tbh their relationship was bigger than all of us at the time, we were so young! Find someone with something that keeps them occupied and brings them joy, it's usually things they do with their hands; someone who writes or reads, someone who crotches or knits, someone who cooks or bakes, someone who plays an instrument or sings, someone who is into gym or tennis or any sport, someone wh