A letter.


Dear you,

How do you do? I’ve been fantasising about doing you a letter for a long time now, and I am glad I finally decided to punch the paper in the face and get some words down. I have known you for so long now, almost forever, and I must say I am elated to be close to one of your kind. I find you intriguing, challenging, motivating and thoroughly inspiring but despite this, your person eludes me…

I can’t wrap my head around who you are or what you are about. I see you saunter from work to home everyday, eyes trained to the ground, earplugs bidding the world to oblivion. I see your eyes wander every now and then, and when your gaze meets mine for a brief second, I do not miss the distinct uncertainty in those lovely pair. Is it hurt? Or pain? Is it fear of the unknown? Or knowledge of what you’ve only been told?

Your emotions sway me. How so little a frame can house such magnitude of love, and hate, surpasses my imaginations. But I love the way you love. You love bit for bit, soul for soul; but you hate even better and that shatters me. You fear that no one will understand this unique way of yours, so you stash your emotions away and shy away from anything that ‘feels’ like feelings. It’s fine to guard your heart, it’s fine to protect it, but how do you know when it’s okay to love, if you don’t set it free? You bid them bye before they say hello, and play the soothsayer rather than let fate play its song. Why not give fate a chance? Why not let yourself dance?

Your passion is intriguing. You love to write, you love to sing, you love to dance in your head and draw what the pencil will. You want to be many things all at once, and you would be, if only you give yourself a chance. Because your heart’s so big and wide to love like that, but then again, you are too shy to try. You are scared of failure, afraid of not getting it right, but you’ve soon realised sometimes we only fail because we fear we won’t win. Fear. You realise it’s just the fear. And you are working on it, I know you are. You are working on growth and the attendant realisations that come with it.

You are imperfect. Very much flawed. The impatient ones fled. They were too in a hurry to await the miracle that is your bright smile. A few ones stayed through for it, but you will not love them as you should because you are too absorbed in thinking you don’t deserve them. You think you don’t deserve their love. You think you can’t withstand its grace. You think you can’t treasure it enough, so you’ll rather act like they don’t exist. You think they won’t stay, you are certain they’ll soon leave; so you stash up your love over again, and save it for another rainy day. They don’t understand but I do. Yet, I hope you’ll learn to love them as you should.

You’ve always been running; whether to something, or away from it. You are a restless lover, friend, and companion, yet in each short space of time, your aura beckons the strong and weak alike. I am fascinated. Deeply fascinated and unfazed by your obvious harmatia. You are a strong woman, bright and lovable and I hope you keep being that way.

In a few days now, you’ll mark another year. And maybe you’ll now see yourself as a woman rather than that little shy girl. I hope you give yourself the pleasure to have your many firsts. I hope you laugh so hard, the world dances to its vibe. I hope you give life a chance at making you happy. I hope you don’t shy away from mistakes, so you grow with each lesson. And I hope that you learn that sometimes, you need to be the leader and the follower, the road and the path, so that you go all out to be the best you can be, leaving no stones unturned. Please darling, live. Dear darling, give yourself the gift of being.

On this note, I say a happy birthday in advance to you darling. I love you so bad, and it feels good like that.

Your Alter- ego,


© The Short Black Girl, 2015.


Musings of a March Born.


It’s March and the day seems to draw closer still. Every now and then, I sit in quiet contemplation of my own life- the wins, and losses; the proud triumphs, and shameful mistakes and I keep wondering, are we there yet? It’s been a thorough past year, maybe the one in which ‘ve learnt the most lessons of my life so far, and despite the meltdowns, I am thankful- for the lessons, and the memories; the ties made, and the ones severed. I am grateful for every breath, and every tear shed because I know He didn’t give me more than I could comfortably bear.

It’s Magic March again, nearing that time of the month, and ‘m filled with as much ecstacy as can come with the anticipation of pure Magic.

I reckon it’s the 6th of March already, but nonetheless, happy Magic March people! 🙂


© The Short Black Girl, 2015.